Brother Bernard pointed his index finger into the air. “The stranger left the room without violence, but as he departed he turned to the soldier and said, ‘The threads of the Fates are fickle; this very night your own string shall be clipped.’”
Then the monk fell to the ground and lay still as he told the next part of the story. “At the midnight hour, a great stir happened in the large dormitory. They found the soldier dead in his cot, but not a wound could be seen. Seven soldiers, who would give their own lives for their friend, accused the stranger of devilry. They chased him up to the roof of the priory’s chapel. There the stranger was trapped and likely to be pierced by many arrows.”
Brother Bernard popped onto his feet and pointed to the clouds in the sky. “But when the others climbed to the roof, the stranger was gone. Yet they saw a blackbird flying westward. After that, many said the stranger could change himself into a bird. The next day, the soldiers buried their dead friend with the notched sword by his side. But in the evening, one of the monks swore he saw the stranger on the road, holding both his staff and the queer sword.”
Brother Bernard pointed in the same direction as the blackbird’s beak. “Later, the stranger took up residence nearby. Indeed, his cottage is up that trail a ways. But he has never revealed his true identity—we know him only as the Magician.”
Xan stood and touched the statue. “And what about this thing?” The monk’s theatrics in telling the story had made it more entertaining but less believable.
Brother Bernard placed a hand on the bird’s head. “A few months later, one of our monks discovered this statue. Many say the Magician himself put it here. It points the way to his lair.”
Odo lifted his crutch high to get the monk’s attention. “Have you ever been to his lair?”
The monk’s face paled. “Well, I—everyone knows that—” Then he cocked his head and peered up the trail, as though he’d heard someone drawing near. “Come, children. We must go!” He hurried them up and onto the woodland trail, back in the direction of the priory.
“I’ll help John now,” Xan said, taking Lucy’s place at John’s side. John took his arm without complaint, but soon they were lagging behind the others.
“You don’t believe that magician story, do you?” John said as they walked alone.
That was the first sign of John’s interest in anything at all since his accident. Perhaps a good mystery would help pull him from his self-pity. But this wasn’t much of a mystery, and John wasn’t as good a problem-solver as Xan.
“Do I believe this stranger returned from the dead, murdered a soldier, turned into a bird, and stole a sword from a grave?” Xan said. To hear the theory aloud was to answer John’s question.
John nodded and sighed. “I suppose you’re right.” He fell into silence again.
Eventually, they made it back to the golden granges on the western slope of the priory. The sharp smell of wheat filled the air. The monk led them to a grassy spot to rest awhile.
Xan sat next to Lucy, while Odo plopped himself down at John’s side and started talking. Brother Bernard lay on the grass alone, his thick legs basking in the sun as they stuck from his robe, which was pulled up to his knees. Soon his belly rose and fell like an earthquake. Yet how could he sleep through Giles’s squealing as Aubrey chased him around the meadow? Lucy’s brother had really loosened up, thanks to that energetic boy.
Xan gazed at Lucy. This was the first time they could speak with any semblance of privacy. “We’re finally alone,” he said. “Sort of.”
Lucy smiled. “Thank Heaven for that.”
This was the moment. Within days he must decide whether to go to Lincoln and become a merchant’s apprentice to Uncle William. But would Lucy be coming back to the abbey? Sister Regina had said Lucy might become a nun one day—was that so? Most of all, was the connection they shared more than just a friendship? Was there some other chance of a future for them together?
He opened his mouth to ask one or all of those questions, but his heart betrayed him at the last moment. All he said was, “What a strange tale Brother told us in the woods.”
“Too strange for my liking.” Lucy took his hand. “It sounds like dark magic to me.”
“’Tis just a story,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Brother Andrew would never believe it.”
“True,” she said. “He didn’t believe in ghosts, either.” They listened in silence to Brother Bernard’s breathing, which had now settled into a heavy but steady rhythm. Giles was laughing again as he chased Aubrey around a tree. And Odo was telling John about how many crutches he’d already had throughout his life.
Ask her!
“Lucy? I’ve wanted to ask you something.”
She put her hand to her forehead and moved a strand of hair from her eyes. “Aye?”
He cleared his throat. “Well, I wanted to find out if . . . I was hoping you would tell me whether . . . when we were at the abbey and in Lincoln, did you . . .?” He paused. This was almost as bad as that first time he’d met Christina in Lincoln, when he wasn’t even able to give her his name because he was so nervous being around her. But this was Lucy! This kind of babbling wasn’t ever supposed to happen with her.
“I’m not really sure how to say it,” he said, taking a stick and throwing it as far as he could. Lucy watched as he struggled, but his eyes didn’t rise to meet hers as the moments passed.
“Remember before I left Lincoln?” he started again. “We sat together and talked.”
“I remember. We talked about God’s will.”
“Right. God’s will—for you; for me.” For us.
“I’ve had a lot of time alone to think since that day,” Lucy said. “I’ve prayed so much.”
He looked at her. “So have I. Believe it or not, I’m always in the chapel now, it seems.”
She smiled. “Good for you. I think that’s where we find the answers that really matter.”
“Do you know God’s will now?” he said. “For what we—I mean you—should do?”
She scrunched up her nose. “’Tis not easy to understand, Xan. My time at the convent was like—like a taste of Heaven. Sister Regina showed me how special it feels to truly belong to God.”
She paused to straighten the edges of her pretty red frock. “But I also liked our time together—you and me, I mean. When my father sent for me . . . I suppose that I . . . oh, I don’t know! Then we somehow found each other in Lincoln and . . .”
Now she was struggling as much as he’d been. What did that mean?
“It got all confused in my head,” she said. “I kept thinking that . . . I mean, I want to return to the abbey, but I don’t know why. Is it for God or for . . . for something else?”
“Do you mean—?”
That’s when Brother Bernard popped his head up. “What is the time? Have the prayer bells rung yet?” The monk jumped to his feet.
“Nay, Brother.” Lucy was twisting her hair around her finger and staring away from Xan.
“Come!” the monk said. “I must make it to prayers on time. We can meet up again later.”
10
An Unappreciated Gift
Who’s that?” Lucy pointed toward two specks walking along the western road.
They had just met up with Brother Bernard in front of the main church after prayers and the priory’s midday meal. They’d got the monk back just in time for the prayer bells to ring, and then Lucy had insisted she needed to return to her room for some prayer time of her own.
Only now—after the boys had wasted an hour doing nothing—were they together again.
Brother Bernard squinted. “Hmm, I do not know. We are expecting the prince-bishop’s advance team—coming here a few days early to prepare everything for the prince-bishop. Surely these two are not them, but we do often receive weary travelers along this road.”
Xan shielded his eyes from the sun. There on the road were a man in green and a woman in blue, both wearing traveling capes. The man carried
a large sack on his shoulder. “That’s the same couple from the trail yesterday,” he said. “They’ve followed us.”
Lucy nodded. “I see. They must have decided to come here after the prior mentioned it.”
“The woman wanted to stay someplace safe, remember?” John said.
Xan and Lucy exchanged a relieved glance. It was good to see John speaking on his own. “That’s right,” Xan said. “Exactly right, John.”
“Many seek a brief refuge here,” Brother Bernard said. “They leave a donation, of course.” The monk had explained at dinner that Grenton stood near a major crossroads connecting York, Durham, and Carlisle, and the black monks’ tradition of hospitality was well-known.
“They seem a nice couple,” Brother Bernard said, as the pair arrived at the entrance.
Adela walked a step behind Gilbert, but her face brightened upon seeing them all. “Look, dear,” she said, neatening her honey-yellow hair. “Those children with the monks.”
Gilbert let the sack drop to his feet. “Ah, we meet again.” He gave an exaggerated bow and then turned to Brother Bernard. “Peace to you, monk. May we take shelter at this blessed place?”
“Peace to you and to your wife,” the monk said.
“I am called Gilbert, and this is my dear Adela. We are journeying to Carlisle to visit family and are in need of a few days’ rest. We have silver.” Gilbert patted the small coin bag on his belt.
The monk grinned. “Then you are very welcome, indeed! Follow me.”
Xan walked with John behind the others as they followed the monk and his new guests. “There’s something strange about that couple,” he whispered to John. Adela’s purse was nowhere to be seen, and her eyes had seemed fearful even though her words had been pleasant.
“My poor ailing mother cherishes our visits, does she not, my dear?” Gilbert said.
“Of course, my love,” she said after a hesitation. “She is privileged to have a son like you.”
“Nay, I don’t trust them at all,” Xan told John. At that crossroads, they didn’t mention anything to the monks about visiting Gilbert’s sick mother. They said they were mere wanderers.
Brother Bernard chuckled. “Family! You are truly blessed if your wife thinks so fondly of your mother. Take my brother’s wife; that impossible woman refuses to speak with my mother.”
“I am very blessed, indeed.” Gilbert said, his voice overflowing with joy.
Just then the clatter of approaching hooves echoed in the distance. Gilbert spun with a jolt, his eyes wide and fiery. “What—Who is that?”
Why was Gilbert so alarmed? Perhaps he was expecting trouble to follow him upon that road, like Uncle William back in Lincoln when the Master sent his henchmen to track him down.
Brother Bernard glanced back and shrugged. It was only one rider on a black horse. “More guests, perhaps. We are expecting many this day. Let us wait and see.”
Gilbert stuck his arm in his cape and grasped his dagger hilt, apparently ready for a fight. The lone rider raced through the priory’s entrance and halted in front of the group in a whirl of dust. “Hail!” the rider said. He was dressed in chain mail, with thick black boots.
“Peace to you,” replied Brother Bernard.
“I come to ready the arrival of Lady Beaumont. She should be expected.”
Brother Bernard sparkled. “Ah! Of course, of course.” He looked over the horizon to the road. “That is her company in the distance, eh? Brother Charles has made all the arrangements. Come with us. I assure you the lady’s stay at our priory will be one she long remembers.”
This would indeed be a day of many meetings: Gilbert and Adela; the prince-bishop’s advance team; Lady Beaumont and her escorts. Brother Andrew would finally get to see his mother after all these years—an occasion every son should cherish, though Brother Andrew dreaded it.
At that moment Brother Charles exited the monks’ dormitory and bustled over to them. “Greetings, greetings—the lady is arriving!” he said. “Bunny, go fetch our prior and the guests from Harwood Abbey, then take this couple to the guesthouse. Quickly now!”
Brother Bernard obeyed without hesitation, hurrying Gilbert and Adela along the path.
By the time Lady Beaumont’s party pulled up to the priory church ten minutes later, a welcome reception had formed for her. The Prior of Grenton stood by Brother Charles—Brother Bernard had not yet returned—while the adults from the abbey lined up next to Brother Charles. All the children, except Xan, huddled together several feet behind.
Xan stood in a place of honor, of course, waiting at Brother Andrew’s side as the man fidgeted with the edges of his robe and kicked at a pebble. This would no doubt annoy John again, showing once more that Xan held a higher place in the hierarchy.
“Pray for me, Prior,” Brother Andrew said.
“Be at peace, Andrew,” Father Clement said, from the monk’s other side. “All is well.”
Lady Beaumont’s party consisted of a luxurious litter of polished wood, with four of the largest wheels Xan had ever seen. That probably made the ride smoother for her. The litter was drawn by two sturdy white horses and driven by two guards in chain mail with shining helmets. The lady must have been inside the litter, but a lacy curtain blocked the window view.
On all sides, the lady’s guards rode on black horses. Among them rode a man on a brown horse with fine garments, like a nobleman. His long graying hair was pulled back with a string, revealing a neck as thick as the trunk of a sturdy tree. He seemed to be in charge.
The litter halted and he raised a fist high. Immediately, the guards dismounted in unison and stood at equal distances, swords at the ready. They spoke no words but peered about them. The thick-necked man jumped from his horse. “Guards, be at rest.” He came and bowed to the Prior of Grenton. “I am Alford, aid to Lady Beaumont. We are pleased to be here, Prior.”
“The honor is ours,” the Prior of Grenton said, offering both a blessing and a handshake.
Alford then bowed to Brother Andrew. “Master Robert, ’tis good to see you again.”
The monk cringed at his old name. “You also. High have you risen in my mother’s estate.”
Alford nodded with a smile and then turned to the guards. “Men, secure the chest!”
Two guards marched to the rear of the litter and removed a chest, barely large enough to hold a small sack of coins. Yet they were guarding it as though their very lives depended on it.
Then Alford strode solemnly to the litter and rolled a silky red fabric onto the stones beneath the lacy window. He opened the door and announced, “Presenting Lady Beaumont!”
The lady’s face appeared: old, yet not lined with age; forehead proud and wide, made even broader by her short, elegant hairstyle. When she emerged from the litter, she stepped with the grace and poise of ten Lord Godfreys. She held her head high and almost floated to the red silk, her expensive-looking white gown flowing to her ankles and barely rustling as she moved.
The Prior of Grenton bowed low and exchanged the most formal courtesies with her.
“I see you have met Alford, my head servant,” she said, gesturing to him. “He has served my family for over thirty years and is more educated than most noblemen. I saw to that myself.”
“Aye, my lady,” the prior said. “And you know Brother Charles, I believe.”
She nodded to the stiff thin monk. “Of course. ’Tis a pleasure to see you again, Brother.”
She drifted toward Father Clement, but when she saw Brother Andrew, her eyes glistened. “My son!” She wiped a tear away with a white-gloved finger and reached out to take his hand.
He hesitated but then stepped forward and put two limp arms around the woman. “The Lord be with you, Mother. You look well.”
The proud woman seemed to get hold of her emotions again as she surveyed her son from top to bottom. “You look like you could use a good meal, Robert. You seem shrunken to me.”
Brother Andrew laughed, but his expression showed hurt
feelings. “I am Andrew now, Mother—not Robert. And I assure you that I am well fed and in the best of health.”
The lady flinched at the monk’s religious name, but she recovered her bearings immediately. “Good, good. It has been too long since I have seen you, my son.”
“Much has happened in that time, Mother.” His words hung in the air like an accusation.
Father Clement cleared his throat. “But I am being rude,” Brother Andrew said, jolted back to his surroundings. “Mother, this is our prior from Harwood Abbey.”
The priest bowed low and blessed her.
“And this, Mother, is a dear and excellent boy: Xan.”
Xan tried an awkward bow to the lady, who smelled sweet like honeyed perfume.
“What a charming child. How wonderful to meet you, Xan.” Lady Beaumont then glanced about her, gliding her head from one side to the other. “And where is my cousin?”
“Have you not heard?” Brother Andrew said. “The abbot is unwell but sends his wishes.”
The lady frowned. “How unfortunate. I so wanted to see him again.” She drooped just a little and rubbed the back of her neck with her thumb and forefinger.
“You must be exhausted from your journey, my lady,” the Prior of Grenton said. “May we show you to your quarters? We have a place for you in our royal guesthouse.”
“That would do nicely,” she said. “But first I must speak a moment with Robert in private.” She turned to Alford and gave a nod. Oddly enough, he didn’t obey her at once, widening his eyes with a questioning, skeptical glance. She nodded even harder and he finally complied, stepping to the two guards and retrieving the small chest from them.
“Walk with me a moment, Rob—I mean, my son,” she said. “I wish to tell you something.”
Brother Andrew glanced toward Xan, as though in doubt, but then stepped away with his mother and Alford. They walked on the grass and spoke in soft tones a few moments.
The Fire of Eden Page 7
