Page 9 of My Hero
“So your tongue shares the blame of your sin?”
“Aye.”
The prior nodded, pacing thoughtfully. “Then it’s fitting that your tongue bear the punishment.” He clasped his hands before him. “I will have your vow of silence for…a fortnight.”
He let his gaze slide over Garth’s face, gauging the severity of the sentence. It was often difficult to tell how much chastisement the lad felt he deserved.
Thankfully, Garth lowered his eyes in acceptance. Then he pressed a holy kiss to the prior’s ring and silently excused himself from the office.
After he’d gone, Prior Thomas heaved a relieved sigh and clapped the matter from his hands. He’d made the right decision, and, he thought rather selfishly, he’d earned several days’ respite from the youth’s self-reproaching tongue.
As it turned out, his timing couldn’t have been better. By week’s end, an eminent visitor would arrive at the monastery, a man who would change Garth’s life forever. And because the lad was sworn to silence, there wasn’t a blessed thing he could say about it.
The late morning rays of Friday’s sun slanted down in wide diagonal bars between the columns of the monastery’s inner courtyard, alternately casting Garth in light and shadow as he walked the long, open hallway, beating the dust from his cassock.
What had happened to make the prior call Garth to his office so urgently? He’d been halfway through copying the third verse of Psalms when he’d been summoned.
He hoped it wasn’t bad tidings. It was difficult being away from his family. He seldom saw them more than twice a year. His father wasn’t a young man anymore. His mother always seemed tinier and more fragile than he remembered. His brother Duncan’s wife was expecting their second child. A hundred unpleasant things could have happened.
Bracing himself for the worst, he knocked lightly upon the prior’s door. Prior Thomas swung the portal wide almost before Garth had lowered his hand. A broad smile wreathed the old man’s face. Not bad news then. Garth offered up a silent prayer of thanks.
Then he spotted the visitor.
Garth had had the dubious pleasure of meeting the distinguished Abbot only once before, but it was hard to forget the man. He was as gaunt and terrifying as the tortured saints featured in Bible illuminations. And though the Abbot wore a mask of long-suffering humility, the controlled voracity tarnishing his lowered eyes told a different tale. The man was well aware of his own immense power.
“Garth, come in, come in,” the prior said, ushering him in hastily. “The Abbot graces us with his presence.” He added in a whispered aside. “Don’t worry. I told him about your vow of silence.”
Garth scowled. The Abbot was the last person he wanted to know about his sin. Such an elevated man of the cloth had no sympathy for human weakness, particularly lust. It had probably been years since the Abbot was aroused by anything, if ever.
Mortified by his own sacrilegious thoughts, Garth hung his head and knelt before the Abbot. He dutifully bent to kiss the Abbot’s ring, repressing a grimace. The man’s hands were as bony and cold as a month-old corpse.
“Garth,” Prior Thomas continued when Garth had risen again, “the Abbot brings wonderful news.”
The Abbot smiled blandly. Garth suspected he’d smile like that even if he brought news of Christ’s second coming.
Prior Thomas rubbed his pudgy hands together briskly enough to start a fire. “A marvelous opportunity has arisen. It seems Castle Wendeville has need of a resident chaplain.” He winked and confided, “It’s the keep where the Abbot himself has served on many a Sabbath.” The priest rocked up on his toes. “But since the Abbot has his own holding now…well.” The prior could barely contain his excitement. “Of course, it will require some responsibility—the delivery of sermons, translating books and so forth, blessings, burials, all the ecclesiastical duties for a noble household of modest size. And, well…” He steepled his hands before him.
“I believe you would be perfect for the position,” the Abbot intoned, “FatherGarth.”
Garth’s breath caught in his throat. Unreasoning panic drummed its heels at his heart.Father Garth.Nay! He didn’t want to be Father Garth. Heneverwanted to be Father Garth. He wasBrotherGarth, lowly monk, humble servant. And wholly content as he was.
“Isn’t it marvelous?” the prior beamed.
Garth met his eyes, but couldn’t return Thomas’s smile.
Nay, he thought. Monastery life was safe, uncomplicated, serene. For four years he’d lived happily in his cell, isolated from the evils of the world. Life here was simple. It was quiet. He liked the isolation, the tranquility. He liked surrendering all care, all control, to the prior. He liked his methodical, placid existence. He could spend weeks in the scriptorium, coming out only for prayer and meals, and never speak to another soul, which suited him perfectly.
“I’m sure you’ll make a fine chaplain, my lad,” Prior Thomas assured him.
Garth’s expression remained grim.
Why had the prior chosen to oust him? Garth had caused no ripples on the monastery’s calm sea. He’d made no enemies. He followed the rules as piously as he could, and when he couldn’t, he did penance for his sins. What in heaven’s name had he done to deserve eviction from the only haven he knew?
He’d give his left arm to have his voice now. He wanted to ask them why, though he knew full well one never questioned the will of God, nor that of the Abbot. At least not aloud.
But the moment the Abbot swung away to pick up a document from the table, Garth clenched his jaw, narrowed his eyes, and glared hard at Prior Thomas, trying to make him understand, willing him to change his mind, sending him a silent threat.
Prior Thomas must have been overwhelmed by the presence of the Abbot. The old man’s faintly gratified expression never wavered, even in the wake of Garth’s most menacing stare.
