The Haunted Cathedral

by Antony Barone Kolenc

  “Come—you are welcome to stay and break the Lenten fast with us,” Father Philip said.

  “Thank you, Father.” Uncle William grasped Xan’s hands. “Unfortunately, I have little time. This has been the most difficult decision I have ever made. I only want the best for my brother’s child.”

  He looked down at Xan with the same proud eyes from which Father used to peer at him.

  “Stephen, the Lord has not blessed me with children, but I would have been honored to take you under my roof as my son. Alas, ’til my debt is cleared, I might as well be a beggar. Indeed, I have looked at all other options and find none that will suffice. I must flee this city and my home.”

  If Uncle William fled his home, there would be only one place for Xan. And with Carlo’s gift, he could pay his head money and free himself to make that home a permanent one.

  “Then I must go back to the abbey.” Speaking the words aloud confirmed their truth.

  “Aye,” Brother Andrew said. “We leave on the morrow. William, you must come with us.”

  He paused to consider the generous offer. No doubt, the monk was right. Uncle William could benefit from the safe sanctuary of a far-off abbey, where the Master could never find him. But could he truly start his life there again?

  Uncle William put his head in his hands. “You are very kind, Brother, but I could never impose my troubles upon your abbey. The Master would search me out and put all of your lives in danger.”

  He wiped a tear away with his grimy beggar’s sleeve.

  “Nor will I return to Hardonbury. I swore never again to return there as a peasant. Nay, I must face the penalty for my crime alone, Brother. I am a sinful man, unworthy of God’s mercy.”

  With this decision, Uncle William was choosing life as an outcast, a fugitive outlaw with no safe place to rest his head. If only he could accept the monk’s offer, Xan could still have his family.

  “I must go,” he said, embracing Xan. “I will return to fare thee well in the morning.”

  Father Philip folded his arms. “First I shall hear your confession, friend. At least you will not have your crime on your conscience as you journey. God will cleanse the sins from your soul.”

  Uncle William paused as if to resist, but then the stress on his face lifted. “As you wish, Father.”

  The priest smiled in victory. “Come to the chapel, my son. You will find your peace there.”

  As the priest and Uncle William left the cottage, Lucy arrived at the door, dressed again in her white tunic. That simpler garment seemed somehow more fitting to her manner than ruby red.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Xan said, as Brother Andrew waved a greeting to the girl.

  “What’s going on?” she asked. “Everyone looks so serious.”

  He sighed. “Come with me to the stone wall, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  They spent the afternoon on that wall together, well after Uncle William departed. He told her of Uncle William’s decision and of Carlo’s death in the dungeon and of the emerald within his gift.

  When he showed her the jewel, she clapped her hands. “Is not our God a worker of miracles? No matter how dark the night, He always finds a way to bring us a pale, blue morning.”

  As the hours passed, they talked about many things. Lucy spoke of her father and their lord’s temporary position with the royal courts. Her own time in Lincoln would be ending soon. She would travel back to London with her father before heading off on the next leg of their journey.

  “With all that traveling, you might not make it back to the abbey ’til I’m old and gray,” he said. Though he meant it lightly, the sorrow on his heart seemed to weigh down his words.

  She bowed her head. “Perhaps not that long. But each day that passes makes me yearn for those simple days in the convent at Harwood Abbey. Life is so peaceful and prayerful there.”

  They spoke a while longer until the sun shone high in the afternoon sky.

  “Father expects me back soon,” she said at last. “Unfortunately, they’ve assigned me a task for the morning already. I’m afraid we must say our farewells today, Xan—right now, actually.” Moistness filled her brown eyes.

  He took her hand. “We may see each other again one day, Lucy. Isn’t that right?”

  She squeezed his hand. This was a much different kind of farewell than when they’d parted at Harwood Abbey. Then he’d been full of doubt and bitterness; now he felt peace and acceptance.

  She smiled. “Aye. If ’tis God’s will, we shall meet again. I truly believe that.”

  Then she left him alone on that stone wall, where he sat and thought for a long while.

  Life was filled with many joys and sorrows, meetings and partings, mysteries and answers. Sometimes it seemed all a person could do was hold on for each step of life’s dizzying journey.

  When the sun drew closer to the treetops, Father Philip and Brother Andrew called him back inside the cottage, where they broke their fast together near the hearth.

  “If we are fortunate, we will arrive at the abbey in time for Good Friday services,” the monk said, as they discussed their plans to depart in the morning.

  They had barely finished eating when a knock came at the door.

  It was Christina and Simon. Uncle William had stopped by their house to bid them farewell and had told them all that had happened to Xan today. They’d rushed over immediately.

  “But you’ll come back and see us again, right?” Simon asked, his gapped teeth showing.

  “Maybe, Simon. If God wills it, as Lucy always says.”

  Christina drew close, embracing him while her perfumed hair pressed against his face. Her presence that near to him made his mind cloudy.

  She smiled mischievously. “Come back soon, Alexander. And no more chasing ghosts.”

  Simon stepped up and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “G’bye, Xan. Next time you come, maybe we can dig through the ruins of the cathedral to find that buried treasure.”

  “Nay, child,” said Father Philip. “Lincoln Cathedral will not stay in ruins. A new bishop shall soon be appointed, and he will build an even grander cathedral, I am certain.”

  Early that Wednesday morning of Holy Week, Father Philip held a short Christian funeral for Carlo in the cemetery outside Saint Paul’s parish. The bandit’s body rested in a cheap wooden casket, and only Xan, Uncle William, and Brother Andrew attended the service.

  The monk ended with a final prayer for the bandit’s soul: “May the Lord have mercy on this man who strayed so far from the path, only to turn a glance toward Heaven at the very end.”

  When they responded, “Amen,” Father Philip gave a strange smile and said “Amen” again.

  Then they returned to the priest’s cottage, where one of the carts from Lincoln Castle had been parked for them to load for the journey. Father Philip had been busy yesterday afternoon making arrangements with the royal guards to provide a cart and horses to return them all home.

  While Brother Andrew finished loading the wagon, Xan pulled at Uncle William’s ragged tunic. “May I speak with you alone?”

  “Of course, my nephew,” he said, walking with him toward the ancient oak tree.

  Xan had spent much time last night before the hearth while the others slept, considering all that life had brought him this year—all that had been taken and all that had been given. Mother and Father were in Heaven, but there would be no ghosts to send messages back and forth to them. Now Xan must make his own decisions based on what seemed right in his heart.

  His decision to forgive Carlo had come too late, yet not too late. The peace it had given him yesterday had also brought confidence for him to follow the other promptings of his heart.

  Right now, his heart urged him to make a new and different decision.

  “Uncle,” he said, taking him by the arm. “I leave Lincoln still a serf of Hardonbury. But at least I shall have a roof over my head and a safe place to rest.”

  “That is well for you,
Stephen.” Uncle William smiled. “I pray you will have a good life.”

  “You don’t understand. I wish that you too could return to your home in safety.”

  His uncle’s smile faltered. “Perhaps one day.”

  “Perhaps today, Uncle.” He placed the flawless emerald into Uncle William’s palm.

  The man gasped in disbelief. “What—”

  “This is my gift to you. It belonged to the prisoner Carlo. Use it to be free of your prison.”

  “I . . . How could I . . .” Uncle William stared at him and at the jewel in shock.

  “You are my family,” Xan said simply.

  “Nay, I cannot accept such a gift from you, Stephen! This gift belongs to you—’tis the head money you need to pay the reeve at Hardonbury.”

  Yet, even as the man resisted, his face reflected the hope this jewel could bring to him.

  “I’m still a boy, Uncle. I’ve lived all my life at Hardonbury. But you’ve done something wonderful here. We cannot split this gem in two, but with it you could buy back your life; repay the Master; establish your business again. You can make Father proud again.”

  Uncle William resisted no longer. “Stephen, thank you,” he finally choked out, embracing Xan with strong arms. Then he took Xan’s hands and held them tight, peering at him eye to eye.

  “I will accept this gift from you on one condition. Soon—when my debt is paid and my safety assured—I will send for you at the abbey to be my apprentice. Then all that is mine shall be yours. You are my flesh and blood and have shown yourself truer than a son!”

  “But Uncle, I . . . I don’t know if . . . you see, I . . .”

  Uncle William cut off his struggling words. “Do not give answer now, Stephen. I will not force any decision upon you under the law. I make only this one request: pray about my offer and be ready with your answer when I send for you one day soon. Will you consider my request, son?”

  Xan nodded in a daze. The gift of his heart was already multiplying into new potential gifts.

  “I’ll consider it, Uncle. And we shall see if it be God’s will.”

  27

  Journey’s End

  The large wagon pulled by two brown cart horses trudged along the Roman road, driven by one of the royal guards from Lincoln Castle.

  It carried three passengers on the journey: Xan, Brother Andrew, and Ox, still recovering from his injuries. The hairy man sat in the back of the cart with his broken leg stretched out. Next to him lay a trunk filled with the possessions of the dead guard, Guy, who had been buried in Lincoln. His few belongings would return home in the keeping of his friend.

  As they rode in silence, Ox seemed to have changed somehow. His crude behavior and rude comments had been replaced with a more sober mind and manner.

  The landscape passed by, hour after hour, with Xan saying little. There was so much that had happened to reflect upon: the devastation of Lincoln, to be rebuilt over many years; the parting of Lucy, perhaps never to be seen by Xan again; the magnificence and potential of Carlo’s heirloom; the request of Uncle William for Xan to become his apprentice; the fate of the bandit’s immortal soul.

  “Is it possible Carlo went to Heaven?” he asked Brother Andrew on the first day of the trip.

  The monk shrugged. “Only our Lord can pass judgment, though Carlo’s sins were many.”

  “Do you think Father Philip convinced him to take confession, like he did with my uncle?”

  The monk smiled. “That priest would not say so even if he did. We will never know.”

  That’s when Ox spoke up. “I misjudged ’im, that Carlo. I see now the man kept his vows.”

  After that, the mood of the travelers lightened.

  They spent the rest of their journey discussing the amazing events of the past fortnight. And when Brother Andrew told Ox about Xan’s gift to his uncle, the guard seemed impressed.

  “Good on ya, boy. A lotta decent men I know woulda kept that jewel to themselfs.”

  Finally, at the end of the second day, the wagon set its wheels upon the final trail to Harwood Abbey. As it pulled up to the abbey’s chapter house, Ox took the monk by the arm.

  “Does something trouble you?” Brother Andrew asked.

  “I was just thinkin’ . . . I was wonderin’ if I might—when me leg heals, a’course—if I could visit here some Sunday or such. We could talk about, ya know, life and things.”

  The monk smiled. “You are always welcome here, Ox.”

  After they unloaded the wagon, Brother Andrew embraced the guard and gave him a blessing, to which Ox gave no objection.

  “G’bye, boy,” Ox called from the wagon, as it pulled off toward Chadwick Manor.

  As Brother Andrew had hoped, they’d made it back to the abbey on Good Friday evening, though they’d missed the church service and the reading of the sorrowful Passion of Christ.

  Brother Andrew sent Xan off to the boys’ dormitory, while the monk gave a full account of their journey to the prior and the abbot.

  “Do not forget that the great fast has already begun,” the monk reminded Xan as he left.

  “I’ll remember, Brother.”

  There would be little eating on Good Friday or Holy Saturday—not until the celebration of Christ’s Resurrection on Easter Sunday, with a merry feast of food and drinks.

  As twilight fell around him, Xan took the cobblestone path to the granges and then over the field and down the hill to the boys’ dormitory. He climbed the steps of the dorm, where the other boys were already preparing for bed. What would they say when they saw him?

  “Xan’s back!”

  Joshua’s burst of joy could be heard over the usual clamor in the room.

  All heads turned to the door as he entered. Joshua ran the span of the dormitory to greet him, jumping on an occasional bed that got in the way. “You’re back sooner than I thought!”

  He gave the boy a bear hug and laughed. “’Tis good to see you, Joshua.”

  “Tell us all about your journey,” Joshua said.

  Xan sighed, but not with annoyance. “Where shall I begin?”

  Before he could start, John strode toward him. Silence smothered the room.

  “Back to finish our fight, Sire Clumsy?” There was no forgiveness in John’s eyes.

  John had every reason to be sore at him, actually. The boy must have lived for weeks with the humiliation Xan had heaped on him during the Bee in the Middle game before he’d left for Lincoln. Indeed, the pain in John’s side probably couldn’t compare to his sorely wounded pride.

  “Not at all,” Xan said. “To tell the truth, I just want to say I’m sorry that—”

  John’s fist shot out and struck him in the jaw. Pain shot through his face and neck as he fell over the straw mattress to the floor. John rushed around the other side and stood at the ready.

  The boys encircled the inevitable fight, already some of them starting to take sides.

  When he rose from the floor to face his attacker, blood dripped from his lip. For a moment, he knew what Brother Andrew must have felt like on the side of the stream facing down Ox.

  Then, to the amazement of all, he put his arms at his side.

  He stood in John’s presence undefended. “I guess I deserved that,” he said.

  John’s brow crinkled with confusion.

  Then he turned the other side of his face so it was clearly within John’s reach, just as Jesus had taught in that passage Xan had translated weeks ago.

  “Your first punch made us even, John. You want a second shot so that you’ll be ahead?”

  John simply stared, unsure what he should do. “Are you knotty-pated?”

  Then John balled his fist to strike again. Yet he didn’t take a second swing immediately. He peered suspiciously at Xan, perhaps wondering if this were some sort of trap.

  A long moment passed.

  Suddenly John let out a laugh that surprised everyone in the room.

  “Well, how about that?” John said. “You rea
lly must have an amazing story to tell us.”

  Xan joined his laughter—the first moment of peace between them—while the boys stared in disbelief. Turning his other cheek had defeated an enemy and maybe even started a friendship.

  “By the way, John.” Xan wiped the blood from his lip. “I’m glad you changed your mind.”

  The next morning—Holy Saturday—Xan found Sister Regina in the convent garden, tending the flowers as usual. Her face lit up with joy when she saw him. “Xan, you’re safe, praise God!”

  He gave her a warm embrace and sat with her, giving her a clipped account of his journey to Lincoln. Being back on the stone wall felt very much like home and reminded him of Lucy too.

  “It sounds like you have many tales,” she said. “I will want to hear them all, of course. But do you see what has happened? God has used you—like Joseph in Egypt. There is much good you can bring to this world if you keep opening yourself to follow God’s plan for your life.”

  Xan smiled. “And who would believe that in seeking my uncle I would find Lucy.”

  Sister Regina laughed gaily. “This world is so large and yet so small, Xan. Still, I feel in my soul you will meet Lucy yet again in some unexpected place one day.”

  “Aye, Sister. I will see her again—if God wills it.”

  Epilogue

  Easter morning dawned with Mass in the main abbey church, followed by a grand feast donated by Lord Godfrey—meats, wines, and sugared fruits graced tables that had been bare during Lent.

  “Jesus is risen! Alleluia!” Those words rang out many times within the refectory that hour.

  Outside, Xan and Brother Andrew basked together in the warmth of the spring sunlight.

  “I bring good tidings this joyous morn,” the monk said. “Ox told Lord Godfrey the tale of Carlo’s gift, which you gave to your uncle. The story moved the nobleman to tears.”

  The image of the burly, hairy guard weeping with the tall, strong landlord made Xan smile.

  “Praise God’s mercy,” Brother Andrew said with delight. “Along with the foods Godfrey has sent on this great day of Christ’s redemption, he also sends news of your redemption.”