I, Aidan Tyrnbul, monk of Jedburgh Abbey, do write this account on my deathbed in the hope that, by making available after my passing information which I would not confess to any mortal soul during my life, I may still expiate the grievous sin which I committed and find solace with my Lord in the hereafter. As I lie here in the infirmary I am told that my affliction is but a reoccurrence of the gout which has previously plagued me and that with proper application of herbs I may yet recover. I beg forgiveness of my medical brethren if I disbelieve them.

I am forty-four years of age and, while I know little of the world outside the confines of this Border abbey wherein I have resided since the age of fourteen, the readings of physic which I have undertaken during my monastic vocation convince me that my illness is terminal. I have witnessed too many of my brothers in Christ succumbing to the same symptoms and have attended too many of their interments not to know that very shortly I also must make that dread journey across the great divide and face my Master before the bar of Judgement.

For what it is worth, and I fear that it may be little, I am convinced that my malady stems from water. I do not know how, but I am certain that I and my brothers before me have in some way been poisoned by the water which we have consumed. Indeed I have promulgated this opinion before the abbot and chapter only to be told that I have a fertile imagination.

All this, however, is to depart from my point. As I lie dying I wish quite simply to make a clean breast in the hope that at some time in the future the wrong I did will be righted and that as my spirit departs my mortal remains it is with a conscience clear.

It all happened one January evening some twenty years ago about the time that we were celebrating the hundredth anniversary of the founding of our abbey. The sun was setting over the Jed water when I formulated my plan. As darkness fell the busy sounds of the great abbey and monastery were being stilled. One by one they surrendered to the approaching night, first the great water driven millstone grinding slowly to a halt, then the clatter of the cooking utensils in the kitchen fading into a respectful silence. Soon the only sound which those citizens of Jedburgh outwith the abbey confines could have heard was the strains of plain chant echoing faintly from the high walled church as we sang Vespers.

The winter wind crept through the lead lining of the latticed windows and swirled about our heads as we sang, causing the oil lamps to gutter and sending shivers through my brethren as they huddled within their habits for warmth. I shivered too, but in my case it was not so much from the temperature but the fear of personal crisis which held me fast, tore at my stomach and battered my mind.

I was in debt. Not by a few coins to one of my brother monks, but to the tune of several pounds of gold to one of the less salubrious and certainly less understanding merchants of the town. It is not required of this confession that I go into the details of how this debt had arisen. Suffice it to say that it was for a sin, a weakness which I have already made known to my confessor and for which I have done penance. What troubled me that night was not the sin but the debt and how it might be met.

There was I, a newly ordained monk, fresh from my final renewal of the vows of poverty, chastity and obedience, needing to acquire monies to an extent which even my lord Abbot would find difficulty in providing from his private purse - and, Lord forgive me, we all know about that! To confess my debt and to fall upon the charity of my brother monks in community to provide the wherewithal with which to pay it would quite simply have been to end my monastic career and vocation. I would have been asked to leave, to return to my family from whom I had been absent for some eight years, and to resume the life of illiteracy and violence from which my parents by placing me as a youth in the abbey had redeemed me. Those who read this confession may mock, but I tell you with the honesty which impending Death places upon the lips of his victims that it was a prospect which I could not face. Whether at that time I would have killed to avoid it I do not know. What I do know is that I stole.

So it was that as I sat in Vespers on that January night I formulated the plan whereby I might pay off the debt which I owed. The abbey had not many treasures, but those which it had were of reasonable value. Many of them were too large to be easily spirited away, not just because they would immediately be missed but also because such were the rigours of monastic life that there was no question of simply removing and selling any object in one go. They would need quietly to be appropriated and held under cover until such a time as in the normal course of events I would be free to take them into the town and find a discreet and wealthy buyer for them. Whatever was taken therefore had to be small.

The solution to my quandary came to me suddenly. Some years before, during my novitiate, I had served as a sacristan, helping to robe the abbot and those other senior members of our community who were to celebrate the sacraments. In the course of those duties I had come across a rare and treasured item. On the days when high mass was celebrated, when the abbot himself was so to speak the star of the occasion, a strange little ceremony of preparation would take place. Once he was fully robed and was about to proceed to the altar, the abbot would call for a mirror and a comb to ensure that his beard was in order.

The comb in question was no ordinary comb. It was made of bone and carved in intricate design of figures of animals and other such. Legend had it that it was very old, originating in England and dating from some time before the Duke of Normandy had conquered that southern land. It had, so it was said, travelled north with our Order. It was greatly treasured, was certainly valuable and above all was tiny. I determined, even as I sang, that I would steal and sell it.

Having formulated my plan there was no time to lose. That very night I would take possession of the comb, hide it among my few personal belongings and then when the moment was right I would use it to pay off my debt.

And so it happened that after Vespers, when my brethren left the church to make for the comforting warmth of the calefactory I stayed behind as if in prayer. There was nothing unusual in this as, although I say it myself, I was renowned for my piety and often remained in the church reading my Office long after my brethren had departed to more comfortable pastimes. In truth I found my brothers' conversation tedious and I was happy to keep myself to myself. On many such occasions I was not alone in my meditations as others pursued the same solitude and peace.

As fortune would have it on this occasion the bitter cold ensured that I was the only one who remained. I waited, my heart thumping within me, until all sounds of movement both within and outwith the immediate vicinity of the church had ceased. When I was certain that I was unobserved I picked up an oil lamp from the altar and made my way quietly to the sacristy. I opened the drawer wherein lay the precious comb and stared at it in trepidation, its very presence before my gaze somehow accusing. Whether it was my conscience or some other instinct I know not, but my arms suddenly seemed made of lead and incapable of movement.

I cannot say how long I stood there, as it were frozen, and fearful to do the deed. All at once I heard the sound of voices in the cloister outside the window. Spurred by the sudden adrenalin of panic I snatched the treasure at the same time as I blew out the lamp. As I stumbled back into the church my mind was in turmoil. Had those in the cloister outside the sacristy window seen the flickering of the lamp, and would they now come to investigate? I hurried back to my allotted pew, the comb burning within my hand, and bent my head as if in deepest prayer. I heard the door from the cloister creak open and footfalls approaching. I buried my clenched hands ever deeper within the sleeves of my habit and kept my eyes tightly closed. Pray God that it was just brethren, warmed by the fire of the calefactory, returning to meditate awhile before retiring to the dormitory for the night. I felt the hand fall upon my shoulder.

I know not whether I jumped, only that at that instant my thundering heart seemed to falter and freeze within me. The voice when it spoke was whispered. "We do not wish to disturb your worship, Brother Aidan, but we must extinguish the lamps and secure the church for the night." I opened my eyes and looked up.

Before me stood young Brother Cuthbert and beside him Brother Colum, the sacristans of the day.

I have never seen a dam burst and its liberated waters sweep down the valley below carrying all before them, but I imagine that it must be much like the relief which swept the length and breadth of my body at the discovery of the identification of the two intruders. It had been their voices which I had heard outside, but the calm and patient expressions upon their faces indicated that in the fascination of their conversation they had noticed nothing amiss either outwith or inside the church.

I informed them that I was done and that I was just leaving. As I moved slowly towards the door through which they had entered I hoped beyond hope that my meditative gait disguised the almost uncontrollable trembling of my knees. As soon as I reached the dark and freezing sanctuary of the cloister I stopped and arranged a place of safe concealment within the pocket of my habit for the precious comb. I was suddenly and totally appalled both by what I had done and by the narrowness of my escape from discovery. The prospect of the disgrace of my debt and its consequences faded into insignificance beside the enormity of the crime which I had now perpetrated and the dreadful penalty which would be exacted were I to be caught. I determined there and then that I would secretly and at the first possible opportunity return the comb to its proper location and prostrate myself on the mercy of my brethren to extricate myself from the debt. There was however no way now, as the church was being closed, that I could effect this restitution at least until the following day. For the moment I could but behave normally and pray that the wretched comb did not burn a hole in my pocket.

In pursuance of this strategy I repaired to the calefactory to warm myself in the company of my brethren before the fire. As I sat and listened to their desultory conversation, and despite my intention to make reparation, the feeling of guilt grew within me. To this day I am uncertain how much I was imagining, but I felt increasingly that my brothers were regarding me in the most suspicious manner almost as if they could read the black secret of my mind. Some minutes later the two sacristans returned and again I sat waiting for them to reveal the discovery of the theft and to question me about it. As it turned out they did no such thing, and eventually much to my relief the time came for us all to retire to the dormitory on the floor above.

I could not sleep for the thoughts racing each other in my mind. As I lay and listened to the nocturnal snufflings and rumblings of my brethren the fear of discovery became ever more potent within my brain. Suddenly there came a commotion in the cloister outside the windows on the opposite side of the dormitory from where I lay, and the flickering of torchlight could be seen. The noise was such as to wake my companions, and one of those who slept nearest the door went down the stairs to investigate. In seconds he returned breathlessly to tell us that the abbot was approaching with other senior figures of our religious community and that he was coming to the dormitory to speak to us on a matter of urgency.

As my brothers began to bestir themselves to prepare for this unexpected visitation I knew with a horrible certainty that the theft of the comb had been discovered and that the abbot was coming to seek out the culprit. What was I to do? If we were searched the wretched article would be found in my possession and I would be caught red-handed. Like a rat cornered by a terrier my mind rushed hither and thither seeking desperately for a route by which I might escape my fate. Suddenly I noticed the open window above my bed which looked out on the burial ground and ditch to the East of and beyond the abbey walls.

In the general noise and confusion of my brethren seeking hurriedly to dress themselves before the abbot arrived I took my chance. Snatching the comb from my pocket, I stepped on my pallet and hurled it through the gap into the darkness beyond. I presume that it hit the ground although I never heard the sound of it. Looking round I was satisfied that my companions had been too taken up with their own affairs to have noticed my action. In any event none gave sign of having done so. I heaved a silent sigh of relief. While my conscience might yet give me away, at least I could not be caught in possession. I had created a chance.

The rest is hard for me to tell even some twenty years later without embarrassment. My surmise as to the purpose of the abbot's intrusion could not have been more wrong. He had come to tell us that information had reached him some moments before that the beacons on the peel towers were blazing, signifying that English forces had crossed the border intent on violence and suppression. They could be expected with us by the morning. He gave us instructions as to how we were to behave, to avoid incurring their wrath and hopefully thereby to preserve the security and integrity of the abbey.

The days that followed were disturbed ones in which the life of the community was much disrupted and, despite our best efforts, damage done to the fabric of our monastery. There was little time for religious ceremonial and a total prohibition on venturing outside the abbey confines. In fact it was nearly a full month before the English invaders returned to their own side of the border and we were able to resume something of the normal life of our community.

Indeed it was only when high mass was celebrated in thanksgiving for our deliverance that the absence of the comb was discovered. Other items had also gone missing when certain unruly elements of the English skirmishers had entered the church on the pretext of suppressing subversion and had looted awhile before being ordered to withdraw by their officers. It was indeed a stroke of fortune for me that the loss of the comb was ascribed to this incident and was mentioned no more.

It was perhaps an even greater stroke of fortune to discover that the merchant to whom I was so severely indebted had been a victim of the English incursion and had perished in one of the skirmishes which had occurred. Moreover he had apparently left no record of my obligation to him, possibly because of the nature of the circumstances whereby it had arisen. To all intents and purposes fate had decreed that I could go free.

It was therefore out of curiosity that one day I made my way to the area below the dormitory window outside the abbey walls. Certainly had I found the comb I would not have returned it, for to do so would have aroused suspicions that did not need to exist. In fact there was no sign of it. The ditch was wet and overgrown, and the earth beyond it was soft and newly turned from the burials of various dignitaries who had been killed in the recent fighting and whose status permitted them to be interred below the abbey walls. The comb could have been picked up or lost in the undergrowth or even have been buried accidentally in one of the new graves. It could, and the horrible irony of the thought did not escape me, indeed have been buried in the grave of my creditor whose status had certainly been sufficient to allow his final resting place to be here. I suspect that the truth will never be known.

May God forgive me my crime and through this posthumous but full confession allow my soul to rest in peace. And if the comb ever is found I pray that it may be returned to the abbey from which I so wickedly stole it.



Historical footnote

During archaeological excavations of the ruins of 13th Century Jedburgh Abbey in 1985, a small bone comb was discovered in the area outside the original walls and below where the dormitory would have stood. It was regarded as a find of major historical significance both because of the age of the comb and for its fine workmanship. It is thought to have been a ceremonial comb, possibly for use on beards. The area where it was discovered seems to have been partly a ditch and partly a burial ground for local dignitaries. There is however no evident explanation for how it came to be there. This fictitious account attempts to provide one.

1988