“But they may come back one day.”
“I have lived with that fear a long time now.”
“Come to me.”
“What?”
“If you are in danger,” said the woman, “come to me. Our house is small, but you are welcome to hide there with your dog. Do not sleep in the wood again. Come to me.”
Emma was touched. Everyone else rejected her. Even the patients whose health she had restored stayed out of her way thereafter. Yet she was now being offered a refuge. A woman who had almost nothing of her own was willing to share the last thing she had-a mean dwelling which would be taken from her if her husband was found guilty-with an outcast. She was willing to risk the danger of having a reviled witch under her roof when armed men were out hunting her. Emma came close to real tears and she looked into the willing face of her new friend.
“Why do you help me in this way?” she wondered.
“You cured our pain; you gave us bread.”
“Bread?”
“Your prayer was answered, Emma. We thank you.”
The woman leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek, then she turned on her heel and hurried back in the direction of her home.
Emma could not comprehend such kindness. As she walked on down to her own house, she tried to puzzle it out. Yesterday, she had faced death in the night; today, she was being shown the face of true friendship. It was baffling.
Her dog came bounding up to her and nuzzled her fat thigh as she trundled on, then he ran back to the front door of the house and crouched excitedly over something. Emma at first thought that he had caught a bird or mouse, but she soon saw otherwise. As she reached the door and moved the animal back with her foot, she saw something scattered across her doorstep. They were silver coins.
Chapter Eight
Brother Peter bore his tribulations with noble equanimity. The punishment he suffered would have disabled most of the monks for days and introduced at least a hint of bitterness into their relationship with Brother Thaddeus. Peter rose above the common experience and astonished the whole house by appearing at Matins next morning to take his appointed place. He was evidently in considerable pain and moved with some difficulty, but the face that was bowed humbly before God contained neither reproach nor suffering but shone with its usual blithe religiosity. When the sacristan picked his way gingerly across the cloister garth after Prime, he was even able to acknowledge the cheerful greeting of Brother Thaddeus. Not a breath of personal animosity stirred. The happy ploughman was but an instrument of harsh discipline and therefore not to blame. Peter even found a moment to ask kindly after the oxen in the field. Like him, they had felt the wounding power of Brother Thaddeus’s strong arm.
It was after Terce when Brother Luke at last found him.
“How are you, Brother Peter?”
“I survive.”
“Reports had you half-dead.”
“Brother Thaddeus would have cut me in two if Abbot Serlo had not curtailed my beating.” He gave a weary smile. “It is all over now. I will not dwell on it.”
Luke studied him with almost-ghoulish fascination. They were in Peter’s workshop and the brazier was still glowing quietly in the corner. The novice could not understand how his friend could so soon and so readily return to his holy labours after such a terrible ordeal. Peter’s stoic attitude was quite inspiring.
“Does it not hurt?” murmured Luke.
“Like the Devil!”
“Then should you not rest?”
“I have done so already.”
“Wounds need time to heal.”
“They may heal just as well if I stand on my feet,” said Peter bravely.
“Brother Infirmarian has been extremely kind to me. He has washed my body clean and applied ointments as a salve. His tender ministrations have softened the pain, if they have not relieved the stiffness.”
Luke was aghast. “Are you not angry?”
“With whom?”
“With anyone or anything that can do this to you. With Abbot Serlo or with Brother Thaddeus. With the strictures of the Benedictine rule. With the brother who informed on you in the first place.” Luke bristled. “I would be enraged.”
“My only anger is reserved for myself.”
“Yourself?”
“I transgressed, Luke. I paid the penalty.”
“You are truly sainted.”
“We all have our cross to bear,” said Peter as he took the silver cross from its drawer and held it up. “This is mine and I was crucified for spending too much time on it.”
“The abbey does not deserve such a wondrous gift.”
“It does, Luke. Do not be blinded by friendship to me from seeing duty to the order. I am but one obedientiary who went astray and have been whipped back into line. I accept that without complaint. Do you likewise.”
Brother Luke made the effort to do so, but it was way beyond his competence. His eye kept roving over Peter’s cowl and he eventually asked the question which had brought him there.
“May I see?”
“No.”
“The others say that Brother Thaddeus is vicious.”
“I have not seen his work and nor will you.”
“But you bear it upon your back.”
“Out of sight to both of us.”
“Can I not wash it for you? Apply more ointment?”
“I am too afraid for you, Luke.”
“Afraid? Of what?”
“If I lift my cowl to any other brother, he will see no more than the retribution of Father Abbot.” He put concerned hands on the young shoulders and looked the novice full in the face. “If I show you my wounds, you will see the exit from the order. And I would keep you here.”
“To suffer the same treatment myself?”
“To avoid it by due observance of the rule.”
Peter clapped his hands to change the subject and put the crucifix away once more. His manner was almost spry, though there was still an aching slowness in his motions.
“What have you been doing with yourself?” he said.
“Praying for you.”
“Your prayers were answered. Here I am again.”
“Praise the Lord!” Luke remembered something else. “The young commissioner came to call upon me.”
“Gervase Bret?”
“We talked in the garden.”
“Upon what subject?”
“His reason for leaving Eltham Abbey.”
Peter frowned. “He tried to tempt you away?”
“No, he was careful not to influence my decision in any way. But he was honest about his own travails and that made an impression on me. He spoke in the roundest terms and did not shirk my questions.”
“What else did he say?”
“He was intrigued by the abbey itself,” explained Luke, “and asked me about its working. That was the curious thing. When I met him, I was disposed to be released from my vows and leave the order, yet when I spoke with him about our life together here, I did so with such zeal that I came to see how much I had grown into it.”
“We are a family and you an honoured son.”
“The master of the novices does not honour me.”
“He will in time, Luke. If you stay.” Peter’s frown deepened. “What did you tell Gervase Bret?”
“All that he asked.”
“Did he mention Prior Baldwin?”
“Many times. He has seen through that sacred tyrant.”
“And Subprior Matthew?”
“He questioned me about the subprior’s work.”
“Beware, Luke!”
“Why?”
“He is trying to entrap you.”
“But he came here as a friend.”
“A friend to you, perhaps, but not to Bedwyn Abbey. He is a royal official sent here on a mission. Our prior and subprior represent the abbey. You weaken their position if you divulge any information about our community.” Brother Peter fixed an admonitory gaze on him. “I warned you before. This man was here to use your inexperience against you. The abbey has to fight the commissioners. You give them ammu-nition to use against your brothers.”
“I did not think him so sly.”
“He has his warrant, Luke.”
“Then all he told me was false?”