David’s fists stayed up. “I’m not letting you by.”
Xan took a step forward. “Then you’re going to have to hit me, because I’m coming in.”
Pain stung his lips. The room spun in a blur. The hard floor struck his back. He was gaping at the ceiling, his mouth throbbing and bloody. And there stood David towering over him, ready to strike again.
“Xan!” Joshua yelled. “David, leave him alone!” Joshua must have followed him to the dorm. The boy ran over to help him to his feet.
Stunned and bleeding, Xan wiped the bitter blood from his lips onto his arm. What would Brother Andrew do now?
“Back off!” David had his fists raised again.
“Why won’t you just let me talk to him?” Xan said, licking blood from his lip.
“I warned you.”
In defending Carlo on the road to Lincoln, Brother Andrew had been willing to get struck a second time by those guards. That had won the victory for the monk in the end.
“Well, you’ll have to punch me again, David. I just want to talk to John—that’s all.” He took another step into the room.
“Enough!” a hard voice commanded—it was John. He was sitting up in bed, grasping the wooden railing. “’Tis no use, David. He’ll just let you punch him into a bloody mess. Let him through.”
David stood his ground a moment but then backed away. Xan walked past. “Thank you,” he said to John, who had fallen back onto his lumpy pillow.
“You’re impossible, Xan. You won’t let me be, will you?”
“I want to help. You can’t stay in this bed forever, you know.”
“Oh? Watch me. What difference does it make anyhow? I’m useless.”
Maybe John had a point; he couldn’t do much like this.
“You’re not useless,” Xan said anyway. “Listen to this verse I translated today. If you take it to heart, it might help you feel better.”
John settled back in resignation.
“’Tis from the Sacred Scriptures: ‘I will lead the blind on their journey; by paths unknown I will guide them. I will turn darkness into light before them and make crooked ways straight.’”
Xan paused, but John gave no reaction. “That sounds hopeful, doesn’t it?” he said. “I translated it from the book of Isaiah.”
“You have no idea how it feels to be in darkness all day,” John said, shaking his head. “Always in pain; feeling like you want to vomit your guts up because the world is spinning.”
Poor John—living in a black nightmare from which he could never wake. “I understand how you must feel, John. When I—”
“You understand nothing, Xan! Not one thing. You don’t know how it feels to be a miserable, worthless burden, pitied by all around you.”
Perhaps that was true, but after Mother and Father had died, life had seemed to lose all purpose for a while. He put his hand on John’s arm. “Let me tell you one thing I do know.”
“Nay!” John shook his head, his face crimson. “You’ve got translations and your lessons. You don’t understand any of this. Why would you? You’re the monks’ favorite boy: solving their mysteries, getting special treatment. You’re like a—like a little monk. A little baby monk.”
The monks did like Xan, that much was true. He’d gone to meetings, which no orphan boy (or even a novice) could ever attend. He’d taken lessons from Brother Andrew. Even the abbot had shown special interest in him. They all seemed to see God’s hand on him. Even Sister Regina.
Surely, he was the one who should lead the orphan boys or could become a novice one day. So many in high authority were looking out for him and assuring him how special he was.
Then there was John, getting the paddle and being put down by Brother Leo; feared and hated by many of the boys—except David, of course; losing to Xan all the time.
John was right. Maybe Xan couldn’t understand his situation. “I’m . . . I’m sorry, John. I don’t know what to say.”
“Then just go away.” John’s hairy hand had been gripping the wooden railing the entire time. Now he let it go and slumped further into his mattress. “Just let me be.”
David was by Xan’s side again. “You heard him. You had your say, now go.”
There was no reason to resist David this time. “All right, John. But don’t give up; think about what Isaiah said. And I’ll keep praying for you.”
John smirked as he had so often in the bad old days. “You do that. I’m sure it will all be very nice for you.” Then he turned away in the bed and buried his face in the pillow.
John was in a bad place, that was for certain. And if Xan didn’t figure out a way to change that, who knew where John would end up.
4
An Unwelcome Plan
That afternoon, Xan headed to the library for his lessons with Brother Andrew.
Outside the stone building, the monk was arguing with grumpy Brother Leo, who hadn’t quite seemed to get over Xan’s part in having him thrown into jail last year. As he approached them, Brother Leo—gray eyebrows jutting out wildly—was pointing a purply finger at Brother Andrew’s nose. “I say the abbey is no place for boys so young.”
“But John is one of our oldest orphans,” Brother Andrew said. “In a year’s time he and a few others, such as Xan, could make the request to become novice monks.”
They must have been discussing the issue of raising orphan boys at an abbey.
Brother Leo grunted. “That ruffian John has no calling from God. And—” That was when the monk spied Xan’s arrival and swung a finger in his direction. “Ah, it must be time for this one’s lesson. We will talk more later, Andrew.” With that, Brother Leo strode off.
“What were you just talking about?” Xan asked.
“Never you mind,” Brother Andrew said. “Come. I was waiting here for you. We will skip your lessons in the library today so I can teach you more about the inner workings of our Church.”
“Has something happened with your ordination, Brother?”
The monk smiled. “By grace, you are perceptive. Aye, the abbot has news for me. And if you are to become a monk one day, you will need to know how these things really work.”
There it was again: Brother Andrew truly believed Xan would be a monk one day.
“You’re talking about Church politics again.” The monk hadn’t wanted to share that before.
“Aye, Xan. And royal intrigue too. We cannot escape it, even here at Harwood Abbey.”
“You mean King Henry doesn’t want you to be a priest?”
At that, Brother Andrew let out a chuckle. “Nay, I am not so important, though the King does enjoy sticking his finger into the Church’s business.”
They walked toward the abbot’s house as the monk explained further. “For decades there was strife ’twixt two powerful archbishops—from Canterbury and from York. Each one wanted to have more power.”
That sounded a lot like Xan and John the past year trying to be the top boy at the abbey.
“Why?” Xan said. “I thought God wanted bishops to serve others.”
“Of course, you are right. ’Tis pride that is the problem. And when kings get involved in choosing bishops, everything gets mixed up! But when a bishop stands up to a king—well, he winds up dead like poor Thomas Becket, God rest his soul.” He made the Sign of the Cross.
“King Henry killed a bishop?”
“Aye—Becket, the Archbishop of Canterbury. That was an evil day. But for years before, the King knew he could keep the power of the bishops in check by setting them against each other.”
“What did he do?”
“Breaking with all tradition, the King had his own son, Henry the Young King, crowned by the Archbishop of York instead of by Becket. What scandal followed! Then poor Becket died.” The monk paused, shaking his head sadly.
“But what does any of this have to do with your ordination?”
“Everything, Xan. Our abbey lies under the authority of the Archbishop of York. Five years ago, the archbishop died—of natu
ral causes, thankfully. Since then, there has been no bishop in York. King Henry and the Pope cannot agree on who should become the new archbishop.”
“Then who’s running everything?”
“The dean. ’Tis all very complicated, but this is all that matters: there is no bishop there to give me the Sacrament of Holy Orders, which only a bishop can give.”
“So you can’t become a priest ’til the King and the Pope appoint a new bishop?”
“Aye, that is the problem. But our dear abbot has been working to find a compromise.”
“Are there no other bishops in all of England who can ordain you?”
The monk smiled. “You have already discovered the answer. Aye, there are bishops in places such as Durham and Carlisle, but ’tis not easy to get their support.”
They arrived at the abbot’s tiny house, made of sturdy stone.
“Now, let us learn the abbot’s news, son. He says he has found a solution for me.”
They knocked and entered. The abbot lay on his mattress, shriveled and frail. He’d never really recovered from Carlo’s attack last year. And no child had seen him for several weeks now.
“Ah, Andrew; Xan,” the abbot said, waving a hand to them. “Come and sit.”
With no hair on his head, the abbot had always looked different from most monks due to the lack of a tonsure. And though he was ill now, his piercing eyes still held the fire of life.
Brother Andrew sat on the side of the bed and whispered with him, exchanging bits of news. He didn’t seem bothered by the harsh odor surrounding the sickly abbot.
Finally they reached the topic. “Have you received final word, Abbot?”
The abbot nodded and coughed. “Aye.” He turned to look at Xan. “Do you not think Brother Andrew will make a fine priest, child?”
“Of course, Abbot,” Xan said. “The very best.”
The abbot chuckled. “Do not be fooled, boy,” he said with a cough. “Our prior has molded your Brother Andrew quite well. But when he first arrived here—he was called Robert back then, before taking his vows—it took two years of penance to get him to follow all the rules, spoiled son of a land baron that he was.”
The abbot tried to laugh but wound up nearly choking. Brother Andrew turned pink. “Do not forget what I gave up to be here with you.”
The abbot nodded. “’Tis true: you sacrificed both family and wealth. I hope you will deem it worth the cost, for I have received word from the Prince-Bishop of Durham. He will ordain you.”
Brother Andrew sighed in relief. “Praise God! You must still know many powerful people.”
“’Twas not so difficult, Andrew. I still have friends up north. The dean and the prince-bishop eventually gave in to reason.”
“Excellent. So, when will it be?”
“On Ember Saturday, following the feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross.”
They already were celebrating that feast this week, so Ember Saturday was coming upon them in barely a week’s time. “So soon!” Xan said. “That is good news, Brother.”
“Aye. Good indeed! And the prince-bishop will travel all the way here for this?”
“I could not get that concession, unfortunately,” the abbot said.
“By Peter’s staff, must we all travel to Durham Cathedral then?”
“Not quite that far.” The abbot closed his eyes. “’Tis not too distant from here though.”
Brother Andrew frowned. “You are trying not to tell me. Why?”
“I will tell you, Andrew. But ere I do, take a moment and thank God that the prince-bishop has no other ordinations planned for that Saturday so that he can accommodate you.”
For some reason, the abbot seemed to be stalling about giving the location. He must have known Brother Andrew was not going to like what he had to say.
“Will you not say the words, Abbot?” the monk cried. He’d never before become so agitated with a superior in Xan’s presence.
The abbot paused to yawn before finally answering: “Grenton Priory.”
Brother Andrew’s face grew pale. “Lord have mercy! Grenton Priory—your first monastery? How did you convince the prince-bishop to go to that godforsaken place?”
The abbot shrugged. “I could not convince him at all.”
“Then who?”
“I was forced to resort to the wiles of a certain relative of mine.” The abbot chuckled to himself. “A powerful lady—a cousin, actually.”
Brother Andrew sprang to his feet in dismay. “Alas! Tell me you did not ask her!”
The abbot only chortled harder, filling the tiny room with buoyant echoes.
“What have you done, cousin?” Brother Andrew said. “You little mischief-maker!”
The abbot flashed a wicked grin. “Come now, coz. Be kind to an old man.”
“What is it?” Xan asked Brother Andrew. “What’s the matter?”
The monk didn’t answer, his face still blank with shock.
The abbot turned to Xan. “It seems your mentor has lost his speech, child. For some reason, he is upset that he owes this favor to Lady Beaumont.”
Lady Beaumont? No one had ever said that name in his presence before.
“Who?” Xan asked.
Brother Andrew crossed his arms and scowled. “Lady Beaumont: an overbearing, mean-spirited, controlling, and utterly impossible woman.”
The abbot laughed.
“Come now, Andrew. ’Tis impolite to speak that way about your own mother.”
5
The Messenger Arrives
You and the abbot are cousins? Why didn’t you ever tell me that?”
Xan walked with Brother Andrew back toward the library under the warm summer sun.
“Of all the abbeys and priories in England, why do you think I chose this tiny remote one?”
“But you’ve never called him cousin before,” Xan said, licking at a salty bead of sweat.
“The abbot is like my father in the Benedictine order—a much deeper bond than the blood of a distant relative. As my superior, I owe him more respect than a cousin, and I must obey him.”
That must be why Brother Andrew hadn’t resisted when the abbot decreed he depart in only two days’ time for Grenton Priory to prepare for his ordination. The Prince-Bishop of the Durham Diocese would arrive and bestow Holy Orders on the monk on Ember Saturday. In an instant, Brother Andrew would transform into Father Andrew, fulfilling his lifelong dream.
The abbot had said that even Lady Beaumont would be there to attend her son’s ordination.
“What about your mother?” Xan asked. “Why were you so cross about her helping you?”
Brother Andrew’s shoulders grew stiff. “That is a long story I will not tell in full. ’Tis enough to say my parents and I quarreled about my vocation in life. Indeed, they disowned and abandoned me when I came to this place.”
Xan stopped. “You mean you haven’t seen your mother in all these years at the abbey?”
The monk’s blue eye gleamed with fire. “Oh, I saw her once; ’twas not a joyous meeting.”
“But surely your father still speaks with you.” Father always had taken special care with Xan as a child, teaching him about tools and the harvest. That unbreakable fatherly bond must also exist with Brother Andrew and his father.
“My father? His most precious possession in this world was not his family but a jewel.”
“Like Carlo’s emerald,” Xan said. A single jewel that fit in the palm of the hand could perhaps save Uncle William’s life. The power of such a treasure could change a man forever.
“Nay. Carlo’s jewel was a trifle compared with Eden’s Fire, my father’s red ruby. He got it in the Crusades, but that one possession seemed to possess him more than anything. Even me.” The light in Brother Andrew’s eyes had nearly gone out. “Ach, what does it matter now? My father is dead going on three years. My sweet mother did not even send me word of his passing ’til his body was already in the ground a fortnight.”
Po
or Brother Andrew. How strange life was that Xan should long for a day when he could see his parents again, while Brother Andrew dreaded that very same day. Yet Lady Beaumont had set up this ordination. The monk would have no choice but to see her, whether he liked it or not.
“And who will you take to your ordination?” Xan said. That might raise the monk’s spirits.
Because Grenton Priory was a day’s trek, few could go with the monk. The abbot had said only seven others from Harwood Abbey could attend the holy event—enough to fill two carts. The monk pulled at his dark beard. “Father Clement will come, of course, as our prior. And Brother Leo too. I should probably take Brother Lucius—he has been a support to me.”
“Can any of them drive the cart horses?” Xan said.
“Ah, right again, son. We must take two lay brothers for that: Miles and Jacob.”
That already made five passengers. There would only be room for two others.
“I want all portions of this abbey represented,” Brother Andrew said. “We now have a priest, two monks, and two lay brothers. I shall not neglect the boys here.” He turned to Xan. “If I could choose but one boy to take, son, it would be you. Will you come with me to Grenton?”
“Of course,” Xan answered. “Thank you, Brother.” This was exactly the kind of benefit that would make John upset. But what an honor to receive such an invitation.
“And you can pick your own companion—perhaps your little friend Joshua?”
As if responding to his name, Joshua came scurrying over the cobblestones, huffing as though he’d run a race. “Here you are!”
“What is it, Joshua?” Xan said. “Is something the matter?”
“Come quick!” Joshua was wheezing. “Your uncle has sent for you.”
Uncle William! Was it possible he’d safely paid back that cruel Master to whom he owed so much and had already regained his merchant business? If so, it must have been with Christina’s help. She had seemed to play an important part in Uncle’s life back in Lincoln.
They followed Joshua to the chapter house, where most meetings took place at the abbey. There Father Clement stood with a sweaty man in a brown shirt and pants who’d arrived on horseback. Hair windblown and ragged from the journey, he wore a leather pouch and a dagger.
The Fire of Eden Page 3
