Bright Belovèd

by Non Bramley

  First published 2020 by Unusual Books

  Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-9163855-0-4

  .epub eBook ISBN-13: 978-1-9163855-1-1

  .mobi eBook ISBN-13:978-1-9163855-2-8

  Copyright © Non Bramley, 2020

  The right of Non Bramley to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ***

  This volume contains very strong language, some scenes of gore and other disturbing themes. Reader discretion is advised.

  Smashwords Edition

  Bright Belovèd

  The first Reeve’s Tale

  Non Bramley

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Bright Belovèd Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  I’m really not sure about this.

  The young should make mistakes; it puts your own into perspective.

  Why should I split like a mouldy fig?

  Because you’re bored, that’s why.

  Let me start again.

  In the end, it was the love of a whore that saved us.

  Chapter One

  I live in the abbey hospital of Saint Thomas The Leper with other old crones. They separate us from the men. That speaks of a fetid imagination to me. Even at my great age I’m still defined by my sex.

  I am fed and washed and helped to the piss pot. I’m patted on the hand and treated with unfocused consideration. Strangers visit me and I scratch my arse and swear for their entertainment.

  Brother Levi reads every word I write. I hope it keeps him awake at night.

  You would think me magnificent. You would be right.

  This isn’t a story of riches and romance. I don’t have blue blood running through my veins – well, I probably don’t. The man I thought of as my father named me for Judith, that blood-thirsty virago so beloved of painters. There’s nothing like tits and a sword to stir the imagination. It’s a good biblical name, but I wonder why I didn’t end up as a Rebecca or Mary or Eve. I grew like ivy around that name and buried it deep.

  Everyone I remember is dead. I don’t know why God keeps me alive. All I do is outrage the piety of the young and, sweet Jesu, they are pious. The Almighty laughs and it pleases us both.

  I never knew my true parents; I could be a bastard for all I know. I was found in a drifting tin boat by Brother John the Elder of Calder island. He waded out into the Welsh waves and pulled me ashore. If he’d hesitated a few moments longer the tide would have taken me out to sea where I would have starved to death. He mistook my infant howlings for the cry of seabirds, his intention being just to save a serviceable boat. I wonder if Moses’s saviour just wanted the reed basket? God knows us well.

  I grew up on the island and had many brothers and sisters, most of whom were idiots. We were all foundlings, kept safe by Calder’s sheer cliffs. I’d lie on my back in the hayfield and watch swifts battling the sea winds. I was happiest alone.

  By the time I was fourteen I was a head taller than everyone else and still growing. There’s an expectation that comes with strength and size, and if you’re also passably handsome you must surely be a hero. Beware the big and the beautiful and watch them well. My body makes constant demands. I ride it.

  Calder island is a tuft of windblown grass in the grey seas of Pembrokeshire. Everything there is low to the ground and bleached by salt, even the trees. The abbey looks like a Roman villa dropped into a muddy village and you can always hear the sea.

  When I was eighteen I finished my novitiate and became Sister Judith. It seemed like a good idea but what did I know? I worked and prayed and lived my life like it wasn’t real.

  Even then I could easily lift what would be hard for others and had some skill with a brush. The saints and angels I painted on the chapel walls have probably been whitewashed by now. Many thought them too worldly. To my mind saints should be lined and tattered – they’re men and women, not glowing fairies. I painted every angel’s wing with a broken feather. I like imperfect things.

  I like solitude too and it can be hard to come by on an island. If you ever visit the brethren at Calder, find and follow the path through the fields to the old beacon. Once there, take the coastal path. You’ll come to a low wall and stile. If you’re footsure, follow this wall down to the cliff edge and a hidden grassy platform. This was my place when I needed to scrape off the sticky entanglements of other people. If you close your eyes you’ll hear the breathing of the sea.

  —Levi, one of the strangers brought me a sprig of the sea pinks that grow on Calder. It rooted. When I die, keep it watered.

  It’s not as tricky a descent as it looks down to my place, but only Brother John ever joined me. He’d pick his way down and drop on to the turf. Most of what we talked about I can’t remember; the words have gone, all except the last. It was late summer and the wind was chill.

  ‘This is a bloody stupid place to hide,’ John said, pulling his windblown hair and beard out of his mouth. There was little enough of his face to see at the best of times, just dark eyes hidden by folds of skin.

  ‘It’s good if you want to be left alone,’ I said.

  ‘Grim bugger.’ He gave me a grin and I grinned back. ‘You’re even more morose than usual, if that’s possible. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. I just want a bit of peace.’

  John looked out to the silver horizon that was always so hopeful and clean. ‘You’re hiding from your latest lovelorn swain eh? Can’t say I blame you. He’s annoying the shit out of me too. How old are you now? Twenty-two, twenty-three?’

  ‘About that probably,’ I answered.

  ‘Ever think about marriage?’

  I snorted and picked at the tough grass.

  ‘Don’t be coy. Several of the lads are too interested in you. Don’t you like them? I know you like sex – you’ve not been that discreet. How are you not getting pregnant?’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, John,’ I said, embarrassment making me laugh. ‘It’s hardly your business.’

  ‘Don’t blaspheme either.’ He took out his smoking pouch, filling a pipe with the dried nettles he swore were good for his chest. The wind tried to snatch the brittle stuff out of his fingers but he persevered and got it lit, leaning back in the grass. ‘Sex is natural, lass. I won’t chide you for it, but don’t you want a husband, children maybe?’

  ‘Even the idea makes me itch.’

  I knew my limits even then. It’s not possible for me to be the little woman. Imagine a marital argument. He slams the door and she sits at home, fuming. Now imagine the wife capable of choking the life out of the annoying bastard with one hand. Marriage to me would be short-lived … for one of us.

  ‘Well you’re causing chaos,’ J
ohn said. ‘I’ve got lads and lasses mooning around after you and while you’re here they’ll never pair up with each other. It’s a new world and we need a new generation to inherit all this. Otherwise, what’s the point?’

  ‘They’ll get over it,’ I said.

  John was right – I was causing unhappiness. I was still too young to think of other people as real. It takes pain to grow empathy.

  He sighed and sat up again, fiddling with his pipe. ‘Ever been in love, lass?’

  I shrugged and skimmed a stone far out over the cliff edge.

  ‘Good shot,’ he said approvingly. ‘I wonder if it’s because of your size, this inability to settle? You never feel vulnerable – like you need another half to make a whole.’

  ‘I don’t know what that means. I’m just bored of being pestered.’

  John looked as if he’d made a decision, and it had made him sad. ‘I’ve watched you for the past few years, breaking hearts and not noticing. Not because you’re a bad woman, I’ve never known you lie, you just don’t need anyone and it’s hurting the future of this place. You can fuck and still be a stranger.’

  ‘It’s an odd conversation this,’ I said, feeling concern for the first time. ‘I just need you, nothing else.’

  ‘Then this is going to be hard for the both of us. God help me I might as well spit it out. I’ve just been talking to Father Abbot. Prior Richard at Saint Ivo’s has asked us to send one of our young to be his parish Reeve. A Reeve’s a thief-taker and lawgiver. We’ve decided to send you.’

  Now, this was the thing - I’d boasted for years about how I would visit the mainland and see if the tales of monsters and wild beasts were true. I’d assumed that one day I definitely would, one day… some day.

  ‘How long will we be away for?’

  ‘You can come back and visit but I think you’ll forget all about us in a few years.’

  I was dumbstruck. In all my daydreaming of freedom I’d never considered leaving John behind. To be made to leave home, all alone, was shameful.

  —Only the old are brave, Levi. Old age is full of tribulations. The courage of the young is just a pretty tune sung in a cave. All they hear are their own echoes. They have no idea how ferocious life can be. Not yet.

  ‘It’s an honour, to have this much trust put in you,’ he said, but refused to meet my eye. ‘You’ve got a knack for surviving in the outside world, even if you don’t know it yet.’

  ‘Just because I won’t marry some idiot boy? You can’t just throw me out!’

  ‘It’s not just that. Come on, Judy, you’re not happy here. You can’t change and frankly, we’re putting you in a situation where you’ve got no choice but to be unchristian. We’d be failing you if we let it carry on. I’m obligated to —’

  ‘What about my vows?’

  ‘You’re released from them.’

  I felt sick. My bloody vows that had seemed so iron-clad were in fact made of nothing but words. My world shook and shivered.

  ‘So what you want is a good little girl who’ll breed for the faith? Who’ll stick with one dull man and smile when she’s bored shitless? That’s not a reason to kick me out! Or do you want me for yourself, you hypocritical old fuck.’

  ‘Don’t say things you can’t take back.’ He got up and walked to the cliff edge. ‘You must want to test yourself? To see what you’re capable of? Aren’t you curious about the world? We bore you child. This island’s too small for you. You’ve outgrown us.’

  ‘Better bored than dead. You’re abandoning me – no need to honey it.’

  ‘You make this so hard! You can’t be satisfied with just cutting wood and prayers? You’re a fighter. That isn’t an advantage in this life.’

  ‘So I’m to be Prior Richard’s dog instead, sent out to bite whoever he tells me to. You’re confident he’ll never ask me to do something that’ll make me a bad Christian, are you? You think I’ll be morally safer there than here? That’s bollocks, John,’ I said. ‘I hope one day you don’t have to fight off some boat-load of bastards intent on taking this place. What are you going to do then, you old fool?’

  ‘Die, I suppose.’

  That stopped me. No matter how angry he often made me I loved John truly. The thought of harm coming to him brought acid to the back of my throat.

  ‘How long do you think I’ll survive? I don’t know anything, you all saw to that. You promised I’d always have a home here. I’ve worked so hard! I’m going nowhere. You can’t make me.’

  ‘It’s been decided. You’re leaving. I’m glad you are.’

  I felt like I’d been punched in the belly.

  All through Compline I brooded. I thought I’d have some time yet to change the decision – John couldn’t really mean it? I was wrong. The next morning they took my habit and gave me working clothes. My hair was cropped – a precaution against lice – and I was handed a pack of provisions, a knife and a note from John. No one wanted to speak to me. No one met my eye.

  I think I see now why they threw me out so unceremoniously. Better to do the deed quickly than draw it out. I had no idea of what I was, how dangerous I could be. Years later, someone very dear to me stood us both naked in front of a mirror. They wanted me to see what others saw, how intimidating I’d grown.

  As it was I was harried down to the shore, bundled into a rowboat and pointed in the direction of the far horizon.

  I read John’s note when I’d rowed past the worst of the waves, the boat rising and falling in the swell. I’ve kept that letter safe all these years, reading it only once. It didn’t sound like John. He was already writing to a stranger. Brother Levi will add it here I think.

  Judith, there are things you must know. I’d meant to tell you all this last night but I couldn’t face you, like the coward I am. Forgive me for that. Forgive me if you can for all of this.

  You’ve heard of the damned still walking. This is true.

  At the fall, some of those with the pestilence that burned through the world didn’t die, but their bodies and minds changed. They became living corpses, their sores never healing, rotting as they stood. Although they couldn’t heal they continued to hunger, and they fed on any living creature, including us.

  They live on still, but they’re poor creatures now, just papery, dry things who can’t die no matter how you try to kill them. The Devil took away the blessing of death and release for them. They’re the Damned who live among us. They’ll still bite if they can. Don’t let them. You’re invulnerable to the sickness that created them but not to the sepsis one bite would give you. Pity them if you can. Folk call them dammers and step over them like rubbish.

  You must run from wolves. They were human once but no longer. They hunt at twilight and at dawn and they’re clever and quick and ferocious. Don’t pity them. They hunt where there are people. If you see one in front of you be sure there will be four or five behind you. Be careful.

  I’ve drawn you a map to Saint Ivo’s Abbey. It’s been years since I saw it but I think my memory holds true. Ask for Prior Vesey.

  Row for the lighthouse now. It’s called Saint Eiffa’s Head. A woman will meet you. She will have a horse for you. Give her the cheese that’s in your pack, and my thanks.

  I love you like my own daughter. I am so proud of you and bless the day God sent you to me. I’m sorry, but strength like yours has a purpose.

  John.

  For a long time I sat there, rowing only to fight the currents. Swifts were diving over the far fields. A seal pulled itself on to the rocks, its skin like oiled wood. Still I sat. I was barred from the only home I’d ever known. I thought I’d see John hurrying down to the bay, beckoning me back but no one came. I was angrier than I’d ever been, and contemplated refusing to leave, putting my foot through the boat and telling them I would do as I liked and that this place was now mine. They would all bend to my will.

  If I’d done it – rowed back, split lips and broken down doors until I’d frightened them enough to serve me I would have been
a different woman today. For one thing I’d be safe on the island and not here. Why is it that doing the right thing is so rarely profitable? Only the thought of John, who didn’t want me anymore, finally made me bend to the oars and leave.

  It took me almost an hour to row to the lighthouse and it was hard going, even for me. The old woman waiting with a skinny horse backed away hurriedly as I dragged the boat on to the shingle.

  ‘Jesus, but you’re a giant!’ she said, desperate to give me the halter and be gone. She was off up the beach before I could wrestle the cheese out of its wrappings.

  ‘Brother John sends this, and his thanks,’ I shouted at her retreating back. ‘Which way to Saint Ivo’s?’

  She waved a hand to the north and slipped away into the woods. So I ate the cheese. It was hard and too salty. I was not impressed by it or the friendliness of people in the world.

  I’m not a giant. I’m taller than most and wider at the shoulder, but to her I looked like a scowling, wet beast with a grudge. I understand now. She was frightened, and people always mistake emotion for truth. Back then she was just another proof that I wasn’t where I should be.

  I considered simply riding away to whatever the future held for me, but in the end I did as I was told like a good child, and made for Saint Ivo’s. Where else could I go? The world was green and too big. Everything was loud. I’d never heard the roar of wind in high trees or the calls of foxes that sound so much like human screams. I saw no dammers, no wolves and no people. Thank God for that as I couldn’t have been more unprepared.

  That three-day journey was the first time I experienced true hunger. I felt very sorry for myself. By the time I reached Saint Ivo’s I was lightheaded and my hands shook until they fed me enough to make it stop. Hunger has always affected me that way.

  —Did they want me dead, Levi? I was kicked out with nothing. I’m an oddity. I make everyone I meet feel weak and take up more than my share of space. I’m greedy.

  Saint Ivo’s Abbey sits at the bottom of a valley shaped like a bowl. The abbey precincts are ringed by a wooden wall built by few hands over several years. The community that once surrounded it was known before the fall as one of the smallest cities in England, just one long street with a tiny population. Very few to catch the pestilence.