The Monk (Prince Ciaran th Damned Book 3)

by Ruari McCallion

  “I seem to recall that you thought you would have the best of it when I entered the convent: I would have to wear grey all my life and you would be a queen, dressed in pretty silks and bright colours, with your ladies skipping after you, servants to do your bidding, and a fine king you could wave off to war. Am I mistaken, or was that what you said?”

  “Please, Hilda, don’t be cruel. Not today.”

  “When have I ever been cruel?” Eanfleda remained silent. “Certainly not so cruel as to tease a young woman, uncertain about where she was going, by waving her goodbye with a grey kerchief and then running off giggling to the meadows with her friends.” The Queen of Northumbria looked up at her sister, the Abbess of Whitby.

  “Were you so unsure? Was I really so cruel?”

  “Yes, and yes. But don’t worry,” she waved away her sister’s half-formed apology, “I have no doubts now. Either about my vocation or about who got the better part. Even if you had been blissfully happy with Oswy I would still have counted myself the more fortunate.”

  At the mention of her husband’s name she started to weep again.

  “He’s such a brute! If only he could be - be different.”

  “Be someone else?” Eanfleda nodded absently. “Be someone like, like…let me see now,” she drew the moment out, “like Wilfrid, perhaps? So magnificent, so powerful. A rising star in the Church, well-placed, unfailingly courteous, worthy of the favour and gifts of a powerful young queen. Or perhaps like Cuthbert before him, kind and patient, and so holy you can almost see his halo. Like them perhaps?”

  “How can you say such things? How can you?” Eanfleda looked into her sister’s face and saw her sterner side. She burst into tears again. Hilda passed another kerchief from the pile she kept in her drawer and pressed the point, without visible mercy but with much compassion inside her severe exterior.

  “You must face the truth, Fleda. It’s true, isn’t it?” The queen kept her head down, sobbing quietly. “If you were to have any man’s hand on you then it should be someone very special, so holy, so noble, one destined for canonisation, someone who would cherish and care for you, someone worthy of fathering a messiah on you, yes?” Eanfleda’s eyes blazed as she stood and opened her mouth to spit defiance and rebuttal. Hilda held up her hand and pressed on. “You have thought of it, I know you have. You must face this truth about yourself, Fleda. You have imagined how the hands of a demigod might feel on your skin. It’s been ecstasy to think of it, hasn’t it? Hasn’t it?” she demanded. Her sister said nothing, but sat down and looked at the wall again. “It is true,” Hilda continued, “we both know it is. What was it turned you against Cuthbert?”

  “I caught him looking at me That Way. He’s not so holy as he pretends. He wanted to - to possess me. He’s just another disgusting man and I’ll show everyone what he’s really like, one day.” Hilda sighed.

  “Cuthbert wrestles with demons every day of his life. Yes, he is just a man. But he’s a remarkable man. He is a normal man and yet, when a pretty and ingratiating young woman threw herself at him, with smiles and favours, he didn’t take her to the nearest haystack, no - he overcame his nature. And dedicated his torment to God, even though you nearly drove him mad with your little-woman smiles and coquettish ways. Yes, he is a remarkable man. And, when he looked at you as any man would who had been subjected to your behaviour, you retreated and turned your attention to the handsome Wilfrid, showering gifts and money and praise on him. I take it he’s never looked at you That Way (as you say) or he would have been dropped, as well, wouldn’t he?”

  “He never would. Wilfrid is altogether more worthy.”

  “We’ll leave Wilfrid’s worth to God, I think. Don’t you see what you have done, and are doing?” the younger woman looked up at her sister in puzzlement. “Wilfrid, Cuthbert before him, and I don’t know who before that, while I was already in the convent and saw nothing. All of them - ALL of them - are men who don’t threaten you in any way. They won’t thrust and penetrate, breathe hot passion on your face or press your breasts so hard you could scream, will they? They are unattainable, saints and holy men, something you can’t have so you are safe to dream about them and get a distorted, twisted, empty fulfilment that way. The moment any man reveals himself as normal, with normal desires you have brought out, you run away, don’t you?” Eanfleda was still.

  “Tell me, Fleda - and it’s important that you answer this question - have you ever craved the physical comfort of another woman? Since you’ve grown, I mean?” Eanfleda looked revolted at the very suggestion.

  “Good God, Hilda, no! The very thought of it! Ugh, no! How could you think such a thing of me?”

  “I apologise. I was asking in order to get to the heart of your problem. We haven’t confided in each other for many years.” They sat in silence for a few moments then Hilda asked quietly: “And Romanus? What about him?” Eanfleda shook her head vigorously. Definitely not him, then. She was, for a moment, almost comically relieved. Cuthbert, she could understand, Wilfrid definitely so, but that creeping chaplain - she shuddered. Did he conceal inappropriate feelings?… She felt that, if he was interested in physical relationships at all, it would not be with a woman.

  They sat in silence again for a few moments until the Queen spoke.

  “Can you help me? Please?”

  “If I can. How?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t know. I need help in dealing with Oswy.” In dealing with herself, Hilda thought, but once more she kept her thoughts to herself.

  “Well,” she started slowly, “I have tried to help already, by talking with you and trying to help you see what your problem is. And it is a problem. Northumbria and Mercia expect an heir. You can’t give them one in your state.” Her sister had twitched at the mention of an heir with its implication of the congress necessary for pregnancy. “I shall pray for you, of course - but you must decide what route you wish to follow. If you are prepared to bear an heir, then I’m sure we can find someone who knows of some potion or other that will enable you to go through the motions without torment or memory of it. The country people hereabouts talk of such things from time to time but Northumbria is now Christian, all the Druids and shamen are in hiding or dead. But the monks from Lindisfarne or Iona may be able to help. They travel to the wildest parts of Britain, evangelising and seeking converts, and some were Druids themselves before they were monks. I’ll ask if you wish. The alternative,” she continued, “is to consider taking the veil yourself. I think Oswy will hold you to whatever bargain you have made, whichever way the Synod turns out, and a convent may be your only protection if you truly can’t go through with it. What do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” she said simply. All her tears had been shed, she was completely drained. “I don’t know what to do. I’m a Christian, and I don’t want to call on pagan help - but I may have to. I’m not sure that I want to lock myself in a nunnery. I wouldn’t dare go out, ever, in case Oswy was waiting for me - and he would be waiting for me, if he wasn’t banging on the door trying to get in. I don’t know. What do you think?”

  “It is not for me to decide for you, Fleda, my little sister. God allows us to be tempted from time to time so that we may glorify Him when we overcome. He may want you for a nun, but it may just seem to be the easier alternative for you. He may want you to be the mother of a line of Kings that will stretch centuries into the future. I don’t know. You must make up your own mind.”

  “But I’ve come to you for guidance. I want to know what to do! Please tell me what to do? Please?” So saying, she knelt before Hilda and put her hands in her lap. The Abbess put her own over them.

  “I know that’s the Roman way, but it isn’t ours. You must make up your own mind. I know it’s hard for you and all ways seem wrong. But maybe God will help you see the way if you ask Him. But remember,” she admonished, “Our Lord suffered grievously before being hung on the Cross. God’s Will is sometimes hard to bear, but we can look to Christ for our example:
He was Man as well as God, and He did His father’s will. Can you not do the same? You’re not being asked to suffer real torture, to have your skin whipped off your back and lay down your life, are you?” Eanfleda smiled a little through her distress and shook her head. “Even if it feels that you may have to do something you would hate. Let us pray for your comfort and guidance.”

  Hilda stood to pray in the Celtic manner, Eanfleda knelt as the Romans had taught her. They offered common prayers and blessings for the strength to see their troubles through. Then Hilda dismissed her sister.

  “Go on, away with you. I have a great deal to do to accommodate what your troubles have brought upon us,” her words were stern but her smile softened them. Eanfleda stood and made to go out of the door then, on an impulse, she turned back, embraced her sister quickly and kissed her on the cheek. The Abbess stepped back and smiled in surprise, but had no chance to say any more before her sister left.

  There came another knock on the door and her attendant nun entered when invited.

  “Abbess, there are three monks here who would speak with you.” There will be little rest this Sabbath, she thought, and she asked God to understand.

  “Show them in,” she said, and stood to receive Colman, Cedd and Cuthbert, who had waited patiently for nearly two hours until their hostess was available to receive them.

  19

  The Chapel of Love

  I intended to spend the rest of the day in quiet contemplation, maybe reading from the Bible or our prayer book, as the inclination took me. I visited the chapel for an hour or so. I loved its cool tranquillity. The Sabbath was always a day I looked forward to; there would be minimal demands on my time and I was free to follow the path that had attracted me to monasticism in the first place. On this day, however, the noise and bustle of activity and chatter didn’t pause from one moment to the next. There was much work to be done in the monastery itself, which I understood; the Synod was placing strains on their resources - but most of the noise came from the Romans, for whom this was an ordinary day. More were arriving by the moment and greetings were being exchanged, loudly and at length. Orders were shouted across the yard and, seemingly, from one end of the monastery to the other. From the door - even on the verge of God’s House itself - came the yell:

  “Hey, Aeldwin! Come and see this chapel! It’s like a barn!” delivered in an accent that distinguished the owner as originating from Kent, possibly Canterbury itself. Two or three excited young novices burst in and looked around, chattering away with, it had to be said, a patronising and superior air that I found intolerable.

  “It may be rustic to your eyes but it is still the House of God, a place for quiet prayer and contemplation,” I said from the wall where I was standing. The three spun round this way and that, not sure from where in the gloom the voice had come. Their faces showed alarm and I stepped forward to show myself. Their expressions changed to astonishment and then relaxed as they took in the Celtic shaved forehead, my wild hair and shabby habit. Their own cassocks were travel-stained but obviously new and well-tailored.

  “Ah! It is one of our Irish cousins in faith! We have been told to show you all respect, sir,” one of them said, and he executed a bow which reeked of insolence. His accent was educated: likely a younger son of the Kentish nobility. I was less than amused and I held the eyes of first one, then the next, then the third in turn until - quite quickly, for I still had power in my gaze that I’d learned with the Druids - they looked away.

  “As I said, this is God’s House, a place for prayer and contemplation. You should show respect to Our Lord, if not to me - and you should also respect your hosts, whose place this is. Today is our Sabbath. If you would have us treat you with consideration tomorrow, then extend the same courtesy to us today.”

  No reply came. One of them looked sidelong to his fellows with a barely contained smirk and I stepped quickly across to him. I pulled his head up by his chin and kept it there while I held his eyes with mine, locked them in and poured a slightly larger dose of my Power across the short distance between us. I didn’t say a word and would not release him, I wouldn’t let him blink or look away, until the lad was shivering from head to foot and likely to collapse at my feet. Then I let him go. He staggered back a couple of steps and looked up with fear, almost in tears.

  “I repeat, and for the last time I hope, this is God’s House. Treat it and Him with respect. Do you understand?” The three of them nodded nervously and then made for the door. “What about a penance?” I called after them, but they neither paused nor looked back.

  I returned to my place in the shadows and tried to resume my quiet prayer, but it was no good, the mood had gone and the noise from outside overwhelmed me. I was angry at the three boys but also at myself. Once again, when faced with a problem I had resorted to my old skills. It as lazy and, in the present Roman company, potentially incendiary.

  I couldn’t concentrate so I took a deep breath to steady myself and offered a heartfelt prayer of apology. Then I left the chapel, intending to walk a while outside the walls of the monastery. As I made my way, head down and fighting my temper, I was accosted by a shout.

  “Hold up, there!” a priest of about my own age, dressed in the Roman style and with the short hair they sported around their crown tonsures, was approaching at a swift walk. “Hold, one moment,” he panted as he came up. “I would like a word with you.”

  “How can I help you?”

  “You offered violence to three of my novices, and in the chapel of all places! How dare you do such a thing?” I took a deep breath before answering.

  “To offer violence” I said, “or even the threat of violence is a serious thing at any time. To do so in God’s House is heinous.” The priest nodded vigorously and opened his mouth to speak. “To lie about one’s behaviour and seek to place blame where it is not due is a sin as well.” I made to move on but the priest put a restraining hand on my arm.

  “One moment. I haven’t finished with you yet.” His tone of superiority set my teeth on edge. “You have accused these young men of lying: I will have you know that they are well-born, noble children of noble Saxon families. Your accusation is serious.” A crowd was gathering to witness the confrontation.

  “If what you have said is true, then it is not an accusation. It is a statement of fact. I offered no violence to those boys. With what would I have done so? I carry no weapon. The offence is theirs. They came into a house of prayer like a rabble. I quietened them. They left. There was no violence, nor any threat of it, from either side. I will leave you to deal with them as your customs dictate.” I made to go but again the priest restrained me, with a tighter grip.

  “No sir, we will get to the bottom of this. I will not have my novices threatened by - by - “

  “A primitive northern savage?” I offered quietly, and let the question hang in the air for a moment. The expression on the priest’s face told me I had hit the mark and a murmur went around the spectators. The priest seemed suddenly to remember that he was in the savage, primitive north, surrounded by its inhabitants. “I repeat, there was no violence offered on either side, neither from me nor from your boys. I suggest we leave it at that but if you insist on confrontation, then it would be better away from the crowd.” I looked around at the audience and saw my accusers towards the edge of the growing audience. Some of their cockiness had returned, to judge from their smirking faces.

  “I think here is as good a place as any to demonstrate the baseness of your accusation, here, in the open, where you accused these fine young men of being liars in front of witnesses.” He looked around and spotted his charges himself. “You three! Come on over here!” the boys looked startled and made no move to comply. “Come on, come on! Come over here now!” he repeated with impatience. Another Roman priest close by spoke a quiet word with the trio and they started to make their petulant way towards their superior and the monk, the crowd parting to allow passage.

  “Now then, Aeldwin,” he addr
essed the one I’d faced down, “this - er - er -”

  “Monk?” Another voice offered, helpfully. All eyes turned to see who had spoken. Wilfrid had joined the crowd and stood there, arms folded, observing the proceedings with a stern face. “Pray continue, brother. I know this man and I know his reputation. Carry on.” The priest made a courteous bow and continued, with a confident smile.

  “This, er, monk says that he offered you no violence. He claims that he merely rebuked you for misbehaviour. He says you are a liar. Repeat what you told me.” I listened with polite interest and then turned with an expression of expectation to Aeldwin. The novice could not return my look. He gazed at the ground and was silent.

  “Come on, Aeldwin, tell us all what happened. Tell me again, in front of these witnesses, what this so-called monk did to you!” The boy looked at the ground.

  “Yes, Aeldwin. Tell us,” I said quietly. “Look me in the eye and tell me that I offered you violence in God’s house. Look at me.” My voice was quiet, but I spoke with a voice of real authority. “Look at me and accuse me. Dare you meet my eye and say that I threatened you?” The boy dragged his face up from regarding the dirt, slowly and unwillingly.

  “I -” he started, in a strangled voice, but he dared not look into my face again and he turned and ran back to the monastery buildings. His two companions wavered, but stayed.

  “Aeldwin? Aeldwin! Aeldwin! Come back here!” called the priest, and made to go after him. He was halted by a sharp command.

  “Wait!” said Wilfrid. He came and asked me what had happened. I explained briefly and quietly.

  “The three of them came into the chapel like arrogant princelings on a day out. I rebuked them and told them to have more respect, for God’s House and for our Sabbath.” Wilfrid nodded and turned to address the priest.