“And to your spirit,” Father Clement replied, climbing down.
The peasant turned to Aubrey. “Where are your manners, boy? These are men of God.” Aubrey simply shrugged.
The prior took a step toward the peasant. “Are you Eudo? I am Father Clement, the prior of Harwood Abbey. We are traveling in haste to Grenton Priory this very eve. Can you aid us?”
Eudo surveyed the split wheel. “Looks like the road has different plans, Father.”
“Not the road,” said the priest. “God has forced us down this path, though I know not why.”
Eudo seemed skeptical, yet he bent and examined the notched wheel. His eyes grew dark. “This wheel is oddly sized. You have at least a two days’ wait to get back on the road.”
Father Clement let out a despairing groan. “Is there nothing to be done for us today then?” The poor prior had had a tough time since the abbot had put him in charge.
Xan hopped off the cart and stepped to the prior’s side. “Where is that boy going now?” Brother Leo grumbled, his eyebrows wilder than usual.
Xan tugged at the prior’s black sleeve. “Perhaps they might have a cart we could borrow?”
Eudo turned to Aubrey. “What about your father’s wagon? You or one’a yer brothers could drop ’em by at the priory while I get started on this repair.”
Aubrey spat again and then mounted. “All right then,” he said, spurring the horse on. After he’d gone, Eudo invited the group to come down from the carts to take rest from the afternoon heat. Then he drew a pail of water from a nearby well for their refreshment.
Soon a large wagon rumbled down the path. A muscular man drove it, urging on two wide workhorses. In the back rode Aubrey, two other boys, and a girl with flowing black hair.
“Xan?” The girl’s melodic voice rang out as the wagon slowed to a halt. Then she sprang to the ground. “Brother Andrew! Father Clement!” She embraced the monks.
This couldn’t possibly be real. Lucy had been traveling with her father all over England. How could she be here in this manor in the middle of nowhere, riding to them on their rescue cart?
“Heaven’s blessings!” Brother Andrew said. “I suspected that Aubrey was your brother.” The prior reached a hand of greeting up to Lucy’s father, who still sat in the wagon.
Xan stayed frozen in place. Surely this was a dream.
“Xan?” Lucy stepped toward him. “Have you fallen and bumped your head again?”
His cheeks warmed. “I . . . I thought that . . .” His words sputtered to a halt. “You’re here.”
Brother Andrew slapped him on the back with a chuckle. “Of course. This is her manor.” At that, Lucy began giggling and couldn’t stop. Xan also burst into laughter, and even John could not help but smile.
Eudo shook his head in amazement and patted the prior on the shoulder. “Well, Father, I guess that road knew what ’twas doing after all.”
7
Road to Grenton
Lucy’s father—after much cajoling from Brother Andrew—agreed to let her travel with the monks to Grenton Priory for the ordination. But he set a condition: Aubrey must accompany her.
“Your brother is in charge, Lucy,” her father said, as Aubrey nodded smugly. “He speaks with my own voice. There will be consequences when you come back if you do not obey him.”
Hearing those words brought a rush of heat to Xan’s face. No one should be able to order Lucy around, especially not this Aubrey boy—brother or not—who seemed rather full of himself.
“Aye, Father,” Lucy said, without a hint of hurt pride. “I will.” Then she left to gather her things while the other travelers rested. Xan helped John—reluctant and ungrateful for the assistance—down from the cart while the lay brothers shifted supplies into the larger wagon on loan from Lucy’s family.
When Lucy returned, she’d changed out of the white tunic she usually wore and into the fancier red frock her father had bought her in Lincoln for Palm Sunday. Her hair had grown longer in the months they’d been apart, but she’d pulled it all together now with a white string so that it hung upon her back like the flowing tail of a pony, leaving her olive forehead showing.
Xan sat beside her, and they quickly caught up on each other’s news since they’d last seen each other in Lincoln back in April. He told her about John’s accident and Uncle William’s letter. She told him about her final week in Lincoln. She had seen Christina and Simon only one other time before she’d left.
“We were all so gloomy after you’d gone,” she said. “’Twas just not that fun anymore.”
Then she’d traveled with her father to other towns with their landlord, who was finishing his temporary duty with the royal judges before they returned to their estates for the harvest. She’d returned to her manor just over a week ago and didn’t expect to travel with her father again. They had retrieved Aubrey and her other brothers from the miller at Leeds on their way home.
“Time to go, everyone,” Brother Andrew said, his brown and blue eyes wide and eager.
As they loaded up, the prior thanked Eudo and Lucy’s father for their generosity. Eudo promised to have the abbey cart’s broken wheel fixed in time for the monks’ return trip.
Soon they were clip-clopping along the cobblestone path, back the way they’d come. Xan sat in the back of the wagon with John, Brother Andrew, and Lucy. Aubrey sat up front with Brother Miles, helping steer the horses along the dry road through faint clouds of dust.
John had scarcely spoken a word, except to greet Lucy before staring into oblivion again.
As the village faded in the distance behind them, Lucy touched the edge of Xan’s sleeve. “I like your green tunic,” she said. “Did the nuns make that for you?”
“Aye.” She must have recognized it from her own time making clothes at the convent. How nice it felt to be in Lucy’s gentle presence again—peaceful, comfortable, right.
Except that Aubrey was keeping close watch on him, stealing glimpses every minute. Did her brother think he was going to pounce on Lucy as soon as Aubrey turned around?
“What are you thinking about?” Lucy asked just then.
He stammered and shrugged, his cheeks burning hot. “I don’t think your brother trusts me.”
“Why ever not?” Her brown eyes looked innocent, but her cheeks held a playful smile.
“I guess . . . I suppose . . .” He took a deep breath. “I really don’t know.”
Aubrey glared in their direction, as though he’d overheard them. Then he said, “Do you hunt, Xan?”
“Not really.” He’d only hunted with Father three times before the attack on Hardonbury.
Aubrey turned around. “I hunt fox. They creep in our tofts at night, thinking they’re gonna steal our chicks, but not a one of ’em ever gets away with it when I’m around. See what I mean?”
That sounded a lot like a threat. Xan simply grunted and didn’t return Aubrey’s stare.
The travelers reached the main trail where they’d broken their wheel hours earlier. It was a crossroads of sorts, with three different trails merging in that one spot.
Ahead, standing on a boulder at the side of one of the trails, a man was waving a long dagger in the air toward a young woman who was sitting on a stump by the side of the road. He was clothed in a tunic and hose (both green) with a thick brown cape and a hat that tipped at an angle. A woolen sack leaned against the boulder, as tall and full as a sack of wheat at harvest time.
The pretty woman, also in a traveling cape, wore a frilly blue frock underneath. A silver necklace hung around her dainty neck, and her hair was well-combed and the pure color of honey. She didn’t seem threatened by the man. Indeed, he seemed to be telling a humorous story.
“You should have seen that nobleman’s face, darling. He cried out to me, ‘You rogue!’ Then I said—very serious-like—I said, ‘Please, good man, just call me Apollo, god of the sun.’” Then Apollo jabbed his dagger in quick circles as though pointing it toward an opponent’s hear
t.
“Gilbert,” the woman said, motioning toward the monks. “We have company.”
Seeing them, he jumped down and slid his dagger into his belt, next to a small coin bag.
Brother Miles and Brother Jacob pulled the horses to a halt in front of the couple. The woman stood, holding an ornate leather purse with two hands that looked soft and free of calluses—not the hands of a peasant. She stuffed her purse into the woolen sack.
Xan drew closer to John to fill him in on what they were seeing. John barely gave a nod.
“Blessings this day,” the prior said, rising in the back of the cart after it came to a halt.
“Good day, monks. I am Gilbert, and this is my dearest Adela. We are but poor and weary wanderers. What brings such an interesting group as yours to this crossroads at such a late hour?”
The woman curtsied but said nothing, glancing toward the woolen sack.
“Peace to you,” Father Clement said. “We are on our way to Grenton Priory.”
Gilbert’s eyebrows rose. “Oh! There is a nearby priory then?”
“Aye.” The prior pointed down the eastern trail. “About a half-day’s walk from here.”
Adela tugged at Gilbert’s cape. “That sounds like a safe place, dear, does it not?”
He shot her a disapproving look. “Of course, darling.” Then he spoke with the monks a moment about the weather and the coming harvest. Finally, he seemed to grow weary of talking. “Thank you, good monks,” he said with a wave. “Godspeed on your journey.”
The lay brothers spurred on the horses, and soon the couple faded in the distance.
“What an odd pair,” Xan said. “And I’m certain that woman hid her purse from us.”
Lucy shrugged and pushed a shiny strand of black hair over her ear. “Could be.”
The travelers rode on, and Xan’s conversation with Lucy turned back to Uncle William. “The future can be scary,” Lucy said, when he told her of his indecision. “Believe me, I know. So much has changed in these past few months for me. And I still miss Harwood Abbey.”
Perhaps her feelings toward Xan had grown in her absence? If only he could ask—but how could he, with John and Brother Andrew listening to every word? Not to mention Aubrey.
Indeed, at that very moment the monk looked up from his prayer beads. “I know Sister Regina has missed you, also. She will be glad to know you are well.”
“Aye,” Lucy said. “And what of you, Brother? Are you excited for your ordination?”
The monk seemed undecided. “Well, I can say that I will be glad to finally become a priest.”
“Brother will be ordained by a prince-bishop, you know,” Xan said. Lucy had been with the King’s judges for much of 1185. She probably wanted to hear all about royal things now.
“I don’t understand,” Lucy said. “How can someone be both a prince and a bishop?”
Brother Andrew had explained all of that during one of their lessons a few months ago. “It goes back to King William the Conqueror,” Xan said. “I think he was worried that those Scotsmen up north might invade England.”
“That is exactly right,” the monk said. “The Conqueror knew that Durham was the only diocese ’twixt England and those Scots. That’s why he turned the county into a kingdom within his kingdom, even appointing the Bishop of Durham as earl, prince and ruler of the whole county.”
“Pretty much, a prince-bishop is like royalty,” Xan added.
“Well,” Lucy said. “You must feel lucky to be ordained by such a powerful bishop.”
Brother Andrew’s head sagged. “I am little impressed by such things, my dear. Indeed, I would prefer a simple ceremony at Harwood Abbey by a humble and lowly bishop rather than an ordination at this place.”
“Brother doesn’t like Grenton Priory,” Xan said. Whenever the monk talked about the priory, he spoke in the same disapproving tone that he’d used when describing that priceless ruby, Eden’s Fire, that had possessed Brother Andrew’s father for all those years.
The monk gazed to the sky. “Alas, these days I do not know whether that priory faithfully follows The Rule of our dear Saint Benedict.”
“Then why bother going there?” Aubrey interrupted with a smug tone.
Brother Andrew’s face hardened. “My mother, Lady Beaumont, arranged it all.”
“Will they be unkind to us there?” Lucy asked.
“Quite the contrary. Expect plenty of good food and drink, the sweet smell of roasting meat, and the sound of hearty laughter and endless jesting. ’Tis as peaceful as a carnival.”
Suddenly Brother Lucius called out, “The path to the priory, Father!”
“Praise God, we are close,” Brother Leo muttered from the other cart.
“See, Lucy,” Brother Andrew said. “You can spy the top of the bell tower. Do you see it?”
“I do! Do you see, Xan?” She sounded excited. “But much smaller than the one in Lincoln.”
Xan turned to John, who’d remained silent the entire trip, except for grunting with pain. He was as stubborn in his self-pity and sulking as he used to be in his arrogance and bullying.
“This is amazing, John,” Xan said. “I think you’ll really like it here.” John just winced and gave no answer.
“Come see, Xan,” Lucy said, peering over the side as Grenton Priory emerged before them. They passed the last stretch of woodland on the left, and granges appeared on the right.
Just then Aubrey pointed ahead of them. “Who’s that?”
Brother Andrew shaded his eyes. “He does not look well, that is certain.”
Aubrey laughed. “He better move fast, or we’ll trample him dead like a fox.”
Xan stood to get a better look. Ahead of the wagon in the center of the dusty trail—about twenty paces away—walked a ragged old man with a tattered, dirt-colored tunic.
Aubrey rose and put his hands to his mouth. “Move outta the way, graybeard!”
The silver-bearded stranger was mumbling to himself, seemingly unaware of his surroundings and the approaching wagon. The tips of his filthy toes stuck out of well-worn shoes.
“Ew! He’s a filthy beggar,” Aubrey said. “Move it!” Brother Miles pulled hard on the horses’ reins and slowed them to a halt in front of the beggar, who finally raised his gaze from the ground. Though his face was lined with decades of dirt and creases, his eyes—gray as a stormy sky—shone with a hidden intelligence.
Brother Andrew pressed down on Aubrey’s shoulder from behind. “Young man, you best keep those comments to yourself. This elder is worthy of our honor, not pride and contempt.”
Good. It was about time someone put that Aubrey in his place.
Addressing the beggar, Brother Andrew bowed. “God bless you this day, friend.” The monk’s words hung in the air unanswered. Why wouldn’t the man speak?
Finally, the beggar’s lips parted. “And to your spirit,” he muttered.
“May we assist you in some way?” Brother Andrew’s voice was gentle.
After a long pause, the man stepped off the road and walked away mumbling. Aubrey shook his head. “I’ve heard stories ’bout these lands outside Grenton. There’s queer folk like him all ’round these parts—magicians and thieves—an’ murderers.”
“Stop speaking nonsense,” Brother Andrew said. “That man deserves kindness.”
Lucy made the Sign of the Cross. “Sister Regina said there were some bizarre old prophets in the Scriptures, walking around and mumbling to themselves in the desert.”
“Aye,” Xan said, watching the beggar’s back as the horses carried them past him. “There was something mysterious about him, wasn’t there?”
Just then a joyous ringing peeled in the distance: the bells of the priory church.
Brother Andrew pointed over the granges to the bell tower. “By Adam, Xan, that will not be the only strange thing you children endure today. We have now arrived at Grenton Priory.”
8
A World Away
The cart an
d wagon halted before the doors of Grenton Priory’s main church, with its tall stone spire and bell tower that still echoed from the ringing that had only recently ceased.
Xan stretched his arms and back, rubbing his aching muscles from the bumpy trip.
Despite what Brother Andrew had said, on the surface there was little difference between Harwood Abbey and this new place. The setup was similar—almost a miniature version of back home, with stone buildings, green meadows, and cobblestone on the paths. The main church was not as grand as the one at Harwood Abbey, but it was still the priory’s most notable structure.
Yet Brother Andrew seemed to despise this place.
A lone monk—thin and stiff, like one of the tall fence posts around the fields of Hardonbury—waited in front of the church for their arrival. His face had a frozen smile on it. “Greetings, Father Clement, Brother Andrew, honored guests,” the monk said, as they stood to debark. “I am Brother Charles, sent here to welcome you all to Grenton Priory.”
Then he glanced at Xan, Lucy, John, and Aubrey. “And I see you brought children.” The smile on his face hadn’t changed, yet the tone of his voice had varied with a hint of disapproval. He then greeted each of the travelers as they climbed down from the carts. John accepted Xan’s help, but only to get him safely to the path.
“I pray your journey was a pleasant one,” Brother Charles said, smile still stuck on his face. “Our prior is indisposed at the moment, but he will dine with you tonight.”
Just then a short, clean-shaven monk with a wide girth and chubby cheeks lumbered wildly around the corner like a limping boar, his fleshy hands pumping back and forth. “Charles . . . so sorry!” Brushing dust from the black scapular over his robe, the monk seemed barely able to speak because he was huffing so much. “Was in the grove . . . chasing coneys . . . time got away . . .”
Brother Charles scowled at him. “Time always gets away from you, Bernard.”
The Fire of Eden Page 5
