In a Dark Wood

In a Dark Wood by Michael Cadnum

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Authors: Michael Cadnum
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in.”
    â€œHe did not want to come,” said Hugh, bringing a second chair to the meeting table.
    Geoffrey did not want to see him, either. The lean face of Nottingham and the white nakedness of the prisoner had made him feel something he had not felt before, and he wanted to sit on the sill of the window and watch men come and go.
    The thoughtful stride of the doctor across the courtyard told him that Lady Eleanor had yet another headache or perhaps one of those strange weaknesses in her legs. The doctor wore blood-red, slashed with blue, and the lining was shiny taffeta. His boy accompanied him, carrying a large black basket, drugs, roots, powders, and leeches, as Geoffrey knew from his own brushes with illness.
    â€œHe was so busy with his studies that he said he had no time for any business but God’s.”
    â€œSir Roger said that?”
    â€œAccording to Henry.”
    â€œThat doesn’t sound at all like Sir Roger. He’s been keeping to himself lately, but he’s always been a good man at meat and drink. Filled with stories from the East.”
    A kitchen wench leaned a huge black tub against a wall, went back inside, and came out with a large brush.
    Sir Roger found his way to the chair but remained standing.
    â€œI hate to trouble you in your studies, Sir Roger, but I need a man with experience in handling the attack.”
    Sir Roger did not speak for a long time. The air was touched, for a moment, with the spice of horse manure. “The attack on what?”
    â€œMiscreants.”
    Sir Roger turned away, shaking his head. He folded his age-knobby hands and said, “I’ll do no more damage to my immortal soul than I have done.”
    Geoffrey waited for more, but when he heard only the chime of the smith’s hammer across the courtyard, he said, “Your soul must be the most precious gem in the kingdom.”
    â€œBlack as tar. I have been studying.”
    Studying was a well-known form of mortification, like fasting, but more difficult.
    â€œWhen angels appear to mortal men, it is in the guise of youthful eunuchs,” Sir Roger continued. “Beautiful youths, brighter than the sun.”
    Geoffrey covered his eyes with his hands.
    â€œThey are clad in divine garments. Gold and white silk, and their hips and knees shine like green grass and citron.” The old knight groaned as he sat. “I have a Saracen arrowpoint in my thighbone. A black tooth in my timber.”
    Geoffrey turned to the window. A cartload of wood creaked across the stones below, pulled by two oxen that looked out upon the bustle of the castle with eyes that understood and forgave.
    â€œExactly so do the sins of my youth anchor themselves, black and rusting, in my soul. When we die, we pass twenty-one tollhouses, each manned with a demon smeared with feces and speaking fire. Each represents a sin: slander, envy, falsehood, wrath, pride, inane speech, usury and deceit, despondency coupled with vanity, avarice—”
    â€œThis is grievous …” Geoffrey began.
    â€œâ€”drunkenness, evil memories, sorcery, gluttony, homosexuality, adultery, murder, theft, fornication, and hardness of heart. I have left some out. Slander, envy, falsehood, wrath—”
    â€œPlease stay seated, Sir Roger. A terrible list. But, and I am an ignorant man, it seems that a further sin is to think too much on sin.”
    â€œYes, that, too!” howled Sir Roger.
    â€œI depend on you for good advice, Roger.”
    â€œThen I will tell you of the Seven Deadliest.”
    Geoffrey put his hand on Sir Roger’s shoulder. He released him at once, appalled. The man had wasted. The burly Sir Roger, who had sworn that when knife was in meat and drink in horn he was the best man under the sky, was gone. This skeleton remained.
    â€œPride,” said Sir Roger. “Lechery.” Was there a special emphasis in his voice? “Envy. Anger. Avarice. Gluttony. Ah, gluttony.”

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