Lukas could not find the words to say how grateful he was, but he did not need to. The hermit could see it in his face.
‘What did you . . . I mean . . . how did you . . .?
‘I did nothing . . . it was the grace of God.’
‘But why . . . if it was God . . . why did he not get better with our prayers?’
Brother Collen shrugged his shoulders. ‘He would have, if you had known how to pray. It is a matter of slipping out of yourself as you are in Time, into yourself as you are in Eternity.’
Lukas was silent, plodding beside the hermit as they made their way towards the orchard entrance of the tunnel. Should he ask the man to explain himself? He sighed. He thought perhaps he would leave it for another time when he was not so confused . . . besides . . . they had reached the pile of earth at the tunnel entrance and it was time to lift the lid of branches and climb out. Lukas was shocked to see that it was full dark already and the stars were shining through the apple trees. It had been a long and extraordinary day and he did not know what to make of it. One thing he was certain of — he was hungry and tired and longing to get back to accustomed things.
‘Will you come back to the monastery with me?’ Lukas asked Brother Collen. ‘It is dark and probably dangerous to be walking about in the forests of the Tor.’
Collen laughed. ‘Do not worry about me. I’m as tough as an old root that can split a rock. No demons would dare pick a fight with me.’
Lukas believed he was right. Stocky and muscular and full of confidence in himself and his God, Brother Collen would be a match for the Devil himself.
‘I’ll say goodbye here then,’ said Lukas. ‘Will you . . . will I see you again tomorrow?’
‘That’s up to you.’
‘I’ll come over in the morning if I can. I . . . things happened in the tunnel that I must tell you about.’
Collen looked at him sharply, but any conversation they might have had was cut short by the bell for Compline, the monks’ last prayer before retiring for the night.
9
But in the morning Lukas did not seek Brother Collen.
He lay most of the night puzzling over the strange things that were happening to him and trying deliberately to keep himself awake so that he would not have to live through one of those weird dreams again. He wondered if he were going mad and if Brother Collen had only been humouring him by listening so intently to his stories. He began to long for the simplicity of the life he had led before he had discovered the tunnel. Just before dawn he dropped off to sleep. He began again to feel as though he were drifting out from his body, leaving it lying on the bed while he, in some ghostly other guise, travelled through the night. He tried to wake himself up. He heard his own voice crying in his head and he strained every muscle to make his body sit up, shake itself awake. But not a limb, not a single finger, would respond to his commands. His body lay numb as though it were dead while the thinking part of him looked down upon it for a moment and then seemed to slide away into the dark.
He began to hear sounds. This time he was not in the tunnel, nor on the Tor, but riding on horseback through the night. He could feel the horse beneath him, powerfully galloping, feel the wind blowing in his face, feel something cold and hard at his side. He knew it was a sword. Behind him he could hear the thundering of hooves and turned his head to see the shadowy figures of his companions grimly riding behind him. One of them drew level with him. The night was full of stars and black shadows, the dark hills crowding in around them, echoing with hoof beats as they rode into a narrow valley.
‘Gwythyr,’ called the young man who was now riding at his side. ‘It is better if we dismount and come upon them silently.’
‘I’ll sneak up on no one,’ he replied proudly. ‘The Lord Gwynn may come as a thief in the night — but I will fight a fair fight and win Creiddylad back the honourable way.’
‘Gwythyr!’ called the young man again, but Gwythyr impatiently drove his heels into his steed and drew ahead.
Ah! Kyledyr, son of Nwython, if only your friend and boon companion Gwythyr had listened to you that fearsome and bloody night!
Suddenly arrows were raining from the stars. Rocks were falling from the high-towered crags of the gorge through which they rode so carelessly. Gwythyr heard his friend’s steed scream in agony and turned to help him, but in the dark milling whirlpool of horseflesh, cold iron and flailing arms, he could not find him. Gwynn’s men were leaping out at them from every shadow. His head was bursting with the shouting and the clanging of iron on iron.
‘Gwynn ap Nudd!’ he roared. ‘Show yourself! Thief of women! Dishonoured among gods and men!’
But Gwynn ap Nudd did not show himself to Gwythyr son of Greidyawl that night, and wield his sword and turn his stallion as he would, Gwythyr found himself at dawn alone in the gorge, half his men dead around him, the others taken prisoner by Gwynn.
Tears of rage burned in his eyes.
‘Gwynn,’ he screamed, beating his chest. ‘Why not me! Why not me!’
But Gwynn had known that taking Gwythyr’s companion as he had done would cause his enemy more pain than any wound, however deep. And Kyledyr, son of Nwython, Gwythyr’s closest friend, the one he loved above all others, was Gwynn’s greatest prize.
* * * *
Suddenly Lukas jerked awake. Brother Peter was leaning over him, shaking him.
‘Lukas, what is it? What is the matter?’ the kindly monk called. ‘Wake up! Wake up!’
Lukas began to shiver uncontrollably. He kept looking round expecting to see those awful corpses lying on the blood-soaked ground, but all he could see were rows of wooden bunks, pale light shining through the dormitory door and Brother Peter’s anxious but friendly face above him.
‘Kyledyr,’ gasped Lukas.
‘Who?’ asked Brother Peter.
‘Kyl . . .’ but already the memory was fading, the name of his friend slipping from him. ‘Matthew,’ whispered Lukas. ‘How is he?’
‘Matthew is well enough,’ the Brother said, smiling. ‘We have not allowed him off his bed yet; but it will not be long.’
‘May I see him?’ Lukas found himself thinking about Matthew; but somewhere in the back of his mind a memory of another friend was tugging and teasing . . .
‘Yes, of course you may see him. He has been asking for you.’ Brother Peter was relieved that Lukas seemed now to be himself again. He had been called to the dormitory when the others had reported that Lukas was thrashing about in his bed, shouting and cursing in a voice very unlike his own, and could not be woken. The monk had said a prayer of exorcism and the young man had calmed down. When Peter was certain it was safe to do so, he had set about waking him. Now as he looked at Lukas’s sweat-soaked hair and clothes he decided that he must have a quiet and uninterrupted talk with him at the earliest opportunity. Something was disturbing him. Something was very wrong.
* * * *
When Lukas saw Matthew he asked him what he had thought of Brother Collen. The lad described how he had knelt down beside him and put his hands on his chest. ‘It was very strange,’ he said. ‘I felt very peaceful and his hands became very hot and soothing. He just left them there for ages and I didn’t cough at all. Just felt peaceful and hot and half asleep. I remember . . .’ He paused.
‘What do you remember? Tell me everything.’
‘I remember thinking . . . about you . . . in the tunnel. I wasn’t worried as badly as I had been, but I was a little frightened I suppose. I just sort of saw you in the tunnel with . . . with a lamp . . . searching. And when I thought this he . . . he said: “Don’t think about Lukas in the tunnel child. I will see that he comes out safely. Think of the life you have been given . . . think what it means to have been given the gift of life.” ‘
‘You mean you only thought about me — and he knew what you were thinking?’
‘Yes. He answered everything I thought as though I had said it aloud.’
‘What else?’
‘I w
as afraid suddenly . . . I had wanted to die because I felt so bad and because it seemed that I was nothing but a nuisance to everyone. Father Abbot said . . .’
‘Forget what Father Abbot said!’ interrupted Lukas fiercely.
‘And then when Brother Collen told me to think about life I began to see all the things I wanted to do and I began to be terribly afraid that I would not live to do them. I remember thinking — I felt well now with his hands on me, but what if when he was gone that terrible pain and that cough came back . . . how could I bear it. “Don’t be afraid,” he said at once. “Never be afraid. Spirit is with you. Draw on its strength. Trust what it can do for you.” ‘
‘What Spirit? Did he give a name?’
‘No. I remember thinking that myself . . . and he said at once: “If it will help you to give a name to that which is Nameless, do so — but never forget that what you have named is a Mystery powerful and potent beyond any words man can devise for it, and the name that you have named belongs to you and not to It.” ‘
Lukas was listening, spell-bound.
‘Are you sure you did not say these things aloud?’ he asked.
‘I am sure — because afterwards I asked Brother Owen and he said that I hadn’t spoken at all the whole time.’
With the effort of talking so much now Matthew began to cough again: but Lukas noticed that it was by no means as severe and as prolonged as his coughing the day before. He restrained himself from questioning Matthew further and sat quietly beside the boy, busy with his own thoughts. It was Matthew who eventually broke the silence by turning the questioning round to what had been happening to Lukas. Slowly the strange events were described. When Lukas came to the dream of the galloping horses, the dark gorge and the sudden attack, Matthew began to shiver and look so frightened that Lukas broke off.
‘What is the matter?’
Matthew shook his head and said that he didn’t know; but it was clear that the story of the dream was finding an echo somewhere in his own far-memory.
‘Go on. Go on!’ he whispered eagerly. ‘What happened then?’
‘I remember being alone and the terrible feeling that it had been my own foolhardiness that had given my friend Kyledyr, son of Nwython, into the hands of . . .’ The names came easily now. But before he could finish the sentence Matthew was sobbing and shaking.
‘What is it? What is it Matt?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know,’ sobbed Matthew. ‘It is that name makes me feel terrible . . . O God, forgive me . . . I did not know . . . forgive . . . forgive . . .’
‘Matthew! It was only a dream!’ And in his anxiety to calm Matthew down he almost persuaded himself that it had been no more than a dream.
Brother Andrew came bustling into the room and found Lukas sitting on the edge of Matthew’s bed, holding the young boy in his arms while he sobbed hysterically.
‘What on earth . . .?’ Brother Andrew rushed over to them and pushed Lukas aside. ‘What have you been saying to him? I left him almost recovered and now look at him!’ The sobbing had made Matthew cough uncontrollably again.
‘I was telling him about my dream,’ Lukas said.
‘The dream that made you scream!’ cried Brother Andrew angrily. ‘Have you no sense?’
Lukas suddenly felt exhausted and utterly despairing. He was being moved by forces out of his control and something at the back of his mind stirred and tormented him . . . an old feeling of guilt . . . Kyledyr, son of Nwython . . . Why did these names ring in his head . . . ring in his head . . .
Andrew managed to calm Matthew down and gave him an infusion of nettle leaves to drink to soothe his cough, followed by camomile tea as a sedative.
‘What he needs more than anything else now,’ the hermit said as he left, ‘is sleep and rest. In a few days he will be walking about again. When he is a little stronger, I want to see him . . .’
* * * *
It had been strange seeing Collen again, Brother Andrew was thinking as he tucked the blankets around Matthew. His effect on the boy had been immediate and dramatic. Andrew had never seen Matthew so peaceful. Strange that such a firebrand, himself so quarrelsome and restless, should be able to bring about peace in others. He remembered when Collen had been Father Abbot at the monastery. How they had loved and hated him. How he had upset their quiet routines and demanded more of them spiritually than they were capable of giving. More than once there had been angry murmuring amongst themselves. At last there had been a confrontation at the time when there were visiting bishops and abbots from other monasteries. Collen had lost his temper (as he frequently did) and accused them all, including the visiting dignitaries, of being hypocrites . . . ‘whited sepulchres’ were his exact words . . . and had stormed out, never to be seen again until Lukas had found him living as a hermit deep in the forest at the base of the Tor.
None of the Brothers had liked to admit it, but many of them had missed the man. During his brief rule they had often been exasperated when his teaching had left them disturbed and confused; yet it had always had a grand ‘lift’ to it. He used words that made them look in a fresh way at what they had taken for granted. Andrew remembered the feeling of real excitement he had had that God was immediately and absolutely present in the chapel when Father Collen was roaring out his magnificent, poetic prayers . . . each one different, each one appropriate to the moment. But the administration of the monastery had irked him. It was really no surprise that his impatience got the better of him in the end.
* * * *
Within a day and night Lukas himself was admitted to the infirmary. It was clear that he was ill. In spite of the care he received he grew steadily paler and thinner, the rings under his eyes darker. He dreaded the nights, refusing to sleep lest he should dream strange dreams again. He tried to pray to the archangel Mik-hael, who was supposed to give protection against demons, but found his mind wandering. Once or twice Matthew tried to raise the subject of the mysterious happenings, but Lukas refused to talk about them again. It was as though he had decided that if he didn’t mention them, they would disappear from his mind. Matthew understood. He too had persuaded himself that the terrible feelings of suffering and guilt he had experienced when Lukas had mentioned ‘that name’ (Matthew dared not give it form even in thought) had been ‘just’ imagination.
When Lukas had been in bed a week and showed no sign of recovery, Brother Collen was called in to see him.
‘How long do you intend to hide yourself away?’ he asked brusquely as soon as he saw the young man lying curled in a great homespun blanket, only the top of his brown head and his brown eyes showing.
Lukas turned his face to the wall and his back to the hermit.
‘Get up,’ Collen commanded. ‘This is no way to behave.’
‘I’m ill,’ Lukas complained in a faint voice.
‘Nonsense,’ was the reply. ‘You are afraid.’
Lukas turned and looked up at him.
‘Would you not be afraid?’ he asked.
‘I would,’ Collen said. ‘But I would also be curious.’
Lukas sighed and sat up, throwing his long legs over the edge of the bed. Collen noticed that he had lost weight, but that his eyes were clearer than they had been when he first entered the room.
‘You are on the brink of understanding so much,’ Collen said. ‘You cannot give up now.’
‘I cannot look at anything the way I used to,’ Lukas said sadly. ‘Everything seems different.’ It disturbed him that appearances were so deceptive and that he no longer knew who he was.
Collen watched him closely.
‘I cannot stay here,’ Lukas said at last. ‘I have to get away.’
‘You will never be free unless you face what is before you now,’ Collen warned.
‘I know. But I cannot stay at the monastery. I cannot take my vows. I cannot live this life.’
Collen was silent for a long while.
‘If you come with me I will put you to work,’ he said at last.
<
br /> ‘I will work.’ Lukas’ face showed the relief he felt.
‘I will not help you to escape.’
‘I know.’
‘Come then,’ said Collen gruffly and turned to leave.
But the Abbot was at that moment entering the room.
‘What is this?’ he said coldly, staring at the young man about to leave with the hermit.
Collen gave Lukas a quick wry look, bowed briefly and somewhat mockingly to the Abbot and walked straight past him and out of the door.
For a moment his fear of the man made him hesitate, and then Lukas knew that if he did not make his stand now he never would. He raised his chin and looked the Abbot straight in the eyes.
‘Father, I have not yet taken my vows and I do not intend to. I am grateful for the care you have given me, but I know that this is not my vocation and I will be a burden to you no longer.’
The Abbot’s face went red. He had never liked Lukas but he would have preferred to turn him out of the monastery himself than have the young man insolently rejecting it in this way.
‘You have been trouble ever since you were brought here,’ he snapped. ‘You have rejected the Lord and the Lord has rejected you.’
These were terrible words to hear and Lukas almost lost his nerve. If the Lord had rejected him — where was there to go in the whole world that would be safe? But then he remembered Collen and knew that the Lord rejected no one — and that there was another way to accept the Lord than by following rules and regulations and obeying an unjust man.
He bowed his head gravely. In his heart he was bowing to the Lord, but the Abbot thought he was bowing to him.
‘You will serve out your time in humility and repentance,’ he said sternly, ‘and if I decide you are truly not for the Lord’s work I will release you on the day set aside for your vows.’
‘No,’ Lukas said with sudden boldness. ‘Reverend Father Abbot, I am leaving today.’ With that he strode past the man and out of the door.
In the corridor he tried not to run or look back over his shoulder. His heart was pounding uncomfortably in his chest. As he passed the door of the dormitory in which he had spent so many nights, he glanced in. There he saw Brother Collen kneeling beside Matthew who was lying on his bed. His hand rested just above his chest. The room was very quiet, quieter than a room would be with just the absence of sound. It was as though they were suspended in time somehow and Lukas was watching the man on his knees, the monk standing beside him, and the boy on the bed as though they were all part of a distant scene.
The Green Lady and the King of Shadows Page 6
