The Breath of Peace (25 page)

‘It's what I want to do,' he said; and though he spoke softly, something in his tone made Madeleine realize that she, who had never backed down from an argument in all her life, had finally met her match.

‘It's the way they are killed,' he added, seeing some further explanation must be necessary. ‘Screaming and blood spurting and iron spikes in their snouts. I hadn't thought about it; but now I have, I can't do it. I can't have things terrified and screaming in fear and pain in the place where I live. I can't stand on ground slippery with blood and watch a beast that has trusted me, in pitiful throes as it bleeds to death at my feet. I
can't
do it, Madeleine. I'm sorry. I understand what it means to us, and how important it was to make everything work – well, we'll just have to find another way. I couldn't sit down at my board and eat the flesh of something that died that way – not now I've thought about it. I'm sorry, truly I am. But I can't have any more terror and pain in my life. I don't want to give it houseroom. I don't want anything more to do with it, not in my home. Please… Madeleine – can you not understand?'

‘I understand well enough who will have to think up how to make the last of the roots and dried pease get us through – with only the two hens left for eggs, and no goat's milk to speak of! A sucking pig would have done us just nicely! For heaven's sake, William!'

‘I know.' As she knelt up on the bed to stare accusingly at her husband, Madeleine saw something vulnerable about his mouth, some trace of horror. He would not meet her eyes now.

‘Madeleine,' he whispered, ‘it's not that I won't; I
can't
. I can't do it. I can't bear it.' And watching his face, her indignation deflated into numbed acceptance as she realized that he was telling her the simple truth, and she was just going to have to live with it. He really was going to let those pigs go.

‘Well, they can run loose with their mother, then,' she said firmly, salvaging what she could, ‘for we're not feeding them. They can forage for themselves.'

She saw relief flood his face as he glanced up into her eyes again. ‘She… there's not much forage in the woods this time of year,' he ventured, and Madeleine heard something soft and shy in his voice she had never heard before; something she thought maybe had never had a chance until now. ‘We can feed her just while they're little and she's suckling them, can't we? She would be so hungry… Madeleine?' The plea in his eyes was naked and desperate.

‘Oh!
Saints
and angels! William de Bulmer!
What
are you like? I never heard such soft nonsense in all my born days! Whatever have I married? Do it your own way, then – feed her, cosset her, make a pet of her, and let the whole brood go wild! But, husband – you must take it upon you to make this work. You're the man for the accounts; right then – you do the sums.'

‘I will.' He sat up and took her into his arms, drew her down to him again. ‘Thank you. I will make it work, somehow I will. Thank you, Madeleine. Thank you so much.'

The gentleness, the tenderness of his kiss made her go weak all over. But she wasn't about to tell him so. He didn't deserve it.

* * *

‘
Dominus vobiscum
.'

‘
Et cum spiritu tuo
.'

‘
Benedicamus Domino
.'

‘
Deo gratias
.'

‘
Fidelium animæ per misericordiam Dei requiescant in pace
.'

‘
Amen
.'

Then the office of None concluded as it always did, with the Pater Noster, and Abbot John left his stall and trailed slowly back along the cloister to his lodging, wishing he was any kind of man in any place on earth other than the superior of a monastic house about to explain to his prior that he intended to give the obedience to somebody else.

He left the door of his house ajar – only a fraction; he was mindful not to be wasteful of the fire's warmth – and drifted uneasily and disconsolately in his atelier, waiting with increasingly heavy heart for his prior's arrival. ‘Help me, my Lord Christ,' he whispered. ‘Oh, help me of your kindness and your grace. Let me not hurt him. For pity's sake keep watch that I do not destroy him. Help me… please…' The knock at the door came commendably promptly, and John hastened to welcome Father Chad, to offer him a seat at the fireside, and then to properly shut and latch the door, that this cruelty might be carried out with the mercy of close privacy.

‘Father,' his prior cut in, before John could say anything, ‘I don't know what this is about, but first of all there is something I have to say to you. Will you do me the courtesy of allowing me to get this off my chest before we come on to whatever it is you need to discuss?'

‘Of course. Go ahead.' John waited with surprise for what Father Chad had to tell him. The prior looked agitated. Evidently this was something of urgency and importance.

‘Well… this is something that has been on my heart for a long time now. I've been meaning to tell you about it, but just haven't been able to make myself do it. I've thought it all through carefully, again and again, and it goes right back to when Father Columba fell ill. Before he came to us, during Abbot Gregory's time, things were simple here. Our house is remote up here in the hills, and we had no special reputation; we attracted few vocations. With Father Columba, all that changed. He had such charisma, and such high standards, I began to feel myself wading in deeper water than my capabilities allowed. But even then it was not too bad. A prior, after all, has only to do the bidding of his abbot. The obedience asks patience and kindness, discretion and meticulous care in carrying out an assignment, not much more.

‘Then Father Abbot fell sick, and everything changed again. In his long incapacity, decisions were needed that were more than I was equal to. I think I made mistakes. I could feel myself becoming unpopular. I began to realize that some of the brothers actually held me in contempt. I was a figure of fun sometimes. There were relationships – with Brother Thomas, for instance – that got worse and worse no matter what I did. It was dreadful, sometimes, with Brother Thomas…' The prior shook his head, lost in the appalling memory of it.

‘When that long interregnum finally reached an end, and you came to take up the abbacy, I felt so relieved. I thought everything would go back to normal again. But then hot on your heels William de Bulmer arrived. I did what I could, Father, I promise you I did, I give you my word: but the evident scorn with which he regarded me undermined me completely. I found myself, against my own better judgment, posturing and defensive and argumentative, resenting him and bearing a grudge. I found that the way I carried out my tasks got emptier and emptier – until I had lost any sense of authenticity, and was just clinging to rank and position for the false comfort it confers. I was almost more angry with him than I was capable of containing. I nursed the bitterest grudge against him. Worse than that, I encouraged Brother Ambrose in following my example; and before God I hope his soul was clean of that when he breathed his last.

‘When Father William left here so suddenly, and I realized I wouldn't have to live with him any more after all, I thought it would be all right. I thought I could take my time to recover my equilibrium and find a way to fill what was required of me as this community's prior. I never expected that he would be back. It was the profoundest shock to encounter him, here at your table, and learn that he would be meddling about in our affairs yet again. Father, I loathe him. I confess to you, I absolutely detest that man.

‘I am willing to make confession of this in Chapter. I am ashamed that I cannot find so much as a scrap of charity to extend towards him, however deep I dig.

‘The thing is that he himself seems to neither like nor dislike me. He just ignores me, unless he is obliged to speak to me. He bypasses me. He looks straight through me. And I am forced to conclude that the problem is my pride. I'm not – I'm not taking too long about this am I, Father John?'

‘No… er… no!' responded his abbot. ‘No – please carry on.'

‘A proud prior is like a dangerous disease. The obedience is too high a position. In our holy Rule it makes most clear that any prior blinded by vainglory should be removed from his position if he cannot overcome his sin with admonishment. Oh, Father, I have tried and tried and tried! And at last I can see no other course. I have come to beg you, of your charity, may I not lay this obedience down? It has grown too heavy for me. It is greater than the man I am. It has become a Saul's armour to me, impeding my every step. Unless I can go back into some less exalted position, I fear I may lose my vocation and even my faith. Please, Father; won't you let me do something quiet and ordinary, so that I can do the soul work that is necessary to find my way to simplicity again, and charity, and peace?

‘I felt so shamed in my spirit when I saw how Brother Thomas was able to embrace William de Bulmer with an honest heart; and he even came to love him in the end – I believe he really did. But not me. Will you allow it, Father? Will you let me lay this down? It is too much for me!'

‘Ssh!' John leaned forward kindly and touched Father Chad's knee, interrupting the flow of words. Trembling and on the verge of tears, the prior raised a shaking hand to his brow, overcome by the terrible nature of what he had to confess.

‘First, let me say – of course you may lay this down,' said the abbot. ‘You have carried the task manfully these many years. A change will do you the world of good, I'm sure. Second, let me assure you that William de Bulmer has no smooth path in any form of companionship. As animosity has yoked the two of you together, please pray for him. Love him in that act of kindness if you can love him in no other way. He will not be much longer in our midst. Just let him get Brother Cormac through the challenges of the Lady Day rents, the Easter Triduum, and the bishop's Visitation, and he will need to come here only very occasionally as our guest. Had it not been for my mismanagement he would not have had to come back here at all – but he has been gracious in his help; try to remember that. If he sets your teeth on edge, well, just offer it up; we cannot all find a way to comfortable friendship.

‘Rest at ease, my good brother, we can deal with this. I will tell them in Chapter tomorrow, and you can lay this down. Have a little think about where best you might like to serve – in the sacristy, maybe? Do you think that would suit you? And in the library? And maybe I could imagine you doing a bit of gardening – getting brown in the sunshine. Think it through and let me know.'

Father Chad's shaking hand subsided into his lap, and John saw calm gradually restoring in his expression.

‘Thank you.' He sounded tired and forlorn. ‘Yes, I think it might be peaceful to work in the library. I should love to do that. And the idea of the sacristy does sound nice as well, I must say. And the garden. Oh, Father, I am not proud of myself. And to let you down like this, when you have been in office for only a year. Who will you find to serve as prior in my stead? Who is there among us with the stature the obedience requires? I don't know. I just don't know…'

‘We'll find someone,' said Abbot John, his voice quiet and comforting. ‘Father Francis, perhaps.'

‘Francis?' The erstwhile obedientiary's head jerked up in consternation. ‘Father Francis is almost as flighty as the day he entered! You can't ask him!'

John smiled. ‘Concentrate on how Christ is calling and leading you, Father,' he said gently, ‘and trust the appointment of prior into my hands. It will be well. I think God is watching over us. He knows our condition; he is merciful. And I think he may have a sense of humour, as well as that.'

This far to the north of England the sun set early in February, only an hour after None. When Father Chad left the abbot's lodging, the crushing anxiety he had been carrying when he arrived not rivalled even by his consternation about the prospect of Francis as prior of St Alcuin's when he left, the sun had spread a pageant of crimson and violet across the western sky.

Abbot John reached down for the fire irons and pushed the smouldering logs together, blew on them a while to revive a flame. Then he sat back in his chair in the quietness of the day, reviewing the way they had come, the changes made.

‘Thank you,' he whispered, thinking of Father Chad. ‘Thank you so much.'

The day drew to its close. Soon it would be time for Vespers, and supper. The evening folded around him with its breath of peace.

 

 

 

 

 

The story of the monks of
St Alcuin's continues in

The Beautiful Thread

Glossary of Terms

Bradawl – a tool with a wooden handle and a metal spike. Old norse origins to the word.

Cellarer – monk responsible for oversight of all provisions; a key role in the community.

Chapter – daily meeting governing practical matters, where a chapter of St Benedict's Rule was read and expounded by the abbot.

Checker – a small, separate building, in the part of the monastery accessible to laypeople, where all the documents of trade (receipts, account books, etc.) were kept, and where tradespeople could be received. The word
exchequer
comes from this.

Choir – the part of the church where the community sits.

Cloister – covered way giving access to main buildings of a monastery.

Corrody – purchased right to food/clothing/housing from a monastery for an agreed period, which could be for life.

Frater – refectory.

Grafter – worker.

Gong – the pile of human dung accumulating, in most cases on the ground outside from a long-drop toilet above.

Grand Silence – the silence kept by the whole community from after