Valley of Dry Bones (5 page)

Chapter Nine

Brother Thomas reached up to lift the cloth-covered, woven basket off the hook above the door of his hut, then bent to retrieve the pottery jug of fresh ale. This daily offering of food and drink was meant to be anonymous. It might have been, had the gift been left by an adult more skilled in deception. When he saw little Nute disappear down the road, he knew the donor was Signy from the inn.

The woman’s charity had never surprised him, for he had gotten to know her best at the time Martin the Cooper was poisoned. Her gifts of sustenance after Thomas entered this hut as a hermit were indicative of her frequent small graces. Many who suffered as she had turned inward and bitter. She had softened with kindness. Although he was thankful for her benevolence, he was more grateful she had found peace. He had grown fond of the new innkeeper.

Pushing open the door, Thomas stepped inside.

The hut was tiny, but it pleased him. Ivetta the Whore had lived here until her death during the last summer season. When he begged permission to spend some time in solitude, hoping to earn God’s guidance in dealing with his own tormenting sins, he decided her former lodging would be most appropriate. That no one understood his choice mattered little to him. He knew the reason, and he was content to let others come to whatever conclusions they wished.

On first arrival here, he saw that the roof had collapsed and tall weeds were taking firm hold in the ground between the slanting walls. The hut had never been well-built, and he was grateful. Each morning he awoke, rejoicing in the prospect of strengthening the walls, restoring the roof, building a small altar, and finally crafting the rough bench and table where he ate.

In the spring, he had planted a small garden just outside his door. Some of the vegetables he ate himself. Most he gave to the needy. And to honor the desert fathers, whom he was determined to emulate for now, he had let his hair and beard grow wild. The sight of him did frighten young Nute. That was his only regret.

Thomas was unsure what this time alone had accomplished. He was not a man suited to long silence or the rejection of human companionship. Despite the Church’s belief that there was much virtue in such a life, he dared to question the idea, his soul being a most contrary thing. Yet he was so wretched that he was willing to try almost anything once lest he miss what God wanted to teach him.

He had not been left completely alone, although he discouraged local visitors and sent the poor travelers he was obliged to shelter on their way as soon as was meet. Brother John came often to hear his confessions, and Thomas also urged him to return to the priory as quickly as courtesy and kindness allowed. The novice master might be compassionate, but Thomas hesitated to confess his specific agonies to him, as he had to other priests. No matter how dark Brother John believed his own sins to be, Thomas knew him to be a good man who suffered simpler lusts.

Only God could heal Thomas, and he was waiting for Him to explain why the act of sodomy was a grave sin while lying in arms of another man filled him with such peace and so much love. Although God might not have graced him with an answer, he believed He had not minded the question and would respond in time. Patience was a virtue the monk was trying to learn.

As he sat down on the bench and stared at the crude cross hung from a slim rafter over the altar, he could not suppress the bitterness that too often assaulted his heart. Squeezing his eyes shut, he put all his strength into fighting back. “Get thee behind me, Satan,” he growled. “I know I am a flawed creature. Go trouble those who deem themselves otherwise.”

The heavy darkness inched back, leaving Thomas exhausted from the struggle. Bending forward, he rested his head in his hands and wept.

When his sobs ended and Thomas sat up, questions began buzzing in his head like bees outside a hive. Was a hermit’s life no longer the path he should be traveling? If not, what was he supposed to do next? Abandon this place, return to the priory, and again take up his work at the hospital?

At least that work had often given him solace, he thought. And he was growing ever more uneasy when others looked on him as some holy creature because he was a hermit. He shuddered. For a sinner to be called a saint was surely a travesty of all that was holy.

And why had Ralf chosen this day to visit? Perhaps the decision to do so had meant something. When Thomas took residence here, the crowner avoided him. A few months ago, Thomas might have even turned Ralf away. Today his old friend arrived at his hut, despite fearing that the monk would not welcome the sight of him, and Thomas had been filled with delight when he saw the crowner in the doorway. Walking down to the pond for a swim, they had talked together much as they were wont to do in the past.

Something had changed. God might be pointing out some new path for him to take. When next Brother John came to see him, Thomas would seek his advice in the matter. Signs from God were things with which the novice master had had much experience, and Thomas could ask his counsel without misgivings.

He had been musing too long and had not knelt to honor God since rising at dawn. “As penance, I shall delay my one meal until after the next Office.” It was a small denial but would do until he decided on a worthier deed to offer in return for his negligence.

Lowering himself to the hard earth in front of the altar, he prepared to approach God with total humility. He pressed his cheek against the dirt, closed his eyes and ears to the world, and fell silent in reverent and hopeful anticipation.

A chill instantly filled him and he shivered, trying not to let rising fear suggest the meaning of this. Do not be anxious, he told himself, and then cautiously opened one eye.

A dark shadow extended over him, flowing from the doorway. He prayed that a cloud had only veiled the sun.

“I did not wish to interrupt your prayers, Brother.”

Leaping to his feet, Thomas stared at the dark-robed figure standing in the entrance.

Father Eliduc gestured toward the bench inside. “May I?”

“Would I ever refuse you,” the monk replied. “Please sit down. I confess I have neither good wine to offer as refreshment nor fine chalices from which to drink.” His voice trembled, cravenly betraying his pounding heart.

Lightly running his fingertips over the rough boards of the bench, the priest replied with a modest upturn of his thin lips. “Out of respect for this hermitage, I shall stand.”

Thomas walked to the table and uncovered the basket from the inn. He pulled out a loaf of bread and a sweating cheese with high odor. “There is this gift from the local inn.”

Eliduc stared at the presented objects in the monk’s hands before replying, “I am fasting.”

It was rare that Thomas was able to discomfit this man and so he felt some joy. The pleasure was fleeting. He knew this visit did not bode well.

“Come, Brother, do not look so bleak. Is the sun not warm? Do the birds not sing with delight? Are you not free—to worship God in this hermitage?”

How cleverly this man reminds me of my past, the monk thought as the melancholy he had chased to the borders of his soul came thundering back with the force of destriers charging into battle. Shall I ever be free of him? Begrudgingly, he acknowledged he did owe Father Eliduc gratitude. It was this priest, and whomever he served, that had plucked Thomas from prison and kept him from rotting like the corpse of some rat.

“What a profound sigh! Oh, fear not, Brother. I have not come to wrest you from this tiny hut and drag you into the world.” He fell silent, studying the monk for a moment that seems endless. “Dare you claim that I have ever summoned you when God’s purpose did not demand it?” The priest’s smile was as thin as the edge of a knife.

Thomas refused to reply.

Walking over to the simple altar, the priest studied the roughly made cross. It was constructed of two unevenly carved pieces of wood, bound together by rope. He inclined his head as if considering the workmanship and whether it suited its holy purpose.

Outside, a cart rumbled by, the wheels squeaking. Laughter from the men accompanying it balanced the heavy stillness between the two men in the hut.

“Why are you here?” Thomas shattered the hush first, conceding victory to the priest’s stronger will.

Eliduc folded his hands into the sleeves of his soft robe and turned. “Queen Eleanor is planning a pilgrimage. Since she may stay at Tyndal, it is my duty to make sure the priory is prepared to uplift her spirit in godly ways and as she most ardently desires.”

“Does our prioress know you are here?”

“Before the bells rang for the last Office, she and Prior Andrew greeted the entire party from court, of which I am but one humble member. Contrary to your suspicions, I did not fly over the priory walls, dropping venom from my jaws to poison the local wells, and land outside your hermitage.”

Thomas dropped his gaze.

The priest glided closer until his body almost brushed against the monk. “You have grown rebellious, Thomas. Have you forgotten how you lay in a bed of your own excrement and were raped like some enemy woman?”

The monk covered his face and groaned.

Eliduc’s breath was now hot on Thomas’ cheek. “Do you not owe much for your freedom?”

“Shall that debt never be paid?” Thomas whispered. “If you think such servitude is freedom…”

“Would you have preferred to die with the weight of your vile sins dragging your soul down to Hell?”

“You lied to me! You swore I would burn at the stake for one act of sodomy, and I know of no man who has.”

Eliduc stepped back, his eyes widening with surprise. “Lie? I think not, Brother. I presaged the truth. The year I offered you a path to atonement, many were proclaiming the day would come when sodomites would feel Hell’s fire in their flesh before their souls were eternally damned. Sodomy is not merely a sin of the body, Thomas. It is a sign of heresy. Be grateful I gave you acts of cleansing penance before it was too late. It will not be long before the Church proclaims harsher measures against sodomites and all others who dare blaspheme against the only true faith. You would be wise to believe me when I say that King Edward agrees with this most heartily.”

“You forget that my father…”

Raising his hand for silence, Eliduc continued. “Be advised, my son, to reflect with care on what I have told you. Before you point to any lineage or argue my conclusions, remember that you are a bastard and your father is now dead. Should the Church find you guilty of heretical sodomy, there is no man who would try to save you from burning. To do so would suggest his own soul was tainted. This warning is meant as a kindness, although you may not understand that now.”

Thomas felt the world spin and he grabbed the edge of the table. Regaining his balance, his reason told him he should beg this man’s forgiveness while his heart remained incapable of it.

“Let us make peace,” Eliduc said. “Do we not both serve God?”

Do we? Thomas doubted it, and all he could do was nod agreement. He lacked both strength and words to dispute further.

Seeing the monk had conceded defeat, Eliduc stepped back. “As I said, Brother, I did not come to take you away from this place.” His voice grew soft as if granting some mercy.

“You wish something of me. Am I also wrong in concluding that you would not have come if you had no demand?” Again Thomas’ voice trembled, and he was humiliated by such a betrayal of his weakness.

Eliduc clapped his hands once. “How perceptive!”

Thomas bit his lip hard at the mockery and tasted sour hate in his blood.

“You have indeed caught me out.”

“Tell me what I must now do?” the monk hissed.

Father Eliduc shook his head and turned toward the door. After a brief hesitation, he looked back over his shoulder and gazed at the man he owned. “Methinks I need not even tell you. With your wondrous powers of reason and logic, you shall discover it yourself.”

Then the man in black walked through the doorway and let the sun’s warmth slip back inside.

Chapter Ten

Brother Beorn stood in awe.

The orange sun slipped toward the horizon, conceding all power to the night. Streaks of clouds, once vermillion tinged with gold, darkened. Birdsong grew hushed. Only the whine of biting things remained undiminished.

This daily surrender of God’s light to the darkness of Satan’s hours never ceased to amaze Brother Beorn. Had he been a man of less ardent faith, he might have questioned why this happened. Instead he accepted years ago that the message lay more in the recovery of light at dawn than any relinquishment of it at night. He often stopped to watch the event with both wonderment and reverence, and as he did each time, bowed his head with a briefly uttered prayer.

Had he pondered more on God’s creations, he might have found many other contradictions to consider. Deciding the Church and its leaders were surely wiser than he, the lay brother had chosen to reject such diversions. For this reason, he was surprised to realize that, on the matter of the queen’s party, he remained of two minds.

On one hand, he was delighted that King Edward’s wife wished to show humble gratitude to God for the safe return from Outremer. A pilgrimage was unquestionably fitting, but he did not approve of the new guest quarters, however austere, because they were solely for the comfort of those serving secular lords.

Surely the priory could have found better use for what it had cost to build them. He could think of several other ways to honor the greater glory of God with extra coin, from thicker blankets for the dying to a bigger cross on the hospital chapel altar.

This quandary troubled him. He knew he must respect and accept any decision made by Prioress Eleanor, and he did so willingly most of the time. In this matter, he had little tolerance for secular foibles. No matter how many times he bid it be silent, his insubordinate spirit argued that Tyndal Priory would always be better served by a fine chalice to brighten worship than soft beds for the ease of wealthy bones, even queenly ones.

As he rounded the stables, he stopped to enjoy the snickering of contented horses. He was a countryman and four-legged creatures were dear to him. Although he knew they did not have souls, he had often to confess his lingering suspicion that many of them were more prefect creations than those allegedly made in His image. Never had he heard a cow blaspheme nor a sheep proclaim heresy. Goats, on the other hand, reeked of lust. He had doubts about goats.

He breathed in deeply, enjoying the smells of the earth, warmed by the sun. Dusk, so long delayed in this summer season, had fallen at last. He looked forward to prayers and the deep sleep of one who had labored hard for God and was blest with honest dreams.

As he walked on, he decided the day had been particularly joyful. The infirmarian, Sister Christina, had prayed with a young woman who came to the hospital with blinding headaches. Soon after, the sufferer had gone home to her husband and babes, cured by the grace of God. Many might praise the potions of Sister Anne while Brother Beorn believed the infirmarian was a saint. Herbs would do no good were it not for the blessings of Sister Christina.

Just then, angry shouts destroyed his tranquil thoughts.

Beorn stopped, staring into the darkness, horrified that such rage had invaded priory grounds.

Two men stood in the gloom near the guest quarters, their shadowy arms gesturing wildly as they argued.

The lay brother quickly covered his ears and hurried away.

He dared not interfere and had no wish to listen to their quarrel. If he tried to intercede, he might have been caught in a fight and tainted with the sin of violence. How dare they insult God’s peace with their worldly argument and infect him with anger!

After gaining some distance from the scene, he was able to slow his pace and sooth his outrage by concluding that God would find a way to punish them. He would have dismissed this exchange of foul words if the matter had only been between two secular guests.

What troubled and frightened him was that one of the voices belonged to Prior Andrew.