had done. I do not do this for personal profit, he persuaded himself, I do not seek to gain advantage over her. I have set myself a test,
that is all, as God has designed, and I shall prove my mettle this time. I shall triumph over my own carnality and lead this girl to proper understanding of herself, as her father wishes.
That was all.
*
Simon accepted Anselm’s mumbled obeisance and a sullen greeting from the wife. Then he and the girl were again left alone by the fire, so that he might continue his
instruction of her.
‘So, Fabricia, have you given consideration to our last conversation?’
‘Indeed, Father, I have thought of nothing else.’
‘And you have prayed?’
‘With all my heart.’
‘As have I, for the right way to instruct you in this matter. Have you experienced any more of these visions?’
‘No, Father.’
‘That is well. Such visions as you describe may be many things: a shadow moving on the wall perhaps, or a flash of sunlight reflected for a moment on a stained glass window. An imagination
fuelled by a great love of God, which I am sure you possess, is prone to such fancies. But a lifetime’s service to the Holy Church, this is about dedication and discipline, not bewilderment
or ecstasy. Living by the Rule is not the simple thing you may imagine. And you have a duty also to your father.’
‘But does the Church not teach that we should honour God above even our own parents?’
‘There are many ways to honour God. You do not have to enter an abbey to do it. And your vows, should you submit to them, bind you to a life of discipline unimaginable to you now. Easily
foresworn, harder kept.’
‘You mean the vow of chastity?’
He blushed then, and stared into the fire, discomfited by her directness. ‘You are young. I do not think you fully understand what chastity means.’
‘You are young too.’
Simon got up and paced the floor. ‘We all struggle with our humanity.’
‘You have overcome your demons, Father. Could I not overcome mine?’
‘It is harder for Woman. She is more wanton than Man.’
‘If you heard what is said behind my back in the markets you would not say so.’
Simon embarked on a long speech, drawing inspiration from the works of Jerome and Paul, and quoting also from the lives of the virgin martyrs. He explained to her how love of the divine was so
much greater than the love of mortals for each other.
She quickly grew weary of it, but he did not seem to notice.
*
‘You seem agitated, Father,’ she said, interrupting him as he attempted a discourse on the nature of love from St Augustine.
He gaped at her; that the daughter of a stonecutter – or any woman – should pass comment on a monk’s behaviour showed a breath-taking presumption.
‘You are not an easy pupil to instruct.’
‘And you are surely young to have attained such a position in the Church. My father says you are spoken of as a future bishop.’
‘I shall serve God in any capacity I am best able.’
‘So you have already considered this possibility?’
This one remark disarmed him utterly. He was a Cistercian monk, a man of God, and she should show him absolute deference. Instead, she now claimed to read his thoughts.
‘I think you would make a good bishop,’ she said, but before he could summon a proper reply, she posed her next impertinent question. ‘Why does a man such as yourself come to
live in a monastery? Were you found at the gate?’
A man such as myself?
‘Is that what you think?’ It was true that several of his brother monks had been abandoned at the monastery steps as infants. Why did she think he was one of them?
‘Were you, Father?’
His pride got the better of him. He looked at her down the length of his nose. ‘My father is a burgher of no little reputation. I was the youngest of his sons and he rightly saw an
opportunity for me in the ranks of the Church.’
‘You have never regretted his choice?’
This was the moment, Simon
that is all, as God has designed, and I shall prove my mettle this time. I shall triumph over my own carnality and lead this girl to proper understanding of herself, as her father wishes.
That was all.
*
Simon accepted Anselm’s mumbled obeisance and a sullen greeting from the wife. Then he and the girl were again left alone by the fire, so that he might continue his
instruction of her.
‘So, Fabricia, have you given consideration to our last conversation?’
‘Indeed, Father, I have thought of nothing else.’
‘And you have prayed?’
‘With all my heart.’
‘As have I, for the right way to instruct you in this matter. Have you experienced any more of these visions?’
‘No, Father.’
‘That is well. Such visions as you describe may be many things: a shadow moving on the wall perhaps, or a flash of sunlight reflected for a moment on a stained glass window. An imagination
fuelled by a great love of God, which I am sure you possess, is prone to such fancies. But a lifetime’s service to the Holy Church, this is about dedication and discipline, not bewilderment
or ecstasy. Living by the Rule is not the simple thing you may imagine. And you have a duty also to your father.’
‘But does the Church not teach that we should honour God above even our own parents?’
‘There are many ways to honour God. You do not have to enter an abbey to do it. And your vows, should you submit to them, bind you to a life of discipline unimaginable to you now. Easily
foresworn, harder kept.’
‘You mean the vow of chastity?’
He blushed then, and stared into the fire, discomfited by her directness. ‘You are young. I do not think you fully understand what chastity means.’
‘You are young too.’
Simon got up and paced the floor. ‘We all struggle with our humanity.’
‘You have overcome your demons, Father. Could I not overcome mine?’
‘It is harder for Woman. She is more wanton than Man.’
‘If you heard what is said behind my back in the markets you would not say so.’
Simon embarked on a long speech, drawing inspiration from the works of Jerome and Paul, and quoting also from the lives of the virgin martyrs. He explained to her how love of the divine was so
much greater than the love of mortals for each other.
She quickly grew weary of it, but he did not seem to notice.
*
‘You seem agitated, Father,’ she said, interrupting him as he attempted a discourse on the nature of love from St Augustine.
He gaped at her; that the daughter of a stonecutter – or any woman – should pass comment on a monk’s behaviour showed a breath-taking presumption.
‘You are not an easy pupil to instruct.’
‘And you are surely young to have attained such a position in the Church. My father says you are spoken of as a future bishop.’
‘I shall serve God in any capacity I am best able.’
‘So you have already considered this possibility?’
This one remark disarmed him utterly. He was a Cistercian monk, a man of God, and she should show him absolute deference. Instead, she now claimed to read his thoughts.
‘I think you would make a good bishop,’ she said, but before he could summon a proper reply, she posed her next impertinent question. ‘Why does a man such as yourself come to
live in a monastery? Were you found at the gate?’
A man such as myself?
‘Is that what you think?’ It was true that several of his brother monks had been abandoned at the monastery steps as infants. Why did she think he was one of them?
‘Were you, Father?’
His pride got the better of him. He looked at her down the length of his nose. ‘My father is a burgher of no little reputation. I was the youngest of his sons and he rightly saw an
opportunity for me in the ranks of the Church.’
‘You have never regretted his choice?’
This was the moment, Simon
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