“Besides,” William interrupted him, “it’s presumably not you who will be paying for this wedding? John? Whatever of your comestibles may be sequestered for the feast, Sir Cecil will surely make good? Cormac is keeping careful tally? Reassure me!”
“Oh, aye.” John waved his hand vaguely. “We’ll keep account. We’ll get it back, I’ve no doubt. And if we didn’t it wouldn’t be the end of the world.”
William shook his head at this casual attitude, then addressed the hesitancy he had detected in John’s tone. “But?” He looked at the abbot enquiringly. “What’s the ‘but’? I can hear it in your voice.”
“Oh – it’s a question of finding enough hands for all the preparations. Brother Conradus is a wonder, and we have the lads from the village helping in the kitchen, as well as Brother Damian when he can be spared from the school – I moved him there from the infirmary, and he’s doing well. But every man here has his work to do, and I can’t see how we can release many of them for cooking. Besides which, even if we did, the sort of delicacies Brother Conradus has in mind will be beyond the abilities of Thaddeus or Germanus or Richard, even supposing they had time on their hands. Brother Conradus looks worried – which isn’t like him; he’s usually equal to anything culinary we ask of him. I’m not sure just exactly what we’re going to do. I thought of asking Madeleine to come and help, but I know how it is; you have fowls and beasts of your own, and soft fruit coming on. I don’t see how your place could do without the both of you.”
William frowned thoughtfully, turning the matter over in his mind. John was right. Their homestead could not possibly be left unattended.
A knock interrupted them. Brother Tom set down the tray of food he’d just brought in, and turned back to answer the cloister door.
“Ah! Brother Conradus!” The abbot half rose from his chair. “Come in – we were just talking about making ready for the wedding. William is here, as you see – come to give Brother Cormac a hand in the checker, juggling the bishop’s visit with Hannah’s marriage. I was only explaining this minute that though we have the provisions we’re woefully shorthanded. Have you a moment to tell him something of what you propose? Is it all carried about in your head or written down somewhere? I have the lists you gave me along with all the others here, if your memory needs a jog.”
William formed an impression of something in full sail as the young kitchener approached them. A few months of overseeing the abbey’s culinary provision had impressively augmented his girth. But more than this, the kindness, the enthusiasm in his smiling face billowed about him and shone ahead of him, like gulls and bright sunshine around a small ship making good headway on a fair, breezy day.
“Father William!” he exclaimed. “Good morrow! Ah, how splendid to see you!”
In the last hour William thought he’d been met by a more loving and magnificently hospitable welcome than in all of his life before. He noted the sense of happiness cautiously establishing in his core.
Brother Conradus began eagerly to outline the complexities and challenges of preparing his feast, while simultaneously keeping the brethren and their steep accumulation of overnight guests well fed. His exact and detailed knowledge of every morsel they had in store and on order became impressively clear as he talked. He knew the capacity of their milk cows and the laying averages of their hens. He knew how much of what they had could be used and how much should be kept back to see the community onward. He had calculated their likely harvest produce (if they were spared deluging rain this time, but also if they were not), and assessed how low they could therefore run down what they had put by. William listened to him with evident approval, pleased to see the ambitious project ahead in such competent hands, as Conradus waved the list about, not needing to consult it to explain its many implications.
“It’s a joy – it’s all a joy, of course,” said the kitchener. “I’m tremendously looking forward to it. I’m just not quite sure how… well… there’s only one of me and nobody else quite up to – at least, of course… umm… The subtleties are what I’m really worried about.”
William nodded thoughtfully. He could see that.
“There must be three at least, possibly four if we have soup as well.”
“Four what?” John frowned, puzzled.
“Four subtleties.” Conradus looked at his abbot in helpful clarification, but quickly saw he’d drawn a blank. “There has to be a subtlety after every course,” he explained.
William grinned at John’s complete incomprehension. Raised by a wise-woman herbalist on the outskirts of a hamlet high in the hills at Motherwell, exchanging the moors and the woodland streams for a life of work and prayer in St Alcuin’s infirmary, John hadn’t even a nodding acquaintance with lavish and elaborate formal feasts.
“Oh!” The young monk flushed, perceiving his abbot to be at a loss and ashamed at having set his superior at a disadvantage. “Forgive me, Father – I should have expressed myself more clearly. So thoughtless. I was all trammelled with my own cares and preoccupations – like St Martha – I’m so sorry. I’ve been too wrapped up in myself.”
“Not to worry,” said his abbot. “So… ?”
“Oh! Well, a subtlety is the fantastical centrepiece that crowns each course. Something in pastry usually – though I’d thought I could make a dragon out of artfully arranged shortbreads, with a marzipan head and maybe spun sugar wings, for the sweet course.” Conradus gesticulated excitedly as he spoke, then caught himself. He paused in recollection of appropriate humility. “That is – if I may have permission to get the sugar, of course. If the expense is not too great. Lady Florence said I shouldn’t cut corners, and I thought… well, a dragon would be easy.
“But the others should speak something of the occasion – a representation of the bride and the groom – but also of the holy solemnity. I ought to attempt a Holy Trinity in pastry, or a gingerbread monastery with gilded crenellations perhaps. I thought I could make a whole community and a bride and groom in bread dough, and a chalice and paten on an altar, egg-washed to make them shine. I haven’t really finished thinking it through, to be honest; because every time I hit the obstacle of shortage of time. I know the obstacle is the path, Father, and we should make light of adversity under every circumstance, and I do my best, truly. But even with the right attitude, time is pressing.”
Abbot John listened to him, trying to keep from his expression any trace of the incredulity he privately felt. “Subtlety” seemed the right word; and irrelevance, superfluity, inanity or extravagance would have done right well as an alternative. However he could have got his community mixed up in all this, with the bishop’s Visitation looming on the horizon, he could hardly begin to imagine.
Then, “Why don’t we send for your mother?” asked William. “She is but twenty miles away, is she not? Would she come? If someone rides today, we could have her back here in three days.”
The young man stopped short, his gaze arrested at William, his mouth dropped slightly ajar, his eyes shining. “What a wonderful, brilliant idea!” he exclaimed. “Oh, I wonder if she could.”
John now found himself fixed by the enquiring gaze of two pairs of eyes: one cool, amused, the colour of the sea, one brown and shining as new conkers.
“For sure,” he said. “That should get us out of a hole. Write her a note and some directions to your family’s home. I’ll send Father Chad.”
“Shall I go and tell him?” offered Brother Tom; and within the hour the matter was settled. Armed with a letter from Conradus, with a postscript from the abbot and closed with his seal, and a carefully drawn map of where to find the homestead, Father Chad saddled up and set off in search of Brother Conradus’s mother. She had by this time become established as a legend at St Alcuin’s, so much had they heard from Conradus of her guiding wisdom and gentle counsel. If Brother Conradus’s mother was on her way, things would be all right.
“William, that was an excellent suggestion. Remind me of her name, Brother,” said Abb
ot John.
“Rose.” Conradus spoke softly, his voice full of affection and pride. “My mother is called Rose.”
His abbot smiled. “A lovely name,” he said. “Like a summer’s day. I look forward to meeting her.” For a moment the thoughts conjured up by her name distracted him. Fragrant blossom. Blue skies. Honey bees. Warm afternoons drifting gently into the peace of evening. A world away from endless administration and the management of difficult people. Rose. So pretty.
“Ah,” said Conradus, earnest and happy, “you will love her, Father John. You will absolutely love her. Everyone loves my mother. She has the gift.”
Looking at Brother Conradus, John thought that was probably true. Certainly she’d done a good job raising her son, he thought, as he watched that young man heading back to the kitchen fifteen minutes later, excited and happy at the prospect of his mother – so dearly beloved – being on hand to help him.
But for now the abbot had to put his mind to Lady Florence Bonvallet. “Will you join us, William?” he asked. “I know you have matters in hand with Brother Cormac; but I’d like you to meet her. How can we work that, I wonder?”
William shrugged. “Tell her you’ve engaged me as the steward for the feast.”
“Oh – yes, that would suffice. She will be coming to see me later on this morning. Can I send to the checker for you, when she arrives?”
“You may indeed. But will you show me your own inventories before I go, so I have clear in my mind what’s expected specifically for the wedding?” He reached out for the sheaf of lists John passed him across the table. “Thank you,” he said, scanning the contents with interest. Without pausing in his perusal he added, “And tell me a bit about the bishop’s visit before I get going. I can listen and read at the same time. He is coming when?”
“He’s due in four days’ time, and – God willing – his stay will in no way overlap with the Bonvallet wedding. He should take maybe three days to look over everything and ask anything he wishes. Then on his way, and we’re done for another year, with a week in hand to get everything ready for the wedding.”
“Bishop Eric, isn’t it? I know him well enough, of course, but how do you find him as a Visitor? Picky, I should imagine, and demanding. Not easy.”
The abbot shifted uneasily in his chair. He did not like Bishop Eric, but to say so would be disloyal and arrogant. He hesitated.
“Oh dear,” said William, without looking up.
“No, no! All will be well, I have no doubt. He… Bishop Eric – well, you know him – he has very traditional views. He can be insistent on points of church law – likes to make sure we follow to a nicety all that the Rule lays upon us; as so we should. He… well, he can seem inflexible at times, but… on the other hand, it’s always possible to jolly him up with something tasty to eat, because he does like his food. He can be searching in his enquiries about our fiscal arrangements.”
“In what sense?” William glanced up momentarily. “You mean he’ll be sniffing around to see if there’s any money to be had? Yes? Ah, then in heaven’s name do yourself a favour, John, and brush across the tracks of Ellen Cottingham’s massive legacy. You had an elderly widow leave some money to the abbey, but times are hard; you had big losses – a ship lost at sea, harvests failing year after year in the rains. It’s cost you dear, you’ve about scraped through, but –”
John interrupted him, laughing. “I get the picture! Yes, surely, I’ll do what I can.”
William nodded, satisfied, laying down the inventory of pewter-ware and spoons on his pile of checked lists, as he looked at Brother Thaddeus’s rough jottings from the pottery, indicating what would go into the next firing. It was hard to decipher this. Some of the numbers were back to front, he wrote every “d” as a “b”, and much of what he’d set down had been obscured by spatters and smears of clay slip. William peered at it, adjusting the angle he held it to catch the light.
“And his staff? Who’s he got for his equerry – that’s who will be his main go-between with Brother Cormac. Anyone I know?”
Abbot John picked up his stylus and tablet from the tabletop in front of him, and fiddled with them. “Brainard LePrique,” he said. At that, William raised his eyes from the stack of parchments.
“What? Who did you say? Brainard LePrique?”
The abbot refused to be drawn by his incredulous grin. He said only, “I think it sounds better with a French accent.”
“Oh! I beg his pardon! Brrrain-arrrr? Is that better?”
John would not rise to this. “They did not elect me abbot to mock my guests,” he said simply. William just looked at him. Thirty years in a monastery had taught him the habit of saying everything while saying nothing. “Well? Do you know him?” John asked.
“No, mon Père. I have never had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of Brainard LePrique. But I certainly know Bishop Eric. Self-righteous, cruel, greedy, unforgiving, and does not like me one tiny little bit.”
“It would seem that’s mutual,” said John. “You do have a remarkable gift for making friends.”
William shrugged. “It’s been said. But not by many.” He flicked the parchment in his left hand with the fingers of his right. “Well, this lot’s looking… terrifying. I see why you sent for me. Who’s been helping Brother Cormac in the checker up until now? By my soul, these nuptials are going to rack up a prodigious bill.” He began to tot up Brother Conradus’s careful itemization. “It comes to…”
“It seemed to me,” said the abbot, “that the man best placed to understand what Cormac needs to know is Father Chad. He’s so long been our prior. Francis is new in that obedience; he’s having to learn as fast as Cormac is. So I asked Chad to advise him a bit.”
William didn’t look up. “Oh, yes – Father Chad,” he murmured, running his finger down the column of figures, calculating as he went: “taking mediocrity to the next level. What would you do without him?”
He continued to peruse the document until he was no longer able to ignore John’s silence. He let his hand rest on the parchment, quite still, and raised his eyes from the tidy lines of figures.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “That wasn’t kind, was it? To sneer at a man who is doing the best he can. Of your charity, will you overlook that? It reflects badly on me, not on him. This is why I have my gift for making friends you mentioned. I’m sorry, John. Anyway –” He got to his feet. “This all makes sense and I have it in mind now. If that’s everything for the moment, I’ll head on over to the checker; see if your cellarer has the same tight grasp on all the goings-on as your kitchener.” He paused. “Am I forgiven?”
“For your caustic and merciless contempt of your fellow man? Yes, I should think so.”
“Thank you.” William offered the abbot a small ceremonial bow.
As the door closed behind him, Abbot John wondered if perhaps he had worried unnecessarily about the days ahead. With such competent, able men under his roof, maybe everything would roll smoothly. In three weeks’ time he might be looking back wondering why he’d felt so apprehensive. He said as much to Brother Tom. “And it’s good to see William again,” he added. “He brings a certain something that no one else does!”
“Oh, yes,” said Tom. “Makes my heart glad to see that familiar scowl about the place again – finding fault with everything and keeping us all on our toes.”
* * *
Pleased to find Brother Cormac alone in the checker, William asked to see the ledgers, any orders or unpaid bills, along with any lists from the guesthouse to help get a grip on numbers and timing for the hospitality required of them in the next few weeks.
“It’s not only the details you have to get right,” he commented, looking swiftly – but thoroughly – through the stack of parchments Cormac thumped onto the table in front of him: “it’s the principles. Attitudes of mind. Anticipation – you have to see what’s coming before it gets here. This isn’t Cana in Galilee. We’ll have to be sure we do actually have enough
wine in the cellar. Flexibility – you must be ready to move men, money, stores to cover whatever’s needed, plug gaps. To do that, to respond quickly and appropriately, keep everything running smoothly, you have to know exactly what’s available to you. What’s in store, what’s coming in, where to put it all with everything accessible and in the right order, oldest stuff closest to hand. And of course you have to bear in mind any regular outgoings that may alter what you can count on. It has to be all there in your imagination, like a landscape continually before your inner eye, everything charted and repeatedly checked.”
Intent on his explanation, simultaneously examining the stacks of reminders, lists, notes and bills, he glanced quickly at Cormac for his response, then relaxed into a grin.
“I’ll help you,” he reassured him. “It’s mostly about application and familiarity. You have to know it and care about it. It’s the body of the abbey, this obedience. The abbot looks after its soul and the prior should be its mind – noticing, remembering – but you care for its body. Just as if you have a horse, you must make sure it’s not too hot or cold, has been fed enough of the right things at the right time but not too much, that it’s exercised, groomed, has somewhere to shelter, is properly shod, dosed when need be, mucked out. The list is long, true enough, but second nature for anyone who knows horses. This abbey is the same, like a living thing you’re caring for. There’s nothing static about it, it’s dynamic, nothing ever stays the same for two hours together. You have to be paying attention and alert to the consequences implicit in every change.”
Cormac looked overwhelmed.
“This is the importance of meticulous record-keeping and faithful checking. It’s not easy, but it isn’t hard either, if you see what I mean. It just has to be done.”
Both men looked up as a shadow in the doorway heralded the approach of a stranger. The checker stood alone in the abbey court, between the gatehouse and the west range of the main buildings. The door stood open when warm weather permitted, and after the porter’s lodge and the guesthouse, this was where any visitors at a loss or with an enquiry often called. All tradesmen brought their bills of work and were paid off here. The two men took in the twinkling eyes and curving lips, the expensively attired figure, of a man neither of them recognized.
The Beautiful Thread Page 2