The Miracle at St. Bruno's

by Филиппа Карр

  Clement was happy working in the bakehouse. He would sing Latin chants as he worked.

  It was clear to me that he almost believed that he had never left the Abbey.

  The figures had disappeared into the church and I sat for some time thinking of the significance of this when suddenly I saw another figure. It was not one of the monks this time. I stared for the man who was making his way stealthily toward the church had a look of Simon Caseman.

  Impulsively I put a cloak about my nightdress and ran downstairs.

  I sped across the grass past the monks' dorter to the porch of the church. I went in. A figure moved forward. I had not been mistaken. It was Simon Caseman.

  "What are you doing here?" I demanded.

  "You may well ask." His eyes were alight with excitement. I had never seen the fox's mask so clearly.

  "Trespassing!”

  "In a good cause.”

  "You have no right to be here.”

  "Yes, every right.”

  "In whose name?”

  "In the name of the King.”

  "You speak fine words.”

  "I speak the truth. What is going on in there? This has become a monastery once more.

  It was dissolved but here it is again.”

  "Do you not know, Simon Caseman, that many abbey lands have been bestowed?”

  "I know it well. There is, mayhap, always a reason for such bestowals.”

  "A very good reason, and one which is the concern only of the bestower and the bestowed.”

  "That I agree, but when the place is used to break the King's law....”

  "The King's law has not been broken here.”

  "Not when that which has been abolished is slyly brought back.”

  "There are many workmen here, Simon Caseman.”

  "There are monks, too. They who have been dispossessed by the Crown now reinstate themselves against the laws of the land.”

  "What is happening here?" A voice cool, curt and authoritative was demanding. Bruno had come into the porch. From the church came the sound of chanting.

  "This is happening," replied Simon Caseman. "I have witnessed that which could send you to the gallows. Rest assured I shall do my duty.”

  "Your duty is to go back to your house and live quietly there although you do not deserve to, having taken that which would never have been bestowed on you but for ill justice.”

  "Do not talk of justice, I pray you. What is happening in this place? How is it that you have rebuilt it as you have? Do you think I do not know? Do you think you can draw the wool over my eyes with your talk of miracles? Miracles forsooth! It is clear indeed from what quarter came your wealth.”

  I saw that Bruno had turned pale. He was very uneasy.

  "Yes," cried Simon Caseman, "I know full well. Where does the money come from to build a fine Abbey to gather together your monks and lay brothers? Where indeed.

  From the enemies of England. From Spain and Rome, that is where the money comes from.”

  "You lie!" cried Bruno.

  "Then if it is a lie, where? Answer that, Bruno Kingsman. Saint Bruno... answer that. From whence came the money to rebuild the Abbey, eh? To start everything in motion, eh? Are you going to tell me it comes from the profit of the farm? I would not believe you. Great riches have been showered on this place and I am asking you whence they came. That is all I want to know.”

  The singing in the church had ceased. I saw the figures of the men within the church hovering not far from the porch.

  "Lie to me if you wish!" cried Simon Caseman, his face working with passion. "You won't deceive me. I know. I have always known. The money came from Spain and Rome.

  It comes from our country's enemies. It comes from those who would bring the Pope back as Supreme Head of the Church against the laws of this land.”

  "You lie," cried Bruno.

  "Then where, eh? Whence came the money to build this place? How much has been spent on it? Who has such money... apart from His Majesty the King and the richest families in the land? Tell us this, Bruno, Saint Bruno... weaver of miracles, tell us!

  Did it come from on high? Was it poured into your coffers from heaven?”

  "Yes," answered Bruno soberly.

  Simon Caseman burst into loud laughter. "You would call it from heaven since it comes from Spain. I and many with me would call it treason.”

  There was a hush in the porch at the mention of that dreaded word.

  Then Bruno said: "Get you gone from here. We have no need of your kind.”

  "Indeed you have not. You would not find me breaking the law of the land. This is meant to be the beginning of the restoration of the monasteries. I know there are such schemes afoot. They come from Rome and Spain... where your masters are. Think not that I shall allow this treason to continue.”

  Bruno went back into the church. I drew back into the shadows and Simon Caseman walked past me. I had never seen such a look of set determination in his face. I thought: Tomorrow he will inform on us. Perhaps by tomorrow night Bruno will be in the Tower.

  Then my thoughts went to the girls and I wondered what would become of them.

  I ran after Simon Caseman.

  He heard my footsteps and turned slowly.

  "So?" he said.

  "What are you going to do?”

  "My duty.”

  "I believe it will not be the first time you have informed.”

  He pretended to misunderstand. "It may not be the last, mayhap. I am a dutiful man.”

  "Particularly when there is much to be gained.”

  "Gained? What should I gain?”

  "Revenge.”

  "You are dramatic, my dear Damask." His eyes surveyed me and I remembered that I had only my nightgown under my cloak.

  I felt very frightened and that made me reckless, I suppose.

  "Is revenge as satisfying as a fine house which you had no hope of attaining while my father was alive?”

  "What has that to do with this?”

  "A similar situation. You did your gainful duty once before, did you not?”

  He was silent, taken aback; and I was certain then that I stood lace to face with my father's murderer for that is what his betrayer would always be to me.

  'I know," I said, "that you informed against my father. You murderer.”

  'Is this the way to talk to one who has your life in his hands?”

  "I would not think that life worth having if I were not true to myself.”

  "You are a firebrand, Damask. You always were. What a reckless little fool! You might have had so much. But you chose him.... Is he a man or is he an idol? We shall soon see. He should hang well.”

  "You have made up your mind to inform against him as you did against my father.”

  "Your father?”

  "Don't try to deceive me further, Simon Caseman. My father took you into his house.

  You had nothing of your own. All you had was envy, greed, and a sad lack of principles.

  You had selfishness, wickedness, ingratitude...”

  "In fact I was a very sinful fellow.”

  "For once you have spoken the truth. You are my father's murderer, Simon Caseman.

  You wanted his possessions.”

  "I wanted his daughter, I admit. And the fact is that even when she rants and raves I still do.”

  "How dare you!”

  "As you dare my reckless beauty. Here is the man who can have you all carried off to the Tower before another day has passed... and you dare abuse him.”

  "I would abuse you with my dying breath. Have you ever loved a father?”

  "I never knew mine so that was beyond me.”

  "I loved my father. I loved him dearly. I saw him in his prison in the Tower. He was taken from there to his place of execution and his head was cut off. You cut off that head, Simon Caseman. Do you think I shall ever forgive you for that?”

  "Your father was a fool. He should never have harbored the priest. He knew he was breaking the law.
People who break the law must expect sudden and violent death.

  To give a priest shelter, to set up an abbey which has been dispossessed... these acts are breaking the King's laws and punishable by death. You would do well to remember that while you rant, however prettily, to one who could do you much good or as you wish so much harm.”

  "Not content with being my father's murderer you would murder us all. You want this Abbey, do. You not? Is this the price you are asking?”

  "Don't be so foolish, Damask. I would not harm you. Are you not my own stepdaughter?”

  "To my deepest shame I am.”

  "And one for whom, for all her waywardness and unkindness to me, I have ever felt great warmth of heart.”

  "Have you ever felt that for any?”

  "For you, you know.”

  "Are you suggesting that you wished to marry me for reason other than that I was my father's heir?”

  "You are not your father's heir now, Damask. You are in acute danger. Tomorrow you will wait for the arrival of the King's men. You were not there when they took your father. This time it will be your husband for whom they come unless...”

  "Unless what?”

  "I would do a great deal for you, Damask.”

  "Then go away and hang yourself.”

  He laughed. "That is asking a little too much for if I were dead how could I enjoy your company? No, Damask, you will have to be more pleasant to me... if you wish to go on living in comfort on your Spanish gold.”

  "I fail to understand you.”

  He took a step nearer to me. "I think you understand very well. If you were to come to me in a friendly fashion I might be persuaded to suspend my judgment on what has taken place tonight.”

  "I will ask my mother's advice," I said caustically.

  "Oh, Damask, were you not unwise? Just think if you had not been, your father would be alive today.”

  I turned away and started toward the house.

  He called after me: "I shall give you twenty-four hours. Think about it. You could have saved your father. Now is the time to save your family.”

  Bruno was coming out of the church followed by several of the monks.

  Simon Caseman broke into a run and I hurried into the house trembling.

  * * *

  Bruno did not come to our bedchamber that night. I spent most of it in the window seat waiting for his return. I wanted to find out whether indeed he had received money from Spain or Rome. It seemed to me the only explanation. I wondered it had not occurred to me before. Of course it was the answer. He had received money to rebuild the Abbey, and what more plausible than that he should have been chosen to do this.

  Simon Caseman's words kept repeating themselves in my mind. I was responsible for my father's death. If I had married Simon Caseman he would not have informed on him because through me he would have had the house. But I would not marry him and so my father had to die. And now he had put another proposition to me. If I would go to him-and I knew what he meant by that-I could buy his silence.

  I shivered at the prospect confronting us.

  At least though we were safe for twenty-four hours.

  Why did not Bruno come to me and comfort me? How characteristic of him was this.

  He allowed me to share nothing and the reason was that he knew I did not believe in him.

  In the morning I went into the tower where he had his private quarters. He was working placidly at his books.

  "Bruno," I cried, "I should have thought you would have had something to say to me.”

  He looked surprised.

  "You can't have forgotten last night's scene?”

  "Your stepfather is not worth a moment's thought.”

  I replied sharply: "He was responsible for my father's death. He is now threatening to bring about yours and many of those dependent on you.”

  "And you think he will succeed?”

  "He succeeded with my father.”

  "Your father acted foolishly.”

  "Not as foolishly as you. You blatantly break the law. At least he did it in secret.”

  He smiled and lifted his head, and he looked so beautiful that I could have wept because all was not well between us.

  "I tell you that there is no need to fear.”

  "No need to fear? When that man is our enemy and has witnessed what he did last night and moreover threatened to expose your”.

  "He will do nothing.”

  "How can you be sure?”

  "Because I know.”

  "He has threatened to expose you.”

  "You believe everyone but me. You imply that you do not think me capable of defending everything I have built up.”

  "With Spanish gold?" I asked.

  "You see, you believe him.”

  "But it seems obvious now. Where could you have found so much money?”

  His eyes glowed with an inner fire. "He asked if heaven opened its coffers for me.

  And the answer is yes. It was a miracle. It was for this purpose that I came to the crib on Christmas morning. Men and women have uttered calumnies concerning me. And you, the one whom I chose, believed them rather than me. But this I swear. The money with which I am rebuilding this Abbey did not come from Spain. It came from heaven.

  And if you say that could only be a miracle, I answer: So be it. I tell you that man cannot harm me. But you do not believe me.”

  "If you swear to me that you are not in the pay of the Spaniards...”

  "I do not beg you to believe me. I merely tell you that he will not betray us. It may be that in due course you will have a little faith in me.”

  With that he left me.

  Twenty-four hours grace. I knew Simon Caseman well enough to believe that he would carry out his threat. He was an acquisitive and vengeful man. He could not believe that I would fall in with his monstrous suggestion. He enjoyed tormenting me, making clear to me how much I and my family were in his power. Moreover he lusted not only for me but for the Abbey, and I knew that to gain that was his main purpose.

  It was no use remonstrating with Bruno though what he could do to save himself I could not imagine. I had no doubt that not only had Simon Caseman seen with his own eyes what was going on in the Abbey but he would have witnesses.

  It occurred to me that I might take the girls and go to Kate. Would that save them? Would it involve Kate?

  The tension was so unbearable that it left me numb; I felt as though I could only wait for what would happen next. I tried to act normally and went along to the bakehouse as I often did in the mornings to consult Clement about the food for the day. He had been present in the church last night.

  I was surprised for he did not seem unduly perturbed.

  "Clement," I said, "what will become of us all, think you?”

  "We shall be safe," he answered complacently.

  "You think those were idle threats?”

  Clement raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Bruno will save us from evil.”

  "How can that be?”

  "His ways are miraculous.”

  There was a complacency about the man which astonished me. He did not seem to realize that he could be dragged to a place of execution, hanged, cut down while still alive and barbarously tortured. Had he not heard of the monks of the Charterhouse? What had they done but deny the supremacy of the King as Head of the Church. His actions would be considered as treasonable!

  "You heard what that man said last night, Clement. You were there.”

  "I was there. But Bruno spoke to us afterward. He said there was no need to fear.”

  "What can he do to save us?”

  "That is for him and God.”

  They believe he is divine, I thought. Oh, what a rude awakening they would have on the morrow!

  The sudden vision of kind simple Clement, who had carried my children on his back and had surreptitiously slipped them tidbits from his oven, being tortured was more than I could endure.

  "Clement," I said, "you could get away. There is
still time.”

  He looked at me in astonishment. "This is my life," he said. Then he smiled at me almost pityingly. "You have no faith. But fear not. All will be well.”

  What faith they had in Bruno. During that day I realized what had been happening over the years. Bruno was not only refounded the Abbey, he was building up that image of himself which had been his before the coming of Rolf Weaver.

  That day everything was as usual. No one but myself seemed to be aware of the threat which was hanging over us.

  My mother called in the afternoon. I wondered whether Simon Caseman had confided in her and she had come to warn me. He could scarcely have told her of his suggestion to me.

  She had brought the usual basket of good things-her newest wine, a new form of tansy cake she had made, her own special brand of marchpane.

  She kissed me and said that I was not looking well. Her anxious eyes scrutinized me and I knew that she was wondering, as she did every time we met, whether or not I was with child.

  I quickly gathered that she knew nothing of her husband's discovery for she was too frank to have been able to hide it, but she did talk to me about the merits of the Reformed religion.

  "And it is true, Damask," she said, "that our King is of the Reformed faith. Poor lad, he is sick. They say that he never recovered from that bout of the smallpox.

  Some would say he was lucky to survive that at all." She became very confidential.

  "I have heard it said that he cannot live long, poor boy.”

  "Mother," I said, "has it occurred to you that if the King died, which I hope he will not, the Lady Mary could be Queen; and if she were, might there not be a return to Rome?”

  "Impossible!" cried my mother, growing pale at the thought.

  "Yet it is not an impossibility, Mother. Should we not be cautious about proclaiming our views until we are sure?”

  "If you know the true faith, Damask, how can you deny it?”

  "But what is the true faith? Why cannot we accept the simple rules of Christ? Why must it be so important that we worship in this way or that?”

  'I am not sure, Damask, but I think you may be speaking treason.”