“I will be more careful,” the monk said, although his rolling eyes signaled the opposite.
Brother Charles gestured to the monk. “This dumpy monk is Brother Bernard.” Perhaps he’d been named after Saint Bernard—the monk who’d preached the last Crusade to free the Holy Land from the Moors, even inspiring Carlo to go to war as a young man.
Brother Charles’s smile grew wide. “I have the perfect job for you, Bernard. Please escort our younger guests to their quarters.” That sounded like a punishment for the tardy monk. However, Brother Bernard seemed pleased. “A girl and three boys, hmm? Boys to the dorm, but this young lady . . .” He snapped his fingers. “The guesthouse, of course. Follow me, children.”
John’s blind eyes widened with discomfort. How tough it must be for such a proud boy as him to require assistance at every turn, especially from Xan. “I’ll help you,” Xan said, reaching out and grasping John’s arm.
John pulled back from him. “Don’t you know anything? Just put out your arm; I’ll take it.” Lucy gave Xan a nod and encouraging smile. He put out his arm, and John felt for it.
“Do not make them late for supper, Bernard,” Brother Charles called out as they left.
Brother Bernard seemed to happily ignore that comment, grinning as he led them along. They passed between two high stone buildings and down a path to a one-story structure: the guesthouse. John’s limp made traveling slow, forcing the monk to stop twice to wait for them.
Inside the guesthouse, Brother Bernard used a set of keys to unlock a door for Lucy. “Here you are,” he said. “Our guest rooms are secured because items keep disappearing around this priory lately. Some think there is a band of thieves hiding out in the woods nearby.”
Aubrey smirked and nodded. “Thieves, eh? Like I said, queer folk ’round these parts.”
Xan shrugged. “Maybe. But sometimes spooky stories turn out to be nothing at all.”
“Well, you’ll believe what you want,” Aubrey said, as though Xan were a pigheaded fool.
The monk gestured inside Lucy’s room, consisting of a straw bed, a chair, and a wooden cabinet with drawers. “Here you are, young lady. Your quarters, my dear.”
“My name’s Lucy,” she said, entering the room.
The monk smiled. “But of course.” Then he turned to leave. “Come now, you three.” As they exited, he asked each of them their names and repeated them aloud.
“Just call me Bunny,” the monk said. That seemed wrong—referring to a monk not by his title but by a silly nickname. Yet Aubrey laughed aloud. “I like you, Bunny. How’d you get that name anyhow?”
The monk blushed. “I catch coneys whenever I can.” He wiped his mouth. “They’re tasty.”
They followed another path that led to a dormitory near a meadow, just like at Harwood Abbey. “This dorm is for our novice boys—well it used to be so, when we had novice boys. Now all we have in here are two abandoned boys from a nearby village. You shall meet them later.”
The monk led them up the dorm’s narrow stone steps, and they emerged into an open area with six meager cots. Xan led John to the closest cot and pressed it up against John’s right leg. “This is your bed,” he said. “Just be careful because there are some stairs behind you there.”
John jerked his arm back. “I’m not stupid; stop explaining things.” He plopped to the cot. Poor John. When would he stop resenting that he needed Xan’s assistance now?
Aubrey sniffed the stuffy air and wrinkled his nose. He pulled a cot under a small slit window, where a slight breeze blew. “This bed’s mine.”
Xan sat on the cot across from John. “That’s fine with me. I like this one better anyhow.”
Brother Bernard watched them curiously as stillness settled over the room. Finally the monk clapped his hands. “Well, I believe ’tis almost time for supper. Put up your things on your cots and follow me to the refectory. We can get that Lucy along the way.”
They did so, tracing their steps behind the bustling monk all the way back to the guesthouse.
“I’ll never call him Bunny,” Lucy said to Xan, when he told her the monk’s nickname.
“Me neither; but what about Brother Bunny?” he said in his most serious voice. She started to giggle.
They headed to one of the buildings they’d passed earlier and entered it through double doors: the refectory. This place was grander than the refectory at Harwood Abbey—like a king’s dining hall, with gold-laced tapestries, paintings, and shining swords hung all over the stone walls.
Thick oak tables, some square, some round, were filled with monks on benches, chatting and laughing as though The Rule of Saint Benedict didn’t tell them to remain silent and solemn, as did the monks at Harwood Abbey. Brother Leo was probably furious with all this rule-breaking.
Scattered at tables throughout the majestic room were lay brothers and guests taking shelter at the priory. Brother Bernard had explained that Grenton Priory received many travelers throughout the year and had adjusted its refectory traditions to accommodate meals together.
The guests from Harwood Abbey already were seated together at one long head table with Brother Charles and the Prior of Grenton. Much older than Father Clement, this other prior dressed in the traditional robe of the black monks but wore a stunning gold ring upon his finger and an oversized gold cross around his neck. And—unlike Father Clement, who was second-in-command under the abbot—this prior was the only person in charge of all Grenton Priory.
Brother Bernard escorted the young people to four empty spaces at the head table. “There you are,” the monk said, taking his seat at a nearby table. “Right on time, Charles.”
Xan sat next to Lucy on one side and John on the other, with Aubrey on Lucy’s other side.
“Welcome back,” Brother Andrew said from across the table. The monk frowned and gestured to the other monks laughing around the room. “’Tis just as I told you, Xan, is it not?”
Just then, lay brothers emerged from a back room with silver trays in hand. They laid out empty wooden plates in front of the guests and placed a marvelous supper in the center of the table.
“Oh my!” Brother Lucius said to the Prior of Grenton. “The pheasant looks exquisite.” Yet he and the other monks from Harwood Abbey declined putting any of the sweet-smelling meat on their plates, taking instead only a small helping of bread and vegetables.
Brother Leo pointed toward the prior. “You eat like this all the time, Prior? Even during this fasting week, when we honor our Lord’s exalted cross?”
From the other table, Brother Bernard chuckled. “Wait ’til you see dessert!”
The Prior of Grenton patted his lips with a soft white linen. “Do not be afraid to have your fill, Brother. I use my authority here as prior to make exceptions to The Rule, as need be.”
Father Clement and Brother Andrew exchanged a disapproving look. If Xan chose to stay at Harwood Abbey and become a monk, he’d probably get upset about something like this too. After all, why be part of a group with special rules if the prior let you break all the rules anyhow?
The food finally reached the children as the trays were passed around the table. “Want some bread, Xan?” Lucy said, holding a silver tray with a warm, fragrant loaf on it.
For a moment, he gazed at her. She had untied the white string from her hair back in her room, allowing her long dark curls to flow over her face, even veiling the black speck on her cheek.
“Why are you staring?” Aubrey snapped. “You want the bread or not?”
“Aye. Thanks, Lucy.” He stuffed the warm bread into his even warmer cheeks. This was the second time Aubrey had embarrassed him with Lucy. He had to put a stop to that somehow.
“Let me get you some food, John,” Lucy said, placing a piece of bread on his plate. John said nothing but grunted as he groped for the bread and ripped off a piece. Since the tree accident, he always seemed to grunt in discomfort whenever he had to exert himself.
The group settled down to eating, whi
le the Prior of Grenton detailed the history of the hanging tapestries, which had been custom-made by a famous artisan from London. “Do not worry, Andrew,” he said. “Every detail of your ordination will be as grand as these tapestries.”
Brother Andrew put on a polite smile but did not respond.
“And tomorrow,” Brother Charles said with a sly grin, “while we finalize all the plans, Bernard can escort these pleasant children all about the grounds. How does that sound, Bunny?”
“Hear, hear!” Brother Bernard said, pumping two fists in the air as though he’d won a race. “Do not fear, children; ’twill be a day you shall never forget.”
The meal continued pleasantly, and after supper, the monks excused themselves to the priory chapel for vespers, their evening prayer. That, at least, seemed to please Brother Andrew.
Even without Brother Bernard to escort them, they found their way back to Lucy’s room at the guesthouse. They bade her good night and then pressed on to their dormitory.
As they trudged up the steps with John, laughter flowed from above—squealing children caught in a stream of giggles. These must be the other boys Brother Bernard had mentioned.
“They better not be on my bed,” Aubrey said, striding ahead.
They emerged up top and saw a boy in a faded brown tunic standing next to a cot. He was grasping a small crutch to his side and looked to be no older than nine. A second boy sat on the cot making a silly face and holding his hands in the air like a monster.
How peculiar. Except for the crutch, the two boys were alike in every way—close-cut hair, dark brown eyes, and narrow heads that ended at pointy little chins. They must be twins.
“You’re finally back!” the one with the crutch shouted. “I’m Odo.” He pointed to the sitting boy, who had dropped his arms to his side. “And this is my brother, Giles.”
Odo laughed as the others stared back and forth at him and Giles. “I’m the older one.”
“Barely!” Giles cried, jumping on the mattress with more energy than Joshua at the abbey.
“Why weren’t you two at dinner with us?” Xan asked.
Odo limped toward them. “Brother Charles says, ‘No children in the refectory.’”
“Except for guests,” Giles said, frowning as he bounced. “So we have to eat in the kitchen.”
John had said nothing yet, but Odo soon noticed him. “And what happened to you?”
All eyes turned to John, who seemed to have no idea the question had been directed at him.
“John?” Xan said.
“Who, me? Well, I . . . Back at the abbey, well . . .” John fumbled a few more words and then gave up. “What do you care? What’s the matter with you?”
Odo didn’t hesitate even an instant. “I’m a cripple; always have been. Me and Giles are here awhile ’til our parents come back to claim us.”
“You mean if they ever come back for us,” Giles corrected.
John’s cheeks flushed red. Maybe he’d finally found someone in worse shape than he.
“So what did happen to you?” Odo repeated his question as though nothing had happened.
All turned again to John in expectation.
“I—I fell.” The words scarcely left his reluctant lips. “’Twas an accident climbing a tree.”
Odo’s face lit up. “I’ve always wanted to climb a tree!”
“Well,” Xan said. “Maybe tomorrow. Are you coming on our tour with Brother Bernard?”
Giles stopped jumping. “We have to go, Odo! Bunny knows all the secret and creepy places. Though the last time he gave a tour, someone fell into the well and broke both their legs.”
9
A Strange Tale
In the morning, while the monks made Brother Andrew’s ordination plans behind closed doors, Brother Bernard arrived at the dorm with Lucy to lead the children around the priory grounds.
“Leave me here,” John said, refusing to get up from his cot. “I’ll just slow you all down.”
Xan hadn’t invited John on this journey to have him sit alone and pity himself. Look at Odo—that poor crippled boy was living a life filled with laughter and joy. He pulled Odo aside. “Do you think you might be able to say something that could get John out of that bed?” Then he whispered an idea into the boy’s ear. Odo seemed to like it.
Odo hobbled over to John’s cot. “Well, if John is too slow to walk all around, then so am I.” He tapped John with the end of a crutch. “Bunny’s a lot of fun, but I guess we two cripples will just have to sit here all day and talk about how boring everything is.”
Xan flashed Odo a smile and stepped over to John’s cot. “Nay, Odo, you don’t have to miss out,” he said, following the boy’s lead. “C’mon, John—the two of you will do fine.”
“You can take my arm, if you want,” Lucy offered him, standing next to Brother Bernard.
John grunted. “All right. I’ll come, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Giles ran over and pulled Aubrey’s sleeve. “You can carry my brother on your shoulders.”
“You think I’m gonna do what?” Aubrey barked.
Giles turned up a pouty lip. “Please. You’re the tallest and the strongest.”
That compliment seemed to win Aubrey over. “Fine. C’mon then, up you go, Odo.” He took the boy onto his back and helped him reach his seat upon his shoulders. “Lead on, Bunny.”
Within minutes, they departed the dormitory behind Brother Bernard.
Their first stop on the tour was a well in the cloister with a wide, round opening. Brother Bernard had them gather to look into the deep water, though John refused to get close. “This is where Father Ribald fell in one morning when he drank too much wine,” the monk said, grinning. “Poor Brother Charles had to climb in to fish him from the water ere he drowned.”
Then he took them to the garden where a snake had once bit Brother Peter on his rear end. Next, they visited the meadow where Brother Bernard had caught three coneys in one afternoon. “We made quite a tasty rabbit stew that night, I tell you,” he said. The monk had an impressive ability to hold their attention. If Xan were to choose to go to Lincoln with his uncle, he’d probably have to learn how to talk to people like that so he could sell them things.
Even Giles, with all his energy, listened to the monk’s stories instead of bouncing and running around. Also, the boy somehow had found a way to crack Aubrey’s rude and rough exterior. Indeed, Giles seemed to be growing on Aubrey—bringing out a better side of him.
As the midmorning sun sharpened the smell of approaching autumn, Brother Bernard led them to the edge of the priory along a trail that continued unseen into the woodland.
“Bunny, why’d ya take us all the way out here?” Aubrey said.
“Why indeed, lad.” With a nervous eye the monk spied around him on all sides and hushed his voice to a whisper. “’Cause this is the most interesting part of the whole tour is why.” With an odd grin, he led them across the road and down a green bank into the woodland. The air thickened under the shadowy trees, which pressed around them on all sides.
John was grunting a lot more, and his speed grew slower even as his grip on Lucy got tighter. “This is too difficult,” he finally said. “I can hear Lucy getting worn out because of me.”
The monk—wheezing and puffing—wiped his sweat-drenched brow. “’Tis not far now.”
Soon they reached a sunny clearing. At its center stood a carved wooden statue of a blackbird with its wings spread. Its claws clutched a staff, and its sharp beak held a piece of string.
“What is that?” Xan said, after he described it to John.
The monk’s eyes glistened with pride. “That, my little ones, is the reason you should rejoice that Bunny is your guide today instead of dull old Brother Charles. ’Tis the Mark of the Magician.”
Aubrey elbowed Xan and smirked. “Told you there’s magicians round these parts.”
“But what does that mean?” Lucy said. “Is that a name—the Mark of the Magi
cian?”
Brother Bernard patted the bird’s back. “Aye, young lady. But there is only one way to understand, and that is for me to tell you the tale of this mysterious carving.” He had them rest upon the grass around the blackbird statue as he stood petting it.
“Years ago—long before I was a monk—a young man returning from the Crusades passed the way of Grenton Priory, a complete stranger to this place. When night came, he sought shelter here. That, of course, was perfectly usual, but what happened later was not.”
The monk picked up a long branch from the grass, holding it like a staff. “The stranger carried a tall staff in one hand, and in the other hand he held a book he had discovered on his adventures. When the monks asked him about it, he would only tell them ’twas called Secrets of the Sultans, but no one knew what that meant.”
Brother Bernard crouched down as though riding on a pony. “That same day, a host of horse-soldiers sought refuge at the priory. This was during the time when men were retreating from the Holy Land, after their terrible defeat by those Moors. So the stranger and the soldiers met at table over the evening meal that night.”
The monk lowered his voice to a hush, like John used to do when talking about the Shadow. “One of those soldiers thought he recognized the stranger. He said, ‘Friend, were you not at battle before the walls of Jerusalem? I swear I saw you fall by the sword.’ But the stranger refused to answer, no matter how hard the soldier pressed him.”
Brother Bernard ran to the edge of the clearing and grabbed a branch the length of a sword. “The soldier stormed out of the refectory in the middle of the meal, returning a few minutes later holding a notched sword with queer markings on its handle. ‘Is this not your sword, friend?’ the soldier asked. ‘I picked it up from beside your dead body and took it into my care. Surely this is your sword.’ At that, the stranger rose from his seat and lifted his secret book to the sky. ‘Give me my sword,’ he said in a hoarse voice, ‘and I will spare your life.’”
The monk clapped his hands with a loud snap. “But the soldier said he would not give back the blade ’til the stranger explained how ’twas possible he still lived. ‘You are a ghost!’ the soldier accused. ‘Or a devil!’ Still the stranger refused to tell his tale.”
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