Quest of Hope: A Novel (37 page)

“Do they bathe?”

“Three times a year.”

“Where do they sleep?”

“They’ve a dormitory, like you. All must sleep in a separate bed, but the Rule calls for them to sleep in large rooms. The abbot has approved one corridor of private cells to be used for brothers who seek solitude during fasting or penance.”

“Do they sleep dressed or naked?” The boys tittered. A stern warning from the master called them to silence.

“According to the Rule they—and you—must sleep dressed, but without knives.”

The boys wondered about the knives. They looked at each other and shrugged. “I’ve heard they must eat in silence.”

“It is so, and so it shall be with you.”

“And when do they eat?”

“From Easter to Pentecost they eat at noon, with a light supper in the evening. From Pentecost and through the summer they fast until midafternoon on Wednesday and Friday. On other days they eat at noon. From the thirteenth of September to the beginning of Lent they eat in the midafternoon, and from Lent to Easter they eat in the evening.”

“What do they do beside pray and sing?”

“They read, then they work in their fields or in their workshops. Some are copyists; others work at the brewery or the mill. Look around you, lads. It is a world within the world.”

“Master, how is it you know so much of this place?”

“They are all near to the same, some larger, though none, I think, smaller. I was offered to a monastery as a young boy. Like you, I remember holding my parents’ document in my hand and my hand wrapped in an altar cloth. Then some words were said by my father and a monk, and at that moment I belonged to a cloister near Aachen.”

“But you took no vows?”

“Nay. I was weak-willed and proud of heart as a younger man. I have entered here to try again. So, in accordance with the Rule, I have endured much to be received as a novice once more, but ‘brother’ I am not… as yet. Now, that is enough questions.

“You shall learn by phonics and by repetition. You shall learn the abacus … for you, Wilhelm, a string of peas may do. We shall study the alphabet with the beginner’s reader, the
Disticha Catonis
, which you shall read and copy over and over on your wax tablets. I am sure your right knees shall be well-calloused by winter’s end!

“When you can read and write to my satisfaction—in about three years—you shall then study the
trivium;
grammar, rhetoric, and logic. Then, when these are mastered, you shall learn the
quadrivium
: arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, and music. Then, little men, you shall have mastered the seven liberal arts, after which you shall then study Donatus and Priscian; you shall learn more Latin. You shall learn Cato’s
Moral Sayings,
at heart, and shall recite Virgil and Ovid.

“And, while you are studying these things, it is my desire to have you learn chess and backgammon and a bit of law. We want our future abbots to be able to converse with guests and pilgrims.

“Your instruction shall take many years.” He paused and stared at them sternly. “We begin our journey together now and with this first truth: Christian mankind is divided into three estates: those that rule, those that pray, and those that toil. As learned men you shall serve God in the first or second estate. Whatever your call, it is for the glory of God, amen.

On the twenty-fifth of April, 1204, the folk of Weyer gathered at the stone church to celebrate Mass. Having confessed their sins in a responsive, penitential prayer, the simple folk then received the Holy Eucharist through their priests. Ably assisted by Father Albert, Father Pious faced his flock with a face hardened for the precision required of the sacrament. Pious was draped in a white mantle for the season and confidently followed the Roman Rite to near perfection. His unscrupulous attention to detail provided great confidence to his ever-increasing congregations.

Marta was always apt to stand close to the altar. She ground the soles of her shoes hard into the earthen floor in hopes of drawing power and protection from the relics of bone recently buried beneath. She drew deep breaths as Albert incensed the air above the pyx, the paten, and the chalice and nearly swooned as the bread was set upon the tongue of Pious. Her sins now purged, she felt clean again, and so very grateful to her revered priest.

Heinrich also felt some burdens lift from his weighted shoulders. Unlike his wife, however, he preferred offering his confession to Father Albert, who allowed Heinrich the comfort of confession without the embarrassment of specificity. Heinrich believed Albert to be genuine and earnest—simple, yet thorough in his faith. His counsel was thought wise though less rigorous than that of Pious, and his demands for penance were generally eased by a quality of mercy. Ironically, however, it was the young priest’s tender heart that gave pause to poor Heinrich, for the baker often wondered if he ought not suffer harsher penances than the gentle cleric called him to perform.

Marta provided an Easter feast that drew high praise from her household. She beamed as Wil and Karl applauded her presentation of fatty pork and boiled goose. To this she added a bowl of tripe, a loaf of her husband’s wheat bread, a small saucer of honey she had bought from the monks, and a dish of cheese. Since Easter was late this year, she had picked a quarterpeck of early peas and added them to a pottage of wild scallions, ground acorns, and early herbs.

To Heinrich’s delight and mild alarm, she then retrieved a gift from behind the table in her room. It was a flask of wine she purchased from a Frenchman on a pilgrimage through the village. He had stopped to pray at the abbey’s new
Kappelle
built by the roadway to Münster. For an undisclosed price, the woman had wrangled the precious beverage for her family, and she beamed with delight as smiles spread around the table.

She poured the wine slowly, almost ceremonially into each waiting cup. She served her father first—a choice that did not escape the notice of Heinrich. Then came Karl, Wil, and her husband in turn.

Dietrich smiled and winked at his daughter as he stared into his cup. “Ah, now you’ve proved your success! You’ve the means to buy wine! I’d often wished I could run off with the priest’s chalice.” He laughed. “Thanks to you, daughter, and God’s blessings to all. Now, all drink!”

Heinrich again wished he could toss the old man out, this time into the April mud. It was his own role to offer his household the blessing of the season; it was the money
he
had earned that bought the cursed wine, not Dietrich’s. But Heinrich also wanted peace, so, with another sigh he took a swallow of the cherry-red drink. It felt warm and smooth as it rolled over his tongue, bursting with life and flavor.

Karl and Wil smiled and rolled their eyes in ecstasy as the last drops were tapped from the recesses of their wooden cups. “Mother, ‘twas like nothing I’ve e’er tasted,” said Wil.

“Aye,
Mutti, ist wunderbar.
Have you more?” chirped Karl.

Marta basked in her glory. She turned to Heinrich. “Well, husband, have we the means to buy more?”

Heinrich was surprised to hear a tone that was somewhat deferential. He answered with a smile. “Ah, I do surely hope for it. You’d be a hard worker, Marta, and it gives me joy to see you pleased. More wine and someday a cloak of otter or a headdress of silk?”

Marta immediately suspected him of sarcasm and she tightened her face. It was a sad moment, for the man had been earnest, and when he saw her face harden his heart sank. Before Heinrich could respond, Dietrich stood up and hobbled to his daughter. His legs were failing and his back was now stooped. But his face was lit as he presented a gift to the curious woman. “Here, I’ve made you something.”

Marta received a chain necklace and laid it across her palms. Her father had spent his evenings at the smith’s, most thought spinning tales or drinking beer, but it seemed he had learned to fashion links of steel. “Father, I … I can hardly speak!”

“No need to answer,” boasted Dietrich. “You’ve tended me well in my late years. You’ve done well for me. Yer not like your cursed brother! I want you to have this gift of m’own hands.”

Marta embraced her father and she clasped the links around her neck. “I shall treasure it always.”

May Day eve found Marta gathering bushels of flowers and greens for the next day’s celebration. She closed her eyes for a moment and wished nothing more than to be chosen the Queen of May. At her last confession, Father Pious had assured her that she was more than worthy of the honor. As a young girl the woman had been selected thrice for her beauty. Perhaps she was not the youngest any longer, but she hoped the village men might see her as still attractive. She had kept most of her teeth and her hair shined silky and smooth in the springtime sun. Her shape was broadened some by the births of five but was still pleasing to the eye, at least according to the whispers of Father Pious.

In the morning, the priest rose in the new house near Oberbrechen that the carpenters had built for him. Placed conveniently between Oberbrechen and Weyer, it afforded him both privacy and access to his two little empires. Furthermore, it gave him discreet access to the housemaid he kept in residence.

Following the advice of his predecessors, Pious traveled first to Weyer in order to offer a restrained and rather routine objection to the springtime festival. The first of May was not sacred, nor was it noted on the Holy Calendar. Instead it was born of the ancient Romans who had called the day
Festival Floralia
in honor of the goddess Flora. The sight of the village women adorned with crowns of green leaves atop their braided hair gave the man a reason to wink at the celebration, however. So, instead of trying to ruin the day, Pious settled for a village prayer and a psalm before reaching for a tankard of warm ale.

The young men of Weyer raised a tall birch pole high into the air. It was decorated with flowers and leaves and a bright red ribbon. Beneath, the village began to dance and drink until the bells of nones when the queen was to be selected. Reeve Edwin called all to order. He had been elected reeve in Dietrich’s stead the year prior, though few respected or liked the harsh man of twenty-seven. “All gather!” he roared. The village quieted and circled around the maypole.

“Quiet! Quiet, I say.” He paused. “Good people of Weyer, we sing this day for luck in planting and in harvest. Times are yet hard but we’ve seen worse. I am told to keep an eye for trouble from Lord Conrad. Watch the wood across the stream. But today, sing and drink! The sun shines, the earth is warming. Ring your bells to wake the ground, for winter is now past!”

The crowd cheered and a hundred little bells tinkled in the air.

“Father Pious has agreed to help judge the May Queen. Father, your blessing?”

Father Pious waddled to the center. He loved the attention and strutted to the pole like a peacock before its hens. Wil stood between Karl and little Otto, the five-year-old son of Herold the new miller. Wil pointed a finger at Father Pious. “Look at him! He looks like, like some overfed boar! His robes can barely hold that lard-arse of his!”

“You ought not speak of him like that,” answered Karl. The boy was nearly seven but had the honed conscience of a righteous monk. “He is a man of God You ought not—”

“Put a stopper in it, Karl! You needs not teach me. I’ve teachers enough!”

Father Pious stood on a stump and raised his hands over his flock. “I cannot bless this occasion but I do bless you in the name of our Lord Jesus and the Virgin.” He made the sign of the cross in the air. “Now, it is time for me to nominate five for the office of Queen. The elders shall then call the vote of the men.” The priest clutched his robe with two hands and rocked on his feet as he surveyed the crowd pressing close. He basked in the moment before speaking again. “Ah, I needs remind you that the choice may be for either youth or beauty or for kindness. And in this year we shall also think of those who have aged with grace.”