The Pleasure Garden: Sacred VowsPerfumed PleasuresRites of Passions

by Amanda McIntyre

  Edmund shifted on the stark, backless bench, waiting for the abbot, who had summoned him to the abbey’s administrative quarters. The heat from the sultry autumn day pooled between Edmund thighs. His palms sweated. His plain white linen robes were comfortable enough out of doors, but inside, where little air circulated, his body was suffocating. He pushed himself to his feet, crossing his arms over his chest as the old man entered the room. Edmund bowed out of reverence, accepting the lord abbot’s hand, placing a kiss on his ring.

  “Peace to you, Edmund. Please sit. This heat is almost unbearable, but we can’t complain. The crops enjoy the sun well enough to give us good harvest.”

  Edmund sat, as did the abbot, across the plain table that served as his desk.

  “You seem to be doing well here, Edmund. I trust the monastic life agrees with you?” The abbot did not look at him, only shuffled some papers, peering at them with a frown, before he picked up his spectacles and adjusted them on his nose.

  “I am, Your Reverence. It is a good life, serving God in this way,” Edmund responded.

  The old man, his face covered with a snow-white beard, nodded, drawing his hood down around his neck. Edmund noted how the abbot’s thin white hair barely covered the top of his sun-burnished head. He glanced at his hands again, noting how dark his complexion was in comparison to when he’d first arrived.

  “Our work keep us busy.” The abbot chuckled. “The Lord’s work is never done.”

  “Yes, milord,” Edmund replied, wondering why he’d been called here. He was anxious to get back to the fields and finish the weeding before evening vespers.

  “You have news from home, I understand?” The abbot gave him a brief glance before looking again at his papers.

  Edmund felt the folded sheet he’d tucked in the pocket of his robe. He’d not yet had the chance to write and tell his mother he wasn’t coming home. He pulled it out and handed it to the abbot.

  The old man dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “I have read it, my son. It is why you have been called here today. I understand this is your best friend who is to be married?”

  Of course, Edmund thought as he slipped the paper back into his pocket. All communications—ingoing or outgoing—went through the high clergy. Still, Edmund wasn’t sure why he would have been called in because of the letter. He’d made no request for special permission to leave. He had no intention of attending the wedding. Edmund waited, not wishing to show disrespect by asking what was the point of this meeting.

  “What do you intend to do?” the Abbot asked calmly, his gaze resting on Edmund. “Do? Milord, I am not certain I understand the question,” he responded.

  Edmund looked at his mentor, the man who saved him three years ago when he collapsed on the monastery steps, destitute and hungry. He never arrived at the Roman seminary, instead setting forth on a journey of his own, searching for a greater purpose to his life, perhaps in an attempt to abolish the guilt of disobeying his parents and breaking his promise to Cara. He wandered village to village until the day he stumbled upon the steps of the remote abbey in eastern France. Nursed back to health, Edmund felt he’d found his calling, to serve faithfully alongside those who had helped him in a time of need. Not once had he ever questioned the abbot’s most puzzling methods of testing his faith.

  “So I ask you, what are your plans? Is it not an invitation to return to your village and attend the springtime wedding of your childhood friend?”

  Edmund shrugged. “He will have to understand that my work here at the abbey is more important.”

  The old man propped his fingertips together, his shaggy gray eyebrows drawing into a frown as he spoke. “This is your third year with us, is that not true, Edmund?”

  “Yes, your Reverence.”

  “And you have twice made your vow to serve God according to the Byland brethren.”

  Edmund nodded, shifting again from the warmth permeating his flesh beneath his robes. His thoughts raced back over the two years since he’d decided to seek admission into the monastic life. Years as a novice, twice reaffirming his vows. It had been a wise choice, Edmund felt, using hard work to replace the guilt of disappointing his family, of defiling a woman, of forbidden desire.

  “This is your third year. Soon you may request to take your permanent vows and receive your full orders.” The abbot’s gaze narrowed on him. “You are our youngest candidate, Edmund, a young man in his prime. And yet you are certain that this is the path that is best for you?”

  Edmund swallowed hard and stared into the eyes of wisdom. “Forgive me, milord. But has there been some cause to doubt my dedication?”

  “No, no, Edmund, you are a most welcome addition, and I have no doubt that in time you would be an asset to our order.”

  It did Edmund good to hear the affirmation, since, having received the letter from home, he found his mind filled with the memories and images he’d tried with great determination to remove. His body had yearnings that he’d not experienced in a long time. He’d lain awake at night, unable to sleep, haunted by visions of walking through the labyrinth, the full moon high overhead, the drums drifting through the night air, mingling with Cara’s sighs as he rode her to completion. He could not look in the abbot’s eyes. “Thank you, milord.”

  “You are a humble and noble man, Edmund.”

  His eyes darted to the old man’s steady blue gaze, sparking with wisdom.

  “However ready you may feel you are to join our abbey, I must ask—have you resolved the issues of your past? You once told me that you had parted ways with a good friend, over a disagreement. Is this man that friend, by chance?”

  He could not deny what the abbot had already concluded. “Yes, milord. We were once as brothers, inseparable.”

  “Yet you have not spoken to him since the day of your disagreement?”

  Edmund nodded.

  “Edmund, the path to serving God is not a smooth one. Like the gardens you so love, it, too, can grow cluttered with stones, overgrown with weeds. And we are the tenders of that garden. Only we can clear the path, so that the growth of God’s goodness is not hindered by obstacles.”

  Edmund stared at the old man.

  “Do you understand what I am saying?” the abbot asked.

  Though he wanted to deny it, he couldn’t. There were aspects of his life that had been left unresolved. They needed to be made right, so that he could move on with a clear conscience. He’d wrestled with the demons of his past for too long, and now he had to make peace with them, before he could be at peace with himself.

  “You are telling me that I should attend my friend’s wedding. Isn’t that what you’re saying?” he asked.

  The abbot smiled. “No, my son, I am suggesting that you should make your vows with a clear conscience and whole heart. While it is true that God is our refuge, we do not wish to have to hide behind his robes in the face of adversity.”

  Edmund nodded. “I’ll pack my things at once.” He rose and knelt next to the abbot, kissing his ring.

  “May God go with you on your journey, Edmund, and we look forward to your return. Go now, in God’s peace.”

  He nodded, unsure if he’d ever truly felt God’s peace, or if he’d deluded himself all this time in hiding behind what he thought was right. It would be good to have things between himself and Gregory harmonious again. Even if his life in the abbey took him far away from home after this, he would be better for this slight deviation in his plans.

  7

  IT WAS JUST AS HE’D LEFT IT. LITTLE HAD changed in Dublin since Edmund sailed from its shores three years ago, except now he noticed traces of Gaelic influence had seeped back into the predominantly English village. Celtic music played freely in the courtyard of a pub, and in the din of voices on the wharf, he’d heard snippets of the ancient Gaelic tongue. His mother had kept him abreast of the changes, explaining that parliament was weakening its stand on keeping the two cultures separate, for they were already so tightly woven together.


  His mother had also noted that Gregory’s betrothed was the daughter of a Gaelic leader of great influence with his people, and so of great value to what alliance he would bring to the crown. Edmund considered that news of Lord DeVerden’s—Gregory’s father’s—recent knighthood by the king may well have played into the union, as England rarely did anything that didn’t also bring them greater political power.

  Given what he knew of Gregory, Edmund found it hard to imagine him settling down with one woman. She must be quite special. The thought of marriage seemed so foreign to Edmund now. Though he still had the desires of any man, he had sacrificed his hope for a wife and family long ago, out of self-preservation. His first year away from home, away from the only woman he would ever give his heart to, had been torture, and yet in some perverse way it was the memory of Cara and their short time together that got him through his darkest hours. Eventually, his dedication to their love turned to a greater love—one that required selflessness. The abbot knew, even as Edmund knew, deep inside, that it was good he should come home to test himself, his priorities.

  Edmund took his time walking home. It was a beautiful late winter afternoon, just days before the return of spring…Beltane. The street vendors displayed their wares, and the mingling of familiar scents, of raw fish and baking bread, made Edmund’s mouth water. His heart had a sudden yearning to remain here in the familiar surroundings of his childhood home. But his life had changed, and so, too, had Gregory’s. Edmund was here to make amends so that he could go with his life and give his blessing for Gregory to go on with his own.

  Edmund’s family estate was situated near the grounds of the main castle. Compared to the poor villages he’d worked in, it was a palace. He paused at the front door with its austere lion’s head knocker. He reached for it, then, having second thoughts, opened the door and walked in. He was greeted by the sight of his mother standing at the base of the great curved staircase. She wore a stern expression, which explained the scrambling of the servants around her.

  “Mother,” he said. He dropped his tattered sack of worldly belongings by the door, dismissing with a wave of his hand a servant who tried to pick it up. Edmund opened his arms in greeting, but his mother offered nothing more than her cheek for him to kiss.

  “You arrived early. How wonderful.” She gave him a stony smile. “You must be hungry.” She motioned to one of the servants. “Prepare something for my son to eat. And bring him some fresh milk and cheese.” She looped her arm through his and escorted him to the front room. “Good heavens, Edmund. You are nothing but skin and bone.”

  “Where is Father?” he asked.

  She gave him a quick glance. “He is with Lord DeVerden.”

  “Just as well. It will give us some time to catch up.” He patted her hand.

  “Not until you bathe, Edmund. I’ll not have you at my table. You smell akin to a fish barrel.”

  In short order a tub was brought to his room and made ready with hot water. He couldn’t deny the pleasure of sinking into it and lathering himself with the French soap his mother insisted was best for the skin. One of the solemn-faced servants returned twice with fresh hot water.

  “Lady Collier has requested that I remind you that your meal awaits and is getting cold, sir.”

  Edmund had planned to shave, but decided it was better not to keep his mother waiting any longer. The servant picked up his dusty, brown robe. “You can leave that.”

  The man held it between his fingers with a disparaging look. “It won’t take any time at all to place it with the daily wash, sir. We will have it to you fresh by morning, then?”

  Edmund knew it was pointless to argue. His mother would steal his clothes away in the dead of night if need be. “Very well.” He smiled, wondering whether to show up at his mother’s table in the suit God had given him.

  “Lady Collier also suggests that you will find extra clothes, preferred for dining, in the wardrobe.”

  “She thought of everything,” Edmund mused aloud.

  “She always does, sir,” the elderly servant muttered. “Will you require my assistance with your clothing, sir?”

  “I’ve been dressing myself for quite some time now, thank you,” Edmund responded. He stood in the tub. “That did feel glorious… What was your name again?” Baths at the monastery were taken in the crystal cold lake.

  “Bentley, sir.”

  “Ah, Bentley, if you’d be so kind as to hand me that towel and tell my mother I will be down straightaway.”

  He nodded once and left Edmund to ponder what clothing choices his mother had provided.

  Edmund picked through the wardrobe and settled on a shirt, long breeches and a pair of his old boots, but it felt strange, almost decadent, to be wearing ordinary clothes. He entered the dining hall and found his usual chair ready for him. His mother clapped her hands, summoning a flurry of servants, who lined up one at a time to offer an array of culinary delights on silver platters. Edmund eyed the feast and smiled at his mother. “I could no more eat this much food in a week. At the abbey we have but two meals a day.”

  She waived away the servants and eyed him with a tolerant sigh. “What title are you given at this…abbey?” She passed him a basket of bread. “Are you sure you want nothing more?”

  Edmund chuckled as he broke off a piece of homemade bread. “I’ll take one of those apples.” He gestured to the bowl containing the red fruit he suspected was meant for display rather than eating.

  His mother rested her hands in her lap. watching him from where she sat but he sensed she might as well have been miles away. She didn’t understand his vows of poverty. Edmund could only hope in time that her disappointment would lessen. “Well, to begin with, Mother, I will always first be your son.”

  Her mouth dropped open in surprise. From the look on her face, Edmund could see she was preparing to lecture him about his choices, and how they’d caused them insurmountable grief. He’d received such comments in the letters they’d sent in the beginning, when they thought they could change his mind. Still, with such a short time before he must return to the abbey, he did not wish to argue. He stood, taking a sip from the fine goblet before him.

  “I’m still your Edmund, Mother. I’ve not yet taken my vows.” His need to see his old friend and make things right between them weighed on his heart. “I think I’ll go visit Gregory. Let him know I’ve arrived, in case he needs my counsel, or perhaps just a willing ear.” Edmund leaned down and kissed his mother’s cheek, finding the chalky taste of her face powder still the same.

  She didn’t look at him. He knew that she didn’t approve of his disobedience, but over the years, he’d managed to get past the guilt of his family’s disappointment. Now it was a matter of hoping they would accept him, if not his choices. “I will be back soon, and hopefully, with Father. If I know the two of them, he’ll need an arm to steady himself after partaking of Lord DeVerden’s port.”

  “Edmund?”

  He paused at the arched entrance and looked back, noticing concern on her face.

  “Be careful, Edmund. It has been some time since you and Gregory parted ways and, as I recall, not on cordial terms. Though I have him to thank, I suppose, that you are not rotting in some English jail. Remember that because of his father’s knighthood, he, too, has a position of great influence over our family.”

  Edmund knew what she meant was be careful and don’t cause a public spectacle. “Thank you, Mother, for your concern. But I imagine since it was Gregory himself who invited me to this happy occasion, it would indicate that he is willing to place the past where it belongs—in the past. And I wish to do the same. It is better for both of us to do so.” He offered her a short bow and departed for Dublin Castle.

  Cara had never seen anything so grand. The walls of the castle were as high as the cliffs standing over the sea, and washed with bright colors. Massive paintings hung high and low on the walls, set in exquisitely ornate frames. Upon her arrival she was taken immediately to her room, w
here she was told she needed to prepare properly before meeting Gregory’s parents. She’d been given a maidservant, who waited dutifully at her side while Cara gawked at the size of her quarters. She was astounded by the opulence and wealth, more of it displayed within these two rooms alone than the entirety of her village back home.

  “May I pour your tea, milady?” The young servant girl moved to the table and picked up the fine teapot.

  “That would be lovely, thank you,” Cara responded, remembering every manner her mother had taught her.

  The young girl ushered her to a seat, snapped open a cloth and lay it over her lap. She handed her a cup and saucer, folded her hands in front of her and looked at Cara with a no-nonsense look in her eye.

  “After tea, you are to rest. Your bath is scheduled at five. You are to be dressed, and then meet Master DeVerden in the formal dining hall promptly at eight.”

  Cara cradled the fragile teacup with the care she’d use gathering the hens’ eggs back home. She had much to learn about the new life she was about to marry into. The saving grace to many of her concerns was a promise by Gregory that after they were wed, he would arrange for her whole family to be brought to the castle to live. She was glad to see that the tradition of family ties was as important to him as it was to her.

  She had not yet told him about Moyran, but still pondered what her mother had said about him wanting to have his own children. Still, it did her heart good to know that she would have a greater say in offering her daughter a quality upbringing if she was under the same roof.

  The maidservant stood silently next to the table, her gaze focused straight ahead. Cara made the mistake of glancing at her over the rim of her cup.

  “Yes, milady?” She straightened abruptly.

  Cara wondered if the poor girl ever smiled. “I have all I could possibly need. Surely you have other things you must do.”

  Puzzled, the young girl shook her head. “No, milady, my duty is to serve you.”