Isle of Glass (5 page)

“You ask a great deal, Brother.”

“So does the Abbot,” Alf said. “Good night, my lord of
Rhiyana.”

“‘she’—that is, the Soul of the World—‘woven throughout
heaven from its center to its outermost limits, and enfolding it without in a
circle, and herself revolving within herself, began a divine beginning of
ceaseless and rational life for all time.’ So, Plato. Now the Christian doctors
say—”

Jehan was not listening. He was not even trying to listen,
who ordinarily was the best of students. Alf broke off and closed the book
softly and folded his hands upon it. “What’s the trouble, Jehan?”

The novice looked up from the precious vellum, on which he
had been scribbling without heed or pattern. His eyes were wide and a little
wild. “You look awful, Brother Alf. Brother Rowan says you were praying in the
chapel all night.”

“I do that now and again,” Alf said.

“But—” Jehan said. “But they say you’re leaving!”

Alf sighed. He was tired, and his body ached from a night
upon cold stones. Jehan’s pain only added to the burden of his troubles. He
answered shortly, flatly. “Yes. I’m leaving.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“I’ve been here too long. Dom Morwin is sending me to Bishop
Aylmer.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Alf replied. “Don’t worry. You won’t go
back to Brother Osric. You’ll take care of Alun for me; and he has a rare store
of learning. He’ll keep on with your Greek, and if you behave, he’ll let you
try a little Arabic.”

The hurt in Jehan’s eyes had turned to fire. “So I’m to turn
paynim while you run at the Bishop’s heel. It’s not so easy to get rid of me,
Brother Alf. Take me with you.”

“You know that’s not my decision to make.”

“Take me with you.”

“No.” It was curt, final. “With reference to Plato’s
doctrine, Chalcidius observes—”

“Brother Alf!”

“Chalcidius observes—”

Jehan bit back what more he would have said. There was no
opposing that quiet persistence. Yet he was ready to cry, and would not, for
pride.

o0o

It was the first lesson with Alf that had ever gone sour,
and it was the last Jehan would ever have. When he was let go, having disgraced
all his vaunted scholarship, he wanted to hide like a whipped pup. For pride
and for anger, he went where his duties bade him go.

Alun was awake and alone. Jehan stood over him. “Brother Alf
is going away,” he said. “He’s been sent to Bishop Aylmer. Bishop Aylmer is
with the King. And it’s the King you want to get to. What did you make him go
for?”

Jehan’s rude words did not seem to trouble Alun. “I didn’t
make him go. It was your Abbot’s choice. A wise one in his reckoning, and well
for your Brother. He was stifling here.”

“He doesn’t want to go. He hates the thought of it.”

“Of course he does. He’s afraid. But he has to go, Jehan.
For his vows’ sake, and for his own.”

Jehan glared at him. “Alone, sir? Do his vows say he has to
travel the length and breadth of Anglia by himself, a monk who looks like a
boy, who doesn’t even know how to hold a knife?”

“His vows, no. But he will have my mare and such aid as I
can give him, and he has more defenses than you know of.”

“Not enough.” Jehan tossed his head, lion-fierce. “I came
here for him. If he goes, I’ll go.”

“And what of your Abbot? What of your God?”

“My God knows that I can serve Him as well with the Bishop
as at St. Ruan’s. The Abbot can think what he likes.”

“Proud words for one who would be a monk.”

“I was a monk because Alf was!”

Jehan fell silent, startled by his own outburst. Slowly he
sank down, drawing into a knot on the floor. “I was a monk because Alf was,” he
repeated. “I never meant to be one. I wanted to be a warrior priest like Bishop
Aylmer, but I wanted to be a scholar, too. People laughed at me. ‘A scholar!’
my father yelled at me. ‘God’s teeth! you’re not built for it.’ Then I rode
hell-for-leather down a road near St. Ruan’s, with a hawk on my wrist and a
wild colt under me and my men-at-arms long lost, and I nigh rode down a monk
who was walking down the middle.

“I stopped to apologize, and we talked, and somehow we got
onto Aristotle. I’d read what I could find, without really knowing what I was
reading and with no one to tell me. And this person
knew
. More: he could
read Greek. There in the middle of the road, we disputed like philosophers,
though he really was one and I was a young cock-a-whoop who’d got into his
tutor’s books.

“Then and there, I decided I had to be what he was, or as
close as I could come, since he was brilliant and I was only too clever for my
own good. I fought and I pleaded and I threatened, and my father finally let me
come here. And now Brother Alf is going away and taking the heart out of St.
Ruan’s.”

Alun shifted painfully, waving away Jehan’s swift offer of
help. “I think, were I your Abbot, I would question your vocation.”

“It’s there,” Jehan said with certainty. “God is there, and
my books. But not—not St. Ruan’s. Not without Brother Alf.”

“Jehan.” Alun spoke slowly, gently. “You’re startled and
hurt. Think beyond yourself now. Alfred is much older than he looks, and much
less placid. He has troubles which life here cannot heal. He has to leave.”

“I know that. I’m not trying to stop him. I want to go with
him.”

“What can you do for him?”

“Love him,” Jehan answered simply.

Alun’s eyes closed. He looked exhausted and drawn with pain.
His voice when he spoke was a sigh. “You can serve him best now by accepting
what your Abbot says must be. Can you do that?”

“And leave him to go alone?”

“If such is the Abbot’s will. Can you do it, Jehan?”

Very slowly the other responded, “I...for him. If it’s
right. And only if.”

“Go then. Be strong for him. He needs that more than
anything else you can do for him.”

o0o

Alf regarded Alun with sternness overlying concern. “You’ve
been overexerting yourself.”

The Rhiyanan’s eyes glinted. “In bed, Brother? Oh, come!”

“Staying awake,” Alf said. “Moving about. Trying your
muscles.” He touched the bandaged mass of Alun’s sword hand. “The setting of
this is very delicate. If you jar it, you’ll cripple it. Perhaps permanently.”

“It is not so already?” There was a touch of bitterness in
the quiet voice.

“Maybe not.” Alf continued his examination, which was less
of hand and eye than of the mind behind them. “Your ribs are healing well. Your
leg, too,
Deo gratias
. If you behave yourself and trust to the care in
which I leave you, you’ll prosper.”

He folded back the coverlet and began to bathe as much of
the battered body as was bare of bandages. Alun’s eyes followed his hands. When
Alf would have turned him onto his face, there was no weight in him; he floated
face down a palm’s width above the bed.

The monk faltered only for a moment. “Thank you,” he said.
After a moment he added, “If you take care not to let yourself be caught at it,
you might do this as much as you can. It will spare your flesh.”

Alun was on his back again; Alf could have passed his palm
between body and sheet. “I’ve been this way a little. There’s more comfort in
it.”

“My lord.” Alf’s compassion was as palpable as a touch.
“I’ll do all your errand for you as best I can. That I swear to you.”

“I’ll miss you, Brother.” The way he said it, it was more
than a title. “And I’ve had thoughts. It will look odd for a monk to ride
abroad on what is patently a blooded horse. With her I give you all that I
have. My clothing is plain enough for a cleric but secular enough to avert
suspicion. Come; fetch it, and try it for size.”

“My lord,” Alf said carefully, “you’re most kind. But I have
no dispensation. I can’t—”

“You can if I say you can.” Morwin shut the door behind him.
“Do what he tells you, Alf.”

Slowly, under their eyes, he brought out Alun’s belongings.
The ring in its pouch he laid in the lord’s lap. The rest he kept.

It had been cleaned where it needed to be and treated with
care. Indeed the garments were plain, deep blue, snow white. When the others
turned away to spare his modesty, he hesitated.

With a sudden movement he shed his coarse brown habit. There
was nothing beneath but his body.

He shivered as he covered it with Alun’s fine linen. In all
his life, he had never known such softness so close to his skin. It felt like a
sin.

The outer clothes were easier to bear, though he fumbled
with them, uncertain of their fastenings. Alun helped him with words and Morwin
with hands, until he stood up in the riding clothes of a knight.

“It fits well,” Alun said. “And looks most well, my
brother.”

He could see himself in the other’s mind, a tall youth,
sword-slender, with a light proud carriage that belied the brown habit crumpled
at his feet.

As soon as he saw, he tried to kill the pride that rose in
him. He looked like a prince. An elven prince, swift and strong, and beautiful.

Yes; he was that. The rest might be a sham, a creation of
cloth and stance, but beauty he had.

It would be a hindrance, and perhaps a danger. His pride
died with the thought. “I don’t think this is wise. I look too...rich. Better
that I seem to be what I am, a monk without money or weapons.”

Both the Abbot and the knight shook their heads. “No,”
Morwin said. “Not with the horse you’ll be riding. This way, you fit her.”

“I don't fit myself!”

Morwin’s face twisted. A moment only; then he controlled it.
“You’ll learn. It isn’t the clothes that make the monk, Alf.”

“Isn’t it?” Alf picked up his habit and held it to him.
“Each move I make is another cord severed.”

“If all you’ve ever been is a robe and a tonsure,” snapped
Morwin, “God help us both.”

The other stiffened. “Maybe that is all I’ve been.”

“Don’t start that,” Morwin said with weary annoyance.
“You’re not the first man of God who’s ever set aside his habit for a while,
and you won’t be the last. Take what’s left of the day to get used to your
clothes, and spend tonight in bed. Asleep. That’s an order, Brother Alfred.”

“Yes, Domne.”

“And don’t look so sulky. One obeys with a glad heart, the
Rule says. Or at least, one tries to. Start trying. That’s an order, too.”

“Yes, Domne.” Alf was not quite able to keep his lips from
twitching. “Immediately, Domne. Gladly, Domne.”

“Don’t add lying to the rest of your sins.” But Morwin’s
glare lacked force. “See me tonight before you go to bed. There are messages I
want to give to Aylmer.”

o0o

In spite of his promise to Alun, Jehan dragged himself
through that long day. No one seemed to know that Brother Alf was leaving, nor
to care. Monks came and went often enough in so large an abbey.

But never so far alone, through unknown country, and against
their will besides.

At last he could bear it no longer. He gathered his courage
and sought the lion in his den.

By good fortune, Abbot Morwin was alone, bent over the rolls
of the abbey. He straightened as Jehan entered. “This is stiff work for old
bones,” he said.

Jehan drew a deep breath. The Abbot did not seem annoyed to
see him. Nor did he look surprised. “Domne,” he said, “you’re sending Brother
Alf away.”

Morwin nodded neutrally. That, in the volatile Abbot, was
ominous.

“Please, Domne. I know he has to go. But must he go alone?”

“What makes you think that?”

Jehan found that he could not breathe properly.
“Then—then—he’ll have company?”

“I’ve been considering it.” Morwin indicated a chair. “Here,
boy. Stop shaking and sit down.” He leaned back himself, toying with the simple
silver cross he always wore. Jehan stared, half- mesmerized by the glitter of
it. “It’s as well you came when you did; I was about to send for you. I’ve been
thinking about that last letter from your father.”

The novice almost groaned aloud. The last thing he wanted to
hear now was his father’s opinion of his life in St. Ruan’s.

But Morwin had no mercy. “Remember what Earl Rogier said.
That your life was your own, and you could ruin it by taking vows here if that
was what you wanted. But he asked you first to try something else. He suggested
the Templars. That’s extreme; still, the more I think, the better his advice
seems to be. I’ve decided to take it in my own way. I’m sending you to Bishop
Aylmer.”

Bishop Aylmer...Bishop Aylmer. “I’m going with Brother Alf!”
It was a strangled shout.

“Well now,” Morwin said, “that would make sense, wouldn’t
it?"

Jehan hardly heard him. “I’m going with Brother Alf. He told
me I couldn’t. He’s going to be surprised.”

“I doubt it. I told him a little while ago. He was angry.”

“Angry, Domne?”

Morwin smiled. “He said I was hanging for the sheep instead
of for the lamb— and brought you these to travel in.”

On the table among the heavy codices was a bundle. Jehan’s
fingers remembered the weight and the feel of it—leather, cloth, the long
hardness of a sword. “My old clothes...but I’ve grown!”

“Try them. And afterward, find Alf. He’ll tell you what you
need to do.”

o0o

Miraculously everything fit, though the garments had been
made for him just before he met Brother Alf on the road, over a year ago, and
he had grown half a head since. But Alf’s skill with the needle was legendary.
The boots alone seemed new, of good leather, with room enough to grow in.

It felt strange to be dressed like a nobleman again. He
wished there were a mirror in the dormitory, and said a prayer to banish
vanity. “Not,” he added, “that my face is anything to brag of.”

“Amen.”

He whipped about, hand to sword hilt. A stranger stood
there, a tall young fellow who carried himself like a prince. He smiled wryly
as Jehan stared, and said, “Good day, my lord.”