hung from a slim rafter over the altar, he could not suppress the bitterness that too often assaulted his heart. Squeezing his eyes shut, he put all his strength into fighting back. “Get thee behind me, Satan,” he growled. “I know I am a flawed creature. Go trouble those who deem themselves otherwise.”
The heavy darkness inched back, leaving Thomas exhausted from the struggle. Bending forward, he rested his head in his hands and wept.
When his sobs ended and Thomas sat up, questions began buzzing in his head like bees outside a hive. Was a hermit’s life no longer the path he should be traveling? If not, what was he supposed to do next? Abandon this place, return to the priory, and again take up his work at the hospital?
At least that work had often given him solace, he thought. And he was growing ever more uneasy when others looked on him as some holy creature because he was a hermit. He shuddered. For a sinner to be called a saint was surely a travesty of all that was holy.
And why had Ralf chosen this day to visit? Perhaps the decision to do so had meant something. When Thomas took residence here, the crowner avoided him. A few months ago, Thomas might have even turned Ralf away. Today his old friend arrived at his hut, despite fearing that the monk would not welcome the sight of him, and Thomas had been filled with delight when he saw the crowner in the doorway. Walking down to the pond for a swim, they had talked together much as they were wont to do in the past.
Something had changed. God might be pointing out some new path for him to take. When next Brother John came to see him, Thomas would seek his advice in the matter. Signs from God were things with which the novice master had had much experience, and Thomas could ask his counsel without misgivings.
He had been musing too long and had not knelt to honor God since rising at dawn. “As penance, I shall delay my one meal until after the next Office.” It was a small denial but would do until he decided on a worthier deed to offer in return for his negligence.
Lowering himself to the hard earth in front of the altar, he prepared to approach God with total humility. He pressed his cheek against the dirt, closed his eyes and ears to the world, and fell silent in reverent and hopeful anticipation.
A chill instantly filled him and he shivered, trying not to let rising fear suggest the meaning of this. Do not be anxious, he told himself, and then cautiously opened one eye.
A dark shadow extended over him, flowing from the doorway. He prayed that a cloud had only veiled the sun.
“I did not wish to interrupt your prayers, Brother.”
Leaping to his feet, Thomas stared at the dark-robed figure standing in the entrance.
Father Eliduc gestured toward the bench inside. “May I?”
“Would I ever refuse you,” the monk replied. “Please sit down. I confess I have neither good wine to offer as refreshment nor fine chalices from which to drink.” His voice trembled, cravenly betraying his pounding heart.
Lightly running his fingertips over the rough boards of the bench, the priest replied with a modest upturn of his thin lips. “Out of respect for this hermitage, I shall stand.”
Thomas walked to the table and uncovered the basket from the inn. He pulled out a loaf of bread and a sweating cheese with high odor. “There is this gift from the local inn.”
Eliduc stared at the presented objects in the monk’s hands before replying, “I am fasting.”
It was rare that Thomas was able to discomfit this man and so he felt some joy. The pleasure was fleeting. He knew this visit did not bode well.
“Come, Brother, do not look so bleak. Is the sun not warm? Do the birds not sing with delight? Are you not free—to worship God in this hermitage?”
How cleverly this man reminds me of my past, the monk thought as the melancholy he had chased to the borders of his soul came thundering back with the force of destriers charging into battle. Shall I ever
The heavy darkness inched back, leaving Thomas exhausted from the struggle. Bending forward, he rested his head in his hands and wept.
When his sobs ended and Thomas sat up, questions began buzzing in his head like bees outside a hive. Was a hermit’s life no longer the path he should be traveling? If not, what was he supposed to do next? Abandon this place, return to the priory, and again take up his work at the hospital?
At least that work had often given him solace, he thought. And he was growing ever more uneasy when others looked on him as some holy creature because he was a hermit. He shuddered. For a sinner to be called a saint was surely a travesty of all that was holy.
And why had Ralf chosen this day to visit? Perhaps the decision to do so had meant something. When Thomas took residence here, the crowner avoided him. A few months ago, Thomas might have even turned Ralf away. Today his old friend arrived at his hut, despite fearing that the monk would not welcome the sight of him, and Thomas had been filled with delight when he saw the crowner in the doorway. Walking down to the pond for a swim, they had talked together much as they were wont to do in the past.
Something had changed. God might be pointing out some new path for him to take. When next Brother John came to see him, Thomas would seek his advice in the matter. Signs from God were things with which the novice master had had much experience, and Thomas could ask his counsel without misgivings.
He had been musing too long and had not knelt to honor God since rising at dawn. “As penance, I shall delay my one meal until after the next Office.” It was a small denial but would do until he decided on a worthier deed to offer in return for his negligence.
Lowering himself to the hard earth in front of the altar, he prepared to approach God with total humility. He pressed his cheek against the dirt, closed his eyes and ears to the world, and fell silent in reverent and hopeful anticipation.
A chill instantly filled him and he shivered, trying not to let rising fear suggest the meaning of this. Do not be anxious, he told himself, and then cautiously opened one eye.
A dark shadow extended over him, flowing from the doorway. He prayed that a cloud had only veiled the sun.
“I did not wish to interrupt your prayers, Brother.”
Leaping to his feet, Thomas stared at the dark-robed figure standing in the entrance.
Father Eliduc gestured toward the bench inside. “May I?”
“Would I ever refuse you,” the monk replied. “Please sit down. I confess I have neither good wine to offer as refreshment nor fine chalices from which to drink.” His voice trembled, cravenly betraying his pounding heart.
Lightly running his fingertips over the rough boards of the bench, the priest replied with a modest upturn of his thin lips. “Out of respect for this hermitage, I shall stand.”
Thomas walked to the table and uncovered the basket from the inn. He pulled out a loaf of bread and a sweating cheese with high odor. “There is this gift from the local inn.”
Eliduc stared at the presented objects in the monk’s hands before replying, “I am fasting.”
It was rare that Thomas was able to discomfit this man and so he felt some joy. The pleasure was fleeting. He knew this visit did not bode well.
“Come, Brother, do not look so bleak. Is the sun not warm? Do the birds not sing with delight? Are you not free—to worship God in this hermitage?”
How cleverly this man reminds me of my past, the monk thought as the melancholy he had chased to the borders of his soul came thundering back with the force of destriers charging into battle. Shall I ever
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