affair. Someone was lying. Someone was covering up. But I didn’t know what or who or why. Prior Peter was waiting to see us off but I was in no mood for pleasantries. I set off along the Tottington road without a word leaving Samson behind to make our farewells alone.
Chapter 8
TOMELINUS
‘Walter that was very rude of you,’ Samson said catching me up.
‘I’m sorry father.’
‘Whatever is the matter with you? You shame me and Saint Edmund with your petulance.’
‘ I’ve said I’m sorry. I will apologize to Prior Peter on our return journey. I take it we will be returning this way when our business in Acre is done - whatever that is?’
I looked at him expectantly but he merely grunted, pulled up his cowl and spurred his mule on ahead. Behind me I heard Jane snort again and I had to fight the urge to reprove her. And thus we continued for the next few miles with Samson out in front, me a few yards behind trailing Ralf’s mule, and Jane bringing up the rear. The snow was falling heavily now covering everything in a blanket of pure whiteness. It was a beautiful sight to behold and one that would normally lift the spirit, but I cannot remember a time when I felt more miserable.
We passed through just one more village that day in the bottom of a valley half way between Thetford and Tottington. I say “village” but it didn’t amount to much more than a few huts clustered behind a church which was in the process of having its tower rebuilt. The weather had temporarily halted building work but it was heartening to see that however poor the villagers were they had their priorities right. And poor they surely were for the soil in this part of Norfolk is very sandy and cannot support the numbers that are on my mother’s estate at Ixworth. If this was the sort of country Samson hailed from then it made for meagre farming indeed. It wouldn’t be long before I found out for Tottington village lay just a few miles further ahead of us.
The climb out of the village was slow and gradual as we ascended from the valley below. The snow had begun to ease and finally stopped altogether as we reached the top of the slope with the sun coming out to bathe us all in its cold brilliance. Samson shook the snow off his cowl and waited fo r us to catch up.
‘Isn’t it a glorious day?’ he grinned and drew his hand across the expanse of white and brown fields. ‘Look at that view! This must have been what the very first Christmas was like. Why, I can almost see the shepherds abiding in the field. No star to guide our way of course, but look, that little hovel down there could easily be the Holy Stable itself.’
‘Very nice father.’
He looked at me. ‘Still sulking I see. Tell you what - we’ll break for some refreshment. That’ll cheer us all up.’
‘Are you sure we can spare the time?’
He pretended not to hear me. ‘I know this road well. It was the one my dear mother first brought me down as a child to pray at Saint Edmund’s shrine,’ he said dismounting. ‘Did I ever tell you that story?’
‘Often , father.’
‘ It was as the result of a dream, you see? I dreamt I was standing in front of a cemetery gate when the Devil tried to seize me.’
‘I bet you were absolutely terrified, father.’
‘ I was absolutely terrified. I cried out in my sleep for Saint Edmund to help me - a name I had never heard before. Hearing my cries my mother took me next day to the abbey which I immediately recognized as being the place in my dream even though I had never been there before.’
‘ How fortuitous that your mother had.’
‘ Indeed. It was clear to me that I was being called by the martyr to renounce the world and take up the religious life which I duly did. There, what do you think of that?’
‘Very uplifting, father.’
‘Hmn,’ he looked at me doubtfully. ‘Well all this happened a long time ago in Tottington village which is not far away now. A good moment, perhaps, to pause and reflect.
Chapter 8
TOMELINUS
‘Walter that was very rude of you,’ Samson said catching me up.
‘I’m sorry father.’
‘Whatever is the matter with you? You shame me and Saint Edmund with your petulance.’
‘ I’ve said I’m sorry. I will apologize to Prior Peter on our return journey. I take it we will be returning this way when our business in Acre is done - whatever that is?’
I looked at him expectantly but he merely grunted, pulled up his cowl and spurred his mule on ahead. Behind me I heard Jane snort again and I had to fight the urge to reprove her. And thus we continued for the next few miles with Samson out in front, me a few yards behind trailing Ralf’s mule, and Jane bringing up the rear. The snow was falling heavily now covering everything in a blanket of pure whiteness. It was a beautiful sight to behold and one that would normally lift the spirit, but I cannot remember a time when I felt more miserable.
We passed through just one more village that day in the bottom of a valley half way between Thetford and Tottington. I say “village” but it didn’t amount to much more than a few huts clustered behind a church which was in the process of having its tower rebuilt. The weather had temporarily halted building work but it was heartening to see that however poor the villagers were they had their priorities right. And poor they surely were for the soil in this part of Norfolk is very sandy and cannot support the numbers that are on my mother’s estate at Ixworth. If this was the sort of country Samson hailed from then it made for meagre farming indeed. It wouldn’t be long before I found out for Tottington village lay just a few miles further ahead of us.
The climb out of the village was slow and gradual as we ascended from the valley below. The snow had begun to ease and finally stopped altogether as we reached the top of the slope with the sun coming out to bathe us all in its cold brilliance. Samson shook the snow off his cowl and waited fo r us to catch up.
‘Isn’t it a glorious day?’ he grinned and drew his hand across the expanse of white and brown fields. ‘Look at that view! This must have been what the very first Christmas was like. Why, I can almost see the shepherds abiding in the field. No star to guide our way of course, but look, that little hovel down there could easily be the Holy Stable itself.’
‘Very nice father.’
He looked at me. ‘Still sulking I see. Tell you what - we’ll break for some refreshment. That’ll cheer us all up.’
‘Are you sure we can spare the time?’
He pretended not to hear me. ‘I know this road well. It was the one my dear mother first brought me down as a child to pray at Saint Edmund’s shrine,’ he said dismounting. ‘Did I ever tell you that story?’
‘Often , father.’
‘ It was as the result of a dream, you see? I dreamt I was standing in front of a cemetery gate when the Devil tried to seize me.’
‘I bet you were absolutely terrified, father.’
‘ I was absolutely terrified. I cried out in my sleep for Saint Edmund to help me - a name I had never heard before. Hearing my cries my mother took me next day to the abbey which I immediately recognized as being the place in my dream even though I had never been there before.’
‘ How fortuitous that your mother had.’
‘ Indeed. It was clear to me that I was being called by the martyr to renounce the world and take up the religious life which I duly did. There, what do you think of that?’
‘Very uplifting, father.’
‘Hmn,’ he looked at me doubtfully. ‘Well all this happened a long time ago in Tottington village which is not far away now. A good moment, perhaps, to pause and reflect.
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