Page 57 of The Forgotten
Friar William used the damp cloth Friar Owen had handed to him to clean Edwin’s face. “Sit up slowly,” he said, his voice kind as he slid an arm beneath Edwin’s shoulders to help him up.
“Don’t touch him, brother,” Friar Gregory warned. “Not if you value your immortal soul.”
“I fear Satan as much as you do, Friar Gregory, but I don’t see him here. All I see is a frightened boy who was momentarily unwell. Now, get back to your manuscripts and stop spewing nonsense.”
Edwin was surprised to see that the friars seemed duly chastised. They crossed themselves again before returning to their work, but their gazes followed Edwin’s progress as Friar William helped him to his feet and settled him on a bench where he could lean against the wall. Friar Owen held a cup of ale to Edwin’s lips. “Here, have some. It will make you feel stronger. Does that happen often?” Owen asked once Edwin finished the ale.
“No,” Edwin lied. “I was overcome with remorse,” he added.
“It’s all right, son,” Friar William said. “Don’t blame yourself for what happened. It was an accident. Are you well enough to return to work or would you prefer to rest awhile?”
“I will return to work,” Edwin said, although he felt as if all strength had been sapped from his body. His legs felt as soft asjelly, and his head seemed to weigh ten stone, his thinking still muddled. He would have given anything to lie down for a short while in one of the brothers’ cells, until he felt well enough to resume work, but he was afraid to admit that he was still unwell. Friar Gregory and Friar Anselm were still watching him, their eyes narrowed with speculation and suspicion.
“All right then. You’ll feel much improved after dinner,” Friar William said. “It’s only an hour till Sext.”
Edwin nodded. He didn’t object to joining the monks in midday prayer. Their singing and chanting made Edwin feel at peace, his soul instinctively recognizing something that his conscious mind didn’t, but today he wished only to be excused. The friars would be keeping an eye on him, waiting for him to confirm their worst suspicions.
Edwin suddenly sat up straighter. He’d been experiencing these fits since he was a babe in arms; he never thought that they were a manifestation of the devil, but what if the friars were right? Surely, they knew more about the ways of good and evil than his mother and grandmother did. Perhaps that was why they tried so hard to keep Edwin safe. Did they believe that he was possessed? Edwin stared into the bowl of ink, his thoughts as black as the substance he’d made. What would become of him? Was he beyond redemption? Perhaps he should speak with Father Avery. He was a man of God after all, a priest. He would know what to do.
Edwin felt marginally better by the time he accompanied the friars to the chapel. Friar Gregory and Friar Anselm kept well behind, but Friar William put a reassuring hand on Edwin’s shoulder, silently offering his protection. Friar Owen walked behind Edwin, like a vanguard. Edwin smiled in relief when he saw the kind face of Father Avery, whose smile quickly faded ashe read the signs of distress coming from Friar Gregory and Friar Anselm. He noted the defiant set of Friar William’s shoulders and Friar Owen’s silent show of support.
“Is all well?” Father Avery asked as he looked from one face to the next.
“Yes,” Friar William replied before the others could comment. “Edwin felt unwell, but he’s since recovered.”
“Edwin, would you like me to accompany you home?” Father Avery asked, his brows furrowing with concern. “You can rest in my cell while I’m at Sext, and then I’ll walk with you.”
“Thank you, Father Avery, but I’m quite all right. I look forward to joining you for Sext,” Edwin replied.
Father Avery looked unconvinced but didn’t argue. He simply turned and walked into the chapel where the majority of the monks were already assembled. Edwin stood at the back, glad to have the brothers’ focus shift to the service. He closed his eyes and prayed fervently that the fits would stop so that he could reclaim his soul from the devil. It couldn’t be too late; it simply couldn’t. Surely, he would know if all was lost. Or would he?
FIFTY
“Enter,” Prior Jacob called out, secretly glad to take a break from the accounts he’d been going over. He hated doing the accounts. Despite all his penny-pinching, the priory was not as prosperous as he would have liked, which would displease his superiors. The lion’s share of the income came from the production of sacred texts, but with only four scribes, the priory could only accept a few commissions per year. Prior Jacob exhaled angrily when he recalled the damage Edwin had done to a nearly completed manuscript. Friar Gregory had been able to salvage three-quarters of the manuscript by trimming a few millimeters off the top of the vellum pages where the spilled ink had tainted the manuscript. Thankfully, the ink had not penetrated any deeper since the pages were stacked and Friar Gregory had the good sense to immediately turn the manuscript upside-down to prevent the ink from running between the vellum sheets, dripping down onto the wooden table instead. Still, it would take an additional month, at the very least, to replace the pages that had been damaged beyond repair. Friar Gregory had complained bitterly and demanded that Edwin not be allowed anywhere near his worktable again.
Prior Jacob looked up as Friar Matthew entered the study and shut the door firmly behind him. His expression told Prior Jacob everything he needed to know. Matthew looked upset, guilt-ridden, and excited at the same time. He was too young and innocent to even consider concealing anything from his prior, and not devious enough to warn Father Avery in advance, in exchange for some future favor. Prior Jacob hated to think that any of the brothers would, but he had to take human nature into account. Father Avery had the ear of the bishop, and to have favor with Father Avery might come in handy for a friar who wished to lodgea complaint or stand for the position of prior should Jacob either take ill or be ousted for any reason.
“Sit down, Friar Matthew,” Prior Jacob said, softening his voice. He didn’t relish upsetting the young man, nor did he hope to hear anything negative about Father Avery. What he wished was that the good father would simply take his leave and allow them to get on with the business of worship and work, with Prior Jacob at the helm of the priory as he was meant to be.
“Would you care for some mead?” Prior Jacob asked. Friar Silas brought a jug of mead not an hour since, eager for Prior Jacob to sample the latest vintage. A few barrels would remain in the cellars for the brothers’ personal use, but a good portion would be taken into town come market day, to be sold at a handsome profit. The funds would buy a new milk cow and several sacks of flour, which would be used to bake extra bread and make cheese for the poor, who came to the alms gate in record numbers this winter. Prior Jacob pinched the bridge of his nose and resolutely put the running of the priory out of his mind, focusing on Friar Matthew instead.
“Thank you, Prior,” Matthew replied, gazing with longing at the jug of mead. Prior Jacob poured him a cup and took one for himself. He rarely drank mead, since it dulled his senses and made him feel pleasantly somnolent, but he suddenly longed for something to take the edge off and ease the tension building up between his shoulder blades. Prior Jacob took a sip, and then another, enjoying the deceptive sweetness of the drink. The alcohol content of Greyfriars’ mead was strong enough to fell an ox, if it got at an open barrel, so Prior Jacob resolutely pushed his cup aside and turned his attention to Friar Matthew, who’d finished his drink and was clearly hoping for a refill.
When none was offered, Matthew’s normally earnest gaze slid away from his prior toward the open window, where twilight had tinted the sky a dusky purple and the first stars were just beginning to twinkle in the darkening heavens. A soft breeze blew through the window, the ever-present smell of the sea dispelling the greasy stink of the tallow candle. Prior Jacob looked at the lad expectantly.
“I take it you saw something you wish to report?” he prompted when Matthew failed to speak.
“Aye, I did, Prior. Father Avery meets a woman twice a week.”
“To offer her spiritual guidance?” Prior Jacob asked, his lips twitching with amusement. That was the usual excuse priests gave when caught in the act. Besides, this wasn’t news. Friar Matthew had reported as much before.
“’Tis not any guidance I’d ever seen offered by a man of the Church,” Matthew muttered.
“Does he lie with her?” Prior Jacob asked, needing to hear the words spoken out loud.
“Yes, he does.”
“And does he seem contrite afterwards?” Perhaps that was a foolish question, but it would make Prior Jacob feel better about Father Avery’s character. A man who was repentant was always worth saving. And now that he knew of Father Avery’s weakness, he could rest easy, since the troublesome priest would never be a threat to his position again. Prior Jacob could afford to be generous and understanding, even magnanimous in his forgiveness of the other man’s sins.
