Brother's Blood (34 page)

‘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.

‘How are you?'

‘I am well, thank you. I believe it was you who carried me here when I …'

‘I did. But don't worry, I would do the same for anyone.'

Benedict allowed himself a smile. ‘I was not trying to put myself above others. But please allow me to thank you anyway.'

‘You're welcome.' There was an awkward silence. Martin was aware he wasn't very good at this kind of thing.

‘How lo—'

‘When are y—'

They had both spoken at the same time. Martin gestured. ‘You first.'

‘When are you leaving? I understand that your business here is finished.'

‘It is. And we're already packed – I'm just waiting for Edwin to finish talking to the abbot and then we're off.'

Benedict looked sad. ‘And you're pleased about that, aren't you?'

‘You bet I —' Martin caught himself just in time. ‘I mean, yes, I am. For I need to get back to my lord, to my service.'

‘And I to mine.'

‘That was what I was going to ask you. How long must you stay here? In the infirmary, I mean?'

‘Another two days, Brother Durand says. Until my fever has completely gone. And in the meantime I must eat the infirmary food, which means eating more. And there is
meat
.'

Martin almost laughed at the shock in Benedict's voice. ‘Well, don't get too used to it. You'll be back on beans and vegetables soon enough.'

Strangely, this made Benedict look more cheerful. ‘Yes. And back to the usual round of offices and labour.'

Martin looked at his weedy arms. ‘Just remember – chopping wood is all about getting the rhythm. Do it like I showed you and it will get easier.'

‘Thank you.'

There was another silence.

Benedict broke it this time. ‘I will pray for you.'

‘For me?'

‘Yes. I was just thinking selfishly – thinking that I would miss you and that it was a shame you were going. But I see that you would be unhappy here, just as I would be unhappy if I went where you were going. We each have our own path and we must be content.'

Martin nodded. ‘Do you know what? I think you'll make a very good monk.'

‘Really?' Benedict looked like he'd been given a bag of gold. Or perhaps that was the wrong thought. He looked as though he'd been given a plate of beans and vegetables. Martin smiled to himself.

‘Yes. And when I turn eighteen next spring I will remember that you are doing the same and taking your vows. And I will think of you and wish you well. But now …'

He held out his hand. Hesitantly, Benedict did the same, and Martin shook it firmly before he stood. There was something in his eye and he rubbed it hard as he walked out without looking back.