Father Aelfden waved a hand at Brother Columba as he passed to prevent the monk from rising to bow.
It was all well and good to say that the respect was intended for Christ, in whose stead he as abbot was thought to act, but he had spent so much time among dukes and kings that he could scarcely bear to be treated in the same manner.
It was all well and good to tell himself that this false humility was only pride under veils – it was but one of the many sins that burdened his heart.
In any case, he did not have time to stand and speak a word with Brother Columba. He was searching for another.
He found the sandals he sought protruding from another arch of the cloister, and he stopped before them.
“Brother Myrddin.”
“Lord Father…”
The old monk closed his book with a shaking hand and struggled to rise. Aelfden held out an arm to help him up.
“I wish to have a word with you, Brother. Come walk with me.”
He did not want Brother Columba to hear what he would say.
“Brother Myrddin,” he began when they had reached the opposite corner of the cloister, “I have just spoken with Her Grace the Duchess, and she has told me something that has me disturbed.”
Myrddin nodded earnestly. “I hope Her Grace and her family are well.”
“They are very well. It was about Her Majesty the Queen that she wished to speak to me.”
“I hope Her Majesty and her – ”
“Yes, yes. They are well. But Her Grace told me that you have been visiting the Queen these past weeks.”
“I would never presume to ‘visit’ the Queen,” Myrddin corrected with a slight bow. “Her Majesty asked me to come.”
“I understood that Her Majesty liked you to visit to tell stories to her son, but I had not been aware that you were presuming to give advice to the Queen.”
“Nor do I, Lord Father. I only try to offer her a little comfort, the poor lady, and we pray together.”
“And what do you pray?”
“Her Majesty prays for a child, as you know.”
Father Aelfden was trying not to frown, but he could not help his eyebrows. “I know what Her Majesty prays, as she prays with me. And I tell her that it is wiser to pray for the serenity to accept the life that the Lord has chosen to give us, rather than to pray for things He might not want us to have. Is that not what you tell her?”
“Well…” Myrddin sighed. “She’s only a sad young lady…”
“And so you and she pray for another prince or princess?”
“Well…”
“Do you?”
“Yes, Lord Father.”
“Are you a priest, Brother?”
“No, Lord Father.”
“Is it your calling to minister to these people?”
“No, Lord Father. But – Lord Father?”
“Yes?”
Myrddin smiled meekly. “Is it wrong for two Christian people to pray together?”
Father Aelfden swallowed a scowl. Myrddin would be far less aggravating if he only frowned and fought a bit himself.
The other monks were content to remain within the walls of the abbey, but Brother Myrddin claimed to have traveled among the people too long to stop now. Aelfden thought that it was precisely these wandering monks who gave all of the rest of the brotherhood a bad name, and there were days when he could almost pray that Brother Myrddin would return to wandering again – right out of the valley.
But the rest of the time he admitted that Myrddin might be a trial sent specifically to him, and he had to prove he was worthy to be abbot. If only to himself.
“It is not wrong,” he said, “but I fear that Her Majesty has mistaken your monk’s tunic for a priest’s robe. Remember, Brother: ‘Death and life are in the power of the tongue.’ In the future, if you are called to ‘visit’ the castle, I require that you limit yourself to telling harmless stories to the Prince, and if she wishes to speak to you, you will remind her that she should address herself to a priest if she needs spiritual guidance. Will you not?”
“Yes, Lord Father, I will. But I don’t think Her Majesty will be looking for spiritual guidance so often any longer,” he smiled.
“Why not?”
Brother Myrddin shook his white head slowly. “I can’t explain why. But something tells this old Welshman that happy days are soon to come to her.”
“How can you say so?”
“Indeed I cannot say so. Lord Father, it is best to ‘keep silence even from good things’, is it not? I merely note that Her Majesty has never prayed with Brother Myrddin before now…”
His smile was as cloying as honeyed figs. Aelfden’s hand trembled: he could not forgive himself for it, but he longed to strike the man across that grinning mouth. There were days when he would have more readily answered to his elder brother’s name than his own.
“Brother,” he said through clenched teeth. “Return to your seat. But take the Holy Rule. Read chapters the fifth and sixth. And then read the sixth again.”
“Yes, Lord Father. Obedience and Silence, and Silence again.” Myrddin bowed and shuffled away.
Aelfden slammed his fist into the pillar behind him. If it was a trial, he was failing. And now he was frightened for the Queen.
Chapters
I'd be frightened for the Queen too, if I were him. I just hope he sees soon why he distrusts Myrddin so much.