Bread

by Stephen Brown

TAKEN FROM THE RIGHT AND ORDERLY NOTEBOOK OF SADFAEL THE MONK

  Oh I am so muddle-headed! I do not suppose this will come as much of a surprise to anyone who has been reading this notebook of mine, in which I have been trying to faithfully record and fathom out the events surrounding my ongoing dislocation. Such is my constant bewilderment that I cannot be certain of anything at all anymore.

  This myriad of sensations and experiences with which I am continually beset and expected to accept has escalated, to have reached a level of perplexity so tangled now that I wonder just how much I can give credence to anything I see in this world of mystery and wonder! The only thing I know with any certainty is that if it were not for the love I am receiving from the Lord then surely I would have faltered long, long ago.

  I have felt like a fish out of water ever since arriving in this strange and… I know not what to properly call it - this new ‘Time’ I am living in. On the one hand it is full of such splendour and luxury that I, but a humble monk, cannot help but stand in awe. Some of the things I have witnessed you would never even dream! On the other hand though, it is a world overflowing with dark mysteries and temptations in which it is all too easy for a man to stray, to cast his each and every principle to the winds - and a man without morals is one eating from the hand of the very Devil himself.

  No longer able to sit and wait idly by, even though instructed so to do by my betters in Canterbury, I decided to search the parish for signs of the monster I am supposed to be pursuing. I reasoned that my superiors could have no objections to a little investigative work on my part. I am in situ after all and although distances hardly seem to matter in this extraordinary age, surely that must count for something.

  The village of Bramfield is a small one, but the houses are all of an affluence superseding anything I have seen; and large too, most of them being the size at least of a coaching house. Those few which are not quite as magnificent could easily still accommodate several families if only their owners were so disposed.

  Which most of them are not, I feel saddened to say. This very morning I mentioned to a group of people who had come to help tidy the church grounds that they might consider taking in the poor, what with all the space they have in their mansion houses.

  I could not help but see the looks on their faces in the silence that followed. It was only for a brief moment and then the Reverend Pinball rather smoothly suggested I went with him so he could show me how he wanted the yew hedge to be trimmed at the far end of the grounds beside the stream, but I saw them none the less.

  And that is it you see? Here was the main cause of my confusion - upon my first meeting the good Reverend Gawdley Pinball I would have been ready to sing his praises to the most vociferous of his critics. Indeed, I would have found it very difficult to believe he could have any, for he seemed to me to be the epitome of goodness, the very embodiment of virtue: kind, humble and gentle in his dealings with man and beast alike.

  Do you know I even found him putting corn out for the rats that inhabit the vestry? It is of a variety I have never seen, being bright blue in colour, but alas despite his charitable ministrations to the creatures – whom many, including myself up to that point, would look upon simply as vermin – they were still found dead in the mornings over the next few days. Perhaps his kindness came a few days too late or else it were a disease of some kind that afflicted the rodents. The Lord works in ways not always obvious to us mortal souls and it must be that He wanted the rats to join Him in His Kingdom on High. Mayhap He has a surplus of heavenly cheese and who better to help dispose of it than a family of Rattus rattus?

  The plain fact of the matter though is that the Reverend had changed. That this is beyond doubt I must painfully accept and although I do not especially want to, I must recount what came to a head only today.

  His generosity knew no bounds, or so I thought at first. After all, he was putting me up in such regal splendour in his own home and the foods he lavished upon me must have been costing him the absolute earth! I did wonder, I am disgusted to say, if the proceeds from the collection box were perhaps being pilfered by him towards my upkeep, as I could think of no other way for him to maintain me in this manner. It was not long, thankfully, before I learned that there was, of course, another explanation.

  I came to realise that Gawdley must be descended from a high born family, if not actual nobility then at least from one of the powerful merchant classes. Perhaps a wool baron from the low-countries around Boston. That is how he has the monies to afford such sumptuous living! Why, when I saw into a wardrobe in his bedroom not long since I thought myself to be looking upon one of the stock cupboards of the famous tailors of Nottingham! And this was just one of his wardrobes! To my knowledge he has three, including the one downstairs used exclusively for thick, weatherproof coats!

  No, of course I could not accuse the man of siphoning off the donations given by the God-fearing parishioners of Bramfield. The very thought seems ridiculous to me now - he is a Reverend after all. That thought was far beneath me and I craved both Gawdley’s and the Lord’s forgiveness in my prayers for several nights afterwards.

  And after the happenings of today I shall begin again to crave forgiveness in my conversations with the Heavenly Father. In truth, he must be a forgiving God indeed to pardon me for all my despicable thoughts!

  As I said, it was undisputable that my friend had changed and this I noticed in several ways, the two most obvious being that he insisted on following me everywhere whenever I ventured out into the village – he was like a shadow, as if not wanting to let me out of his sight - and also that he had become quite obviously more short tempered towards me as time has moved on. Yes, his altered temper was the most apparent change, but knowing what I now know, this is entirely understandable.

  I go back again to the incident of this morning, when we were shaping the gardens for the year to come. Spring is turning to summer here and the growth in the church grounds is as prolific as you might expect. As I made my observation about taking in the poor to those who had come to the church to help, that look which was all too obvious upon the faces of the peasantry was present too in the expression of Pinball - one of utter disbelief and incredulity. Yet it seemed to me to be not as absurd a suggestion as all that. Surely a family of two adults can have no need for a house with seven rooms - can it?

  I was under no illusions either, as to why Gawdley hurriedly took me off to the hedge by the stream away from everybody else. He was obviously embarrassed, I thought at the time, either that he had not thought of this or that he had he stopped pressing for it himself in the face of the opposition he must have met amongst the local populace.

  Perhaps his conscience is pricking him, I said to myself and then I am ashamed to say that – albeit in my own head – I then gave way to gossip, that most harmful type of speculation which I find all too easy in this time of endless temptations. I believe I have documented already how quickly I have succumbed to the many enticements dangled in front of me like a juicy carrot before a fat and idle donkey.

  But I will pass on all the terrible things that danced distractingly like the whore of Babylon through my mind. What happened next made fear grip my heart with ice!

  Leaning against the well established yew hedge was an evil looking instrument, a many-toothed blade extending from out of an orange box of smooth material, as hard as oak wood. Coming out of this box at the other end from the blade was a long, black cord and I gasped – I may have even staggered – when I realised it was indistinguishable to one of the criss-crossing ropes that had been connected to my original quarry’s head-piece!

  I grasped Pinball, pulling him over in fact, such was the strength of my abhorrence in seeing another of these tendrils from Hell! That one of these Serpents of Satan could be right here in the very grounds of the Parish Church!

  He twisted his knee as I wrenched him to the ground and the discomfort must have been great for it was with more than a hint of pain that he next spoke.


  “For God’s sake Sadfael! What is the matter with you?”

  Hobbling to his feet with a blasphemous explicative in which I cannot be sure, but thought I heard the Lord’s name taken in vain, it was only then that I realised the plight of my friend and the terrible danger he was in! I have been remiss indeed to have not thought about the possibility before, but I can chastise myself as much as I see fit now, and for days to come if needs be.

  Right there and then however, finally seeing the situation for what it was, I lost no time in acting.

  Gawdley staggered over to the infernal device which, upon first seeing it, I had assumed was an hideous machine of war, some bloodletting implement more suited to the fields of battle than the gardens of a Church in the heart of rural England. My suppositions were proved correct when he picked the thing up in two hands and it began to flail about, whizzing and buzzing like a demon’s gurgle, all the time with a look of grim determination fixed upon his face!

  Remembering the tragic look behind the eyes of the man possessed back in that hut in my own time – Brass was he called? Albert Brass? - I knew then that the Devil was without doubt abounding still in this very parish! And the Fallen One had set his sights high, for he was trying to gain control of none other than the Reverend himself!

  Oh, poor Gawdley! How long has this battle been going on, right here underneath my nose? What strength the Reverend Pinball must have, to have wrestled with him unaided for so long! And how blind have I been for my part, when it has been my very mission to be watching out for the Infidel!

  It is with great shame that I think back to all the things I thought about my friend, the good Reverend, who was all the while fighting for his very soul while I did nothing but criticise him and find fault. This was why he had changed! He was expending all his energy in fighting off Beelzebub! Of course his temper had become frayed!

  And here was my chance to make amends.

  I yelled out the first scriptures that came to mind and leapt upon the tentacle. It was a little unfortunate, admittedly, that the words which issued from my mouth happened to be from the Song of Solomon, as screaming “Her breasts were like pomegranates and her teeth like a herd of goats, none of whom were barren!” hardly seemed appropriate under the circumstances, but they did the trick. After all, against the words of the Good Book the puny works of the devil are but chaff in the wind!

  I saw a pair of hinged blades normally for use in the garden lying on the grass only a few feet away and seizing these I set about the tentacle with vigour, cutting the thing into several pieces with a series of deadly chops!

  And as quickly as that it was over.

  Panting and trembling, unaccustomed as I am to throwing myself into open combat, I got unsteadily to my feet and looked across at my friend.

  The demonic entity had evidently lost its grip on him, though it must have been a considerable shock to his system because all he seemed able to do was to stare at me, opening and shutting his mouth in an attempt to speak. Still, it was a delight to see him free again.

  “Do not thank me Reverend,” I said, patting his arm with camaraderie. “It is over now. We must remain on our guard of course and be sure to maintain our vigil,” I knelt and bowed my head to give thanks, “but for now it is over.”

  He walked away without uttering a word, completely overcome with emotion.

  ***