by C. B. Hanley
‘Happy …’ Edwin couldn’t even start to comprehend what that might mean.
Brother Helias raised a finger. ‘But.’
‘But what?’
He had a thoughtful expression on his face. ‘The Lord grant that the words come out in the way that I intend them. But – when you are making your choices, you need to remember to be running towards something, not just away from something else.’
‘I … I don’t think I understand what you mean.’
‘Do not choose to enter the Order only because you wish to get away from your position in the lord earl’s household. The life here can be hard – the lack of sleep, the restricted diet, the obedience, the labour – and it is not to be undertaken lightly. Do not join us because you think you have nothing else. Join us only if you want to join. Ask yourself in your heart, do you want to live here, within these walls, for the rest of your life? Do you want to spend a large part of each day in prayer? Do you want to study and learn? Then, and only then, will you know where your path lies.’
Edwin stared ahead without speaking, and after a few moments Brother Helias stood and went quietly about his duties. Edwin watched him without seeing as he let all the thoughts in his mind crash against each other and fight their way through to the front. He closed his eyes, but that just made him feel as though he was falling from a high place. Better to stare straight ahead.
It was some while later when he stood. He brushed the front of his tunic down with his hands, ran his fingers through his hair to try and neaten it, and wiped his sleeve on his face. He took a deep breath. ‘Brother, do you think it would be possible to speak with the lord abbot? I have made a decision.’
Martin hummed to himself as he brushed the courser’s coat until it shone. It was all over, they would be out of here by noon, and he could go back to where he belonged. His saddlebag was packed and lying in the corner, and he had already lugged over from the guesthouse the bag containing his mail hauberk. He hadn’t needed it in the end, although perhaps he should try to persuade Edwin to wear one in future.
He looked over the horse’s back to see Brother Guy approaching, so he waved and beckoned him over. He was still a little ashamed of his earlier behaviour, but he seemed to have been forgiven, and he had certainly appreciated the lay brother’s presence during the scene the previous day.
Brother Guy picked up a second brush and looked enquiringly from Martin to Edwin’s palfrey.
‘Please do, Brother. I’m just getting everything ready to leave. No doubt Edwin will be here soon.’
He watched as Brother Guy made swift, practised strokes and soothed the horse with calming sounds without actually speaking. Martin’s own stokes grew slower and then stopped. ‘Brother, may I ask you a question?’ He received a nod so he stepped round into the other stall. ‘How did you hit Brother … you know, him, so that he was knocked out straight away? He just went straight down after one punch and I’ve never seen that before.’
Brother Guy started to frown and shake his head so Martin rushed on. ‘I know, I know you’re a brother now and you don’t do that sort of thing, but it would be really useful for me to know, and it actually prevented more violence, didn’t it?’
A conflicted expression crossed Brother Guy’s face but eventually he nodded. He came to stand next to Martin, looked at the horse, pulled Martin out of the stall into the path through the stable where there was more space, then pointed to himself. He placed his left leg forward, right leg back, and then bounced a little to show he was loose. He indicated to Martin that he should do the same. The he started to bring his right arm back, low down, while twisting at the waist. Martin followed. Brother Guy gave him a considering look and then indicated that he was too tense. Martin tried to make his movements more free and Brother Guy nodded.
Next Brother Guy took up a position opposite Martin. He took Martin’s arm and clenched fist, then squeezed to show that he should now tighten it. Martin braced himself, feeling the muscles in his arm harden. Then his fist was pulled round and placed on an exact spot on Brother Guy’s face, on one side of the lower part of his jaw. Martin’s eyes locked with the other man’s even as his knuckles were pressed into his face.
‘I have to hit here? Exactly right here?’
Brother Guy nodded. He mimed his head snapping to one side away from the blow, and then rolled his eyes and made as if to fall backwards.
‘That will knock him out? If I make his head do that?’
Brother Guy nodded again. This time he took Martin’s fist again and pulled his arm until it had gone past his head.
‘What … oh, you mean I need to make sure I follow through? I don’t just stop once I’ve hit him?’
‘You also need to make sure you turn your hips a bit more.’
The voice had come from behind Martin and he turned in some embarrassment to see that Sir Philip had entered. The knight was carrying saddlebags which he dropped in another stall containing the bay Martin had seen previously, which now didn’t have any sign of a bandage.
Sir Philip came towards them. Martin was acutely aware that he still had his fist in Brother Guy’s face. ‘I’m setting off imminently. I didn’t get the chance to talk to you last night but I heard what happened.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘Heard about both of you.’ He bowed deeply to Brother Guy. ‘My lord.’
Brother Guy shook his head with a sad smile and indicated his robes.
‘I know, I know. But what a man is now does not erase what he has been.’ He looked up at Martin. ‘Or what he will be. You’ll make a fine knight one day – just make sure you never stop learning. May I?’ This last was addressed to Brother Guy, who inclined his head. ‘You’re doing your arm exactly right, but don’t stand there like a stone while you’re bringing it round. If you twist your hips while you’re doing it you’ll be able to put more force behind it.’
Martin tried it and could immediately feel the difference. He stepped back so they could both see him, and then made the exact sequence of moves they had outlined between them.
‘Yes, good,’ said Sir Philip, and Brother Guy nodded his approval once more.
The knight clapped them both on the back. ‘I might not know how to manage an estate, but I can still hit a man effectively. But now I must depart. Perhaps our paths will cross again.’
Martin watched him saddle the bay and lead it out of the stable before he turned to Brother Guy. ‘Do you think I’ll make a good knight?’
The lay brother thought carefully for so long that Martin started to feel the first fingers of worry. Then Brother Guy nodded. He took Martin’s right arm, held it up, and pointed to his sword. Martin understood. ‘I need to know how to use this.’ Brother Guy indicated agreement, and then pointed to his head, tapping his temple with one finger. ‘And I also need to use my head. Well, I’m not quite so good at that, but I’ll try. Sir Geoffrey is always saying that.’ Brother Guy nodded once more but then held his finger up to show he hadn’t finished. ‘Something else? What is it?’
Brother Guy pointed to his heart.
Martin bowed his head, and then knelt. ‘I will try, Brother, I really will. Please, will you bless me before I go?’ He felt a hand on his head and looked up to see Brother Guy’s lips moving silently in prayer. Then the hand was lifted and Brother Guy made the sign of the cross in the air over him before helping him to his feet. Then with one last pat on the shoulder he was gone, and Martin turned back to his horse.
He spent a long time at it – after all, he wanted them to look their best when they arrived back at Conisbrough in front of everyone – but eventually he found he had brushed, saddled and packed and there was still no sign of Edwin. Where in the Lord’s name was he? Were they leaving or not?
Edwin stood with his hands behind his back so the abbot would not see him twisting his fingers. He felt obscurely as though he had been summoned to answer for some misdemeanour, although it was he who had asked for the meeting and he hadn’t done anything wrong.
The abbot ca
me as near to smiling as Edwin had ever seen. He was seated, his long fingers intertwined as he rested his hands on the table. ‘You wished to speak to me, my son?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘On the subject of your decision on joining the Order.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘You have considered carefully?’
‘Yes, my lord. And this morning I spoke at some length with Brother Helias, which helped me to get a number of things straight in my mind.’
‘Yes?’
‘He helped me to see, my lord, that a life here would mean many things. It would mean peace and seclusion, it would mean work and prayer, and it would mean studying and learning, so I could have a greater understanding of God and the world.’
The abbot nodded. ‘Very well put. Brother Helias sees things very clearly. And are these things attractive to you?’
‘They are, my lord.’
‘I am glad to hear it. We can …’
‘But.’
The abbot, probably unused to being interrupted, looked up in surprise.
‘Pardon me, my lord, but there is more. The other thing Brother Helias made me realise was that, however much I might think I want that, it is not for me.’
To Edwin’s surprise, the abbot’s voice was understanding rather than angry. ‘Can you explain to me why that should be?’
‘I – I just – it’s difficult to put into words, my lord.’
‘Please, try. The Lord knows what is in your heart without the need for verbal expression, but I am not so fortunate. Please help me to understand.’
‘Well. To start with, I don’t feel that I have a great calling to be a monk. I know that perhaps others may join religious orders without such a vocation, but if I was going to dedicate my life to something, I would want to want it more. As it is, to use Brother Helias’s words, I would be running away from my old life, not running towards a new one.’ Edwin started to pace up and down, enumerating his points on his fingers. ‘I do want peace – more than anything. And I do want to work: I have no fear of that. But I’m not sure I could trust myself to be content if I didn’t think that I was suited to the work I was bidden to do. I realise that’s prideful of me, but I have to think of it. And I do want to study – I was overwhelmed by all the books you have here and the possibilities they contained – but who is to say that I wouldn’t begin to covet them, to want more, as did Br— you know who I mean. I would be doing it for my own purposes, not God’s. And then there is my duty.’
‘Your duty?’
‘To the earl, my lord. I will be honest and admit that I don’t particularly like some of the things he asks me to do, but I owe it to him.’ He looked at the abbot, but he could find no expression to help him work out what he was thinking. ‘If he hadn’t sent me here, for a task I didn’t really want to do, then I wouldn’t have had this opportunity in the first place, would I? Would it be fair to repay him for his trust in me by asking to leave his service? Or worse, staying here and cowering behind the walls while another tells him in my place?’
He stopped pacing. ‘And finally, there is my family. My mother is a widow with no other children, my lord, and what would she do without me? And …’
The abbot was looking at him in sympathy. ‘Peace, my son, peace. I have heard enough to know that our life here is not for you, and I will not press you further. But you should know that this is our loss, not yours. You are a good man, and perhaps without knowing it you have demonstrated adherence to some of our most important rules.’
‘I have?’
‘Many of them. For example, precept eight: to respect all men; eighteen: to come to the help of those in trouble; thirty-four: not to be proud. And forty-nine: to know for certain that God sees one everywhere. He will guide and protect you in the life you choose.’
‘I hope so, my lord.’
The abbot stood and came round the table to face Edwin. ‘You may not believe it, my son, but He will. Your fidelity to your lord and your devotion to your duty will have their reward.’
Edwin could feel the weight of sadness threatening to crush him. ‘Maybe in the afterlife, my lord, but good things don’t tend to happen to me in this one.’
Abbot Reginald put one hand on his shoulder. ‘Careful, Edwin. Despair is also a sin. Now, kneel and I will give you my blessing before you go.’
Edwin did as he was bid and tried to swallow back his tears as he listened to the words of the prayer. Then he kissed the ring on the abbot’s finger and stood.
‘Thank you, my lord.’
The abbot’s parting words followed him as he left the parlour. ‘Remember the final precept on our list and keep it with you, my son: never despair of God’s mercy.’
Martin was kicking his heels outside the stables when two white monks passed by. They stopped to incline their heads and he saw that they were Godfrey and Waldef, the twins. Martin didn’t know which one was Brother Godfrey who had come to Conisbrough, but whichever he was, he had lost the expression of pain he had once carried: they both looked content. Martin bowed to them, for without knowing it they had helped him to save Edwin’s life. One of them made the sign of the cross in the air and they moved on.
Another white monk approached, the one whose hair looked a bit like Edwin’s, though Martin couldn’t remember his name. ‘Benedicte, my son. Are you waiting for Edwin?’
‘Yes, Brother. Do you know where he’s got to?’
‘I spoke with him at some length this morning, and he has gone to see Father Abbot.’
‘Oh.’ Martin couldn’t think what that might be about, but he didn’t care as long as it was over quickly. ‘Do you know how long he will be?’
‘I’m afraid not. You are welcome to sit in my office while you wait, or you could go back to the guesthouse …?’
‘Thank you, but I’ll wait here. I’m sure he won’t be long.’
The monk looked as though he was going to say something else, but instead he inclined his head politely and moved on.
Martin had a sudden thought. ‘Wait!’ The monk stopped. ‘Do you happen to know if Benedict – you know, the novice – is still in the infirmary?’
‘I think that he is, yes.’
‘Thank you.’ Martin watched the monk walk away. It would mean braving the temper of the infirmarer again, but he should probably say goodbye to Benedict before he left, and it was better than hanging around.
When Martin arrived at the infirmary building he found that the door was already open, letting in some air and light to those inside. He peered round. Brother Durand was bending over one of the beds, spooning something into the mouth of one of the aged monks, and Martin thought he might get away with it. But of course as soon as he stepped inside the doorway he cast a shadow and the infirmarer looked up and saw him straight away. His lips set in a thin line.
Martin didn’t want to be prevented from entering, but he didn’t want a scene either. And then, bizarrely, he remembered something the old hermit woman in the woods had said, and it gave him an idea. Looking straight at the infirmarer, he deliberately unbuckled his sword belt, removed it, wrapped the belt around the sword in its scabbard, and placed the whole lot on the ground outside the building. Then he took a deep breath and walked in.
Brother Durand stood and walked towards him until they were face-to-face. Martin felt again the unusual sensation of looking at someone who almost matched him in height, and they stood for a moment in silence.
It was the infirmarer who spoke first. ‘Thank you.’
Martin nodded. ‘When men with swords come calling …’ He saw the surprised look on the monk’s face. ‘Someone said that to me recently. And I thought about all the things you’ve said to me since I’ve been here and I wondered if maybe it wasn’t me, it was the sword?’
Brother Durand nodded slowly. ‘I think you may be right.’
‘What happened?’
‘It was a long time ago.’
‘But something happened?’
‘Yes. There were wars throughout my youth. The old King Henry against his sons, then his sons among each other, and then Count John against his brother, or in his brother’s absence. Men from both sides would ride across the countryside, stealing and destroying. My own family was safe behind our walls, but more than once I woke to see smoking ruins and had to ride through villages of the destitute and dead. I had played with some of those boys when we were children, and what had they and their mothers done to deserve death? Nothing.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m sure you are, but if your lord ordered you to do the same then you would, wouldn’t you?’
Martin didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.
Brother Durand held up his hand. ‘But I should not judge you for actions you have not yet committed and may never commit. Instead I should treat you with respect as I would any man – and thank you for the help you have given me and the brethren while you have been here.’
‘You’re welcome, Brother.’ Martin looked at the empty bed, still in the corner, where Brother Octavian had been brought after the scene in the parlour. ‘But I can’t help thinking that you’re all a bit too lenient. He killed two men – two monks – and yet he won’t face a trial? He won’t hang?’
Brother Durand was shaking his head. ‘I don’t think you quite understand what will happen to him, how he will spend the rest of his life. If you did, I think you would see it as a far harsher punishment than death.’
Martin had no idea what he was talking about, but the last thing he wanted right now was to get into an argument with Brother Durand just after they had apparently made peace.
The infirmarer resumed his normal brisk tone. ‘Now, did you come to see me in particular?’
‘I wondered if I might be allowed to speak with Benedict before I go. Please.’
‘That will be fine as long as you do not disturb the others. He’s there.’
Martin followed the direction of the pointing finger and spotted Benedict a few beds further up the room. ‘Thank you.’
Benedict was awake and struggled up into a sitting position when he saw he had a visitor. Martin shoved a pillow behind his back.