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pensnestFor brandywine28
If he had wanted to spend his time digging, Joshua thought, he could have stayed with his family and worked on the farm. A plough, with Rufus collared to pull it and Joshua walking behind, would have turned this soil over and left him with breath to sing as he worked. Instead, he was wielding a spade. A task that warmed the body well enough, but left the mind at liberty to wander.
He sighed. It was his besetting sin, a tendency to let his thoughts wander. He should be better disciplined. He must be better disciplined. He must think of the work. It was humble work, but he should be grateful for his strong back and limbs, that he could put to the service of God. And of the abbey. Turnips were gifts from God. He was carrying out God's will, and should be glad to do it. He was glad to do it. He was glad to contribute to the welfare of his brothers. He was glad to be of use.
Truly.
Except the thought kept returning and would not be silenced: it was galling to be put to such menial labour, when he had thought he brought better gifts than his strong back and limbs. Better offerings to God. His voice was an offering to God, he thought, and then had to remind himself not to be guilty of the sin of pride. Other brothers could also sing. And in truth, music here was not as… fulfilling as he had expected music to be. So much plainsong. Chanting was not Joshua's idea of music. At home, behind the plough, he had sung many cheerful songs, and sad songs too, and surely that had been an offering to God as well? Although he had not, he knew, dedicated his singing to God. He had been selfish, singing for mere pleasure. It had not seemed sinful at the time, but it had not been holy, either, and now he was here and he must dedicate his thoughts and his work and his song to God.
Not that he could sing as he dug. Which was perhaps for the best, since he was not supposed to speak, let alone sing, during these hours of labour.
He reached the end of the row, turned, and took a moment to straighten his back and gaze about him.
There was a small party of horses, four, no, five, one was riderless and burdened with luggage, approaching the gatehouse. The second of the riders was well dressed in furs and a rich, dark red fabric that suggested something important riding in. A wealthy merchant, or a minor lordship come to speak with the abbot. Not Joshua's business at all, he was unlikely even to speak to the visitors. They must have business with far more important people than Brother Joshua, novice of the abbey of Saint Martin in Selby.
His work was important, too. Turnips were important. Turnips must be planted, so that the brothers might be fed, and Joshua was doing God's work.
He bent back to his digging, until the bell sounded for the office.
*
Joshua never quite understood how it was that some of the brothers knew about everything that was going on in and around the abbey. How did they ever discover it, when silence was the rule and light conversation very much discouraged? But Brother James murmured to him, as they ate bread, fish and boiled cabbage, that Master Harcourt was here to discuss the matter of his funeral dispositions with the abbot, and he had brought two servants and a minstrel with him.
The notion that there was a minstrel in the abbey fired a moment of enthusiasm, but Joshua knew full well that he would have no opportunity to hear the minstrel sing anything. Father Abbot was not a man who cared about music. He would have no interest in hearing a true minstrel, not even in worship. There was no soul-thrilling music here, even the hymns were not glorious, it was not the music his heart yearned for.
Joshua was being ungrateful again. He was here, he was fed and clothed and housed, he had work to do that was useful, and he had the fellowship of the Order. He was only a novice now, but perhaps, in years to come, he might become the Cantor, he might lead the choir through its daily worship. Father Abbot might—would, inevitably—die, and perhaps the next abbot would encourage the choir to glorify God with their voices. He must wait, be patient, be good. Perhaps there would be a reward. No, he must be good without expectation of rewards, because that was what was asked of him.
He tried. He really did.
He dug.
*
After Chapter the next morning, Joshua was surprised—and grateful—not to be sent back to the fields. The night's sleep, broken as always by Matins, had nonetheless refreshed his weary limbs, but there were aches in his muscles and he had not looked forward to more spade-work. Now he found himself in the stables with a task much more to his taste. Apparently the important guest's clerk and manservant would not be taking care of their own horses (nobody would expect their master to do so). Brother Aubin, the elderly and half-deaf brother who had daily charge of the stables because it was, most of the time, a task that demanded very little, there being but one horse and a couple of mules to be tended, was pleased to see Joshua. He spent a few minutes explaining that it was impossible for him to do so much work and very kind of Father Abbot to make sure there was a strong youngster given to him to do the work instead, handed him a pitchfork and told him where to find the buckets, straw and brushes. Then he disappeared to… Joshua had no idea, but suspected there was a quiet corner where Brother Aubin liked to snooze.
Joshua had always enjoyed being with horses. A horse, at least, as Rufus had for a long time been the only one at the farm, a well-tempered, sturdy animal able to pull a cart or a plough. Joshua had ridden him, once in a while, but Rufus generally had no more leisure than Joshua himself for frivolous riding. And perhaps being ridden was not so much fun for Rufus, he reflected.
He hitched up his habit around his knees and set to clearing out soiled straw.
A voice like a tenor bell, clear and pure, began singing something merry in a tongue Joshua did not know. Joshua paused, entranced. Welsh, possibly, or Gaelic? Though what somebody from Wales might be doing on this, the eastern side of England, he could not guess.
The voice switched to a more mournful ballad, and this one Joshua did know, and he found himself harmonising without ever really choosing—and caught himself, and stopped.
"Don't stop! I like a little counterpoint to my melody."
Joshua blushed guiltily. "I shouldn't," he called back.
The singer appeared by his stall, dark-haired and slighter than himself, and with the brightest, most mischievous brown eyes Joshua had ever seen.
"I'm not supposed to sing, except in the offices," Joshua explained. "For the glory of God, you see."
"I think God rejoices in a good tune," the singer said. "I've sung for plenty of lords in my time, and if they enjoy a song, surely the Lord of all will enjoy it too."
It matched Joshua's own thoughts exactly, but he had been told so many times that it was sacrilege to ascribe human thoughts to God. It was definitely against his vows of obedience to agree. "Are you the minstrel, that came with Master Harcourt?" he asked instead.
"Christopher," the bright-eyed man said, and held out a hand. It was already grubby, so Joshua shook it without qualms. "Yes, and no. I am a minstrel, I'm not exactly 'with' Master Harcourt. I'm making my way north, looking to find a place to overwinter, and he happened along, and," he shrugged "company is reassuring, on the road, so I was happy to travel alongside him. He," Christopher smirked, "liked the idea of enlarging his retinue. All for consequence, is Master Harcourt."
"His servants don't demean themselves by caring for his horses," Joshua observed in as neutral a tone as he could manage.
"Whereas I, humble troubadour, will tend to my own Trumpet with pleasure." Christopher paused, and looked very much as though he were about to make a vulgar joke, but thought better of it. Joshua was relieved, because he knew exactly what the joke would have been, and he would have laughed, and that would have been against the Rule. "Still, it turns out in my favour," Christopher said, "as I doubt the abbey would have been so welcoming to a mere travelling troubadour as it is to someone in the retinue of a man of property, and I'm glad to be sheltered from the weather. A night under the stars is very well in May, but October is more like to be frosty."
"But there's no opportunity for you to sing, here," Joshua said. "The brothers sing the hours, and we have scriptural readings during our meals, not music."
"Sing with me now, as we work," Christopher said, and moved out of sight. A moment later, that mournful ballad rang out again, and Joshua let his voice rise to join it.
The work went almost too quickly, with such singing to speed it along. When Christopher appeared again, Joshua had cleaned his stalls and was brushing the handsome chestnut which was unmistakably Master Harcourt's own mount, for its quality shone like its glossy coat; the dun horse and the two bays were serviceable beasts, and he could not tell which had carried the clerk, which the man-at-arms, and which the luggage. This time, the minstrel leaned nonchalantly on the stall gate to watch Joshua work.
"I'm surprised that a singer such as yourself is doing menial work," Christopher opined. "They ought to have you practising with the choir."
Joshua did not mean to explain, at length, that the choir here was confined to plainsong and some common hymns and that it had not been what he had expected, he did not mean to tell this stranger how he had come to the monastery in search of music and found it lacking, but somehow, the words tumbled out until he stopped, guiltily, and mumbled an apology.
But the stranger encouraged him to talk more, to explain that he had lived on the farm and worked there and knew how to tend a horse, but he had been a fosterling rather than entitled to his share of the farm, that his mother had been half-French and had not stayed long in England after his birth, that his true father—unknown, deceased, and probably a soldier of more than common rank—had left money for him to be educated, so he knew how to read and write. How he'd chosen the Benedictines rather than apply to become a cleric somewhere because he had thought it would bring him music. "It should have done," he said, sadly. "Some monastic houses have glorious musicians. But the Order sent me here."
"I don't know what to say," Christopher said. "Your voice deserves so much more. And you are tethered here, cleaning out stables. I'm sorry."
"Oh, this isn't so bad," Joshua said, hurriedly. "At least it's warm inside. And not wet!" For he noticed that rain was beating hard on the roof, and when he thought about it, had been doing so for some time.
"In that case, I'll be staying here at least another night," Christopher said, and Joshua was glad. Perhaps he would be on stable duty again tomorrow, and could sing.
*
The rain was torrential as he ran back into the chapel in response to the office bell, and his woollen habit was heavy with water after just those few yards, but he didn't care. Singing with Christopher had given him the most joyous hours of his life.
*
It rained all night, and in the morning, rain was still coming down, lashing like whips, bouncing on the cobbles, streaming across the cloister. Joshua ran through it to the stables, for the beasts could not be left untended, and besides…
No, Christopher was not there at present, but his horse Trumpet was still in the stall, so it seemed likely that he would arrive. Joshua found himself humming yesterday's ballad, stopped guiltily, tried to sing something in a holier vein, and eventually just gave in to the impulse. None of the senior brothers would be in here today, he was sure, and Brother Aubin was deaf enough not to notice any impious noises, and probably indifferent besides. Confident that Christopher would announce himself in song when he arrived, Joshua brushed stable floor and then horses and sang.
And after a few minutes, the beautiful bell-like tenor rose above his tune.
While Christopher tended to his own horse, the two of them sang, but afterwards they talked again as Joshua made Master Harcourt's three beasts comfortable. But as he worked, he decided it was time for Christopher to talk. Joshua had laid bare too much of his own soul yesterday, and he wanted to know more about this bright-eyed man.
So Christopher talked of the life of a minstrel. The comfort of playing for rich men in their manors and castles during the chilly winter months, the hazards of wandering freely across the country during the summer, when he could sleep in fields or haylofts, and earn his bread by playing in taverns, if there was no great house to pay him. "They're off to battle, often as not, during the summer." The pleasure of learning, all the time, new songs as they came his way or he was asked to compose them. Joshua envied him that more than anything.
They talked of instruments. Joshua had made himself many reed pipes, could not even remember when he first blew a rough tune, but had no experience of rebec or gittern, psaltery or vielle. Christopher favoured the gittern, which he promised to show Joshua on the morrow if only this rain would cease, and the tabor pipe and drum which were particularly popular at taverns and small outdoor fairs where he might be the only musician and was called upon to play for dancing. He also had a psaltery, which was often requested by high-born ladies. Joshua would very much like to see all of these, but he understood very well that Christopher did not wish to bring them out through the rain if it could be avoided, even though he kept them carefully wrapped in oilskins.
Yesterday, Joshua had gone to Nones alone, but this time Christopher joined the monks in the chapel and stayed humbly at the rear during the Office. When Joshua returned to the stable to complete his tidying, Christopher returned likewise, and, after some sarcastic remarks on the quality of the plainsong, the two of them sang again, although Joshua, feeling pricked in his conscience, insisted on hymns.
They followed the summons of the bell for Vespers together. Joshua always liked Vespers best, there were hymns as well as plainsong, real singing and he was not still sleep-fugged and could sing well. Perhaps it was the joy his spirit felt, or perhaps more mundanely that an afternoon of singing had loosened his voice, perhaps it was that he could hear Christopher's voice ringing above the rest, whatever the case Joshua found he could sing more truly and with real delight in offering his voice to God. It felt… like a blessing.
After Vespers, Brother Aubin accosted him and asked if Joshua would see to the evening feed in the stables. His old bones were uncomfortable in the wet, and Joshua might hurry across in less time and—Joshua assured him that he was happy to see to matters in the stable, stayed for instructions that took only twice as long as needful, and hurried back, his heavy woollen habit absorbing another soaking as the rain was still falling hard.
*
When he awoke, he could see nothing. Absolute darkness, but—oh! Something was tickling his face.
A rough brrrrr! of breath told him it was one of the horses. So, then, he must be… in the stable? Why was he in the stable? Why was he not sleeping in the dortoir? And, oh, his head hurt. Why did it hurt so? Joshua felt carefully over his skull, but nothing seemed actually to be broken. What had happened here?
And why was he naked?
He lay where he was for several minutes, trying to get his befuddled thoughts in order. It came to him, slowly, that it was quite warm in the stable, compared to the chill of the chapel and the dormitory. Horses, he thought. The horses are warmer than monks. They are sharing their warmth with me.
Still, it did not seem like a good idea to stay lying where a horse might nuzzle at him, because it might also step on him, or piss on him, and neither prospect appealed. He sat up. His head swam briefly but settled, and he decided that he was all right. No wonder there was no light, here in the stable. He felt around him and discovered the border of the stall, patted his way to the corner and eventually found the gate, opened it, and shut it very carefully behind him.
Now, then. Which side of the stable was he on? Joshua groped his way along and found, not the entrance, but the ladder to the hayloft.
Rain was still drumming on the roof. Very well, the hayloft it should be. He climbed cautiously up the ladder and crawled into the loft, blindly made himself a kind of nest in the pile, covered himself with straw, and decided to worry about whys and hows and consequences and what to wear in the morning. He went to sleep.
*
Joshua awoke with a start. Bright slashes of morning light were streaming in through gaps in the loft wall, and he had missed the bell for Lauds. He had not slept so well since he became a novice here, he thought, ruefully. But he had better go and… ah. Yes. Still naked.
Might there be some garment somewhere in the stable? Or, if Brother Aubin—he fought clear of his burrow and edged towards the ladder, when he heard voices, and froze.
"Are you leaving us this morning? I thought Master Harcourt was intent on seeing his thieving clerk brought to justice." That was Brother Aubin's creaky, over-loud voice. He had the deaf man's habit of talking too loud.
"It's a fine day, and I must be on my way." That was certainly Christopher, and Joshua's heart sank at the realisation that Christopher was moving on. "But I am concerned about the brother who is lost. I wondered if he might be here, in the stables? He worked here yesterday, might he have returned?"
"Do you think it might be so? I did ask him to feed the beasts, after Vespers. I wonder if he might have come to harm?"
"Kicked by a horse?"
"No, no. He seemed a competent lad, very obliging, not at all afraid of the animals," Brother Aubin said, and Joshua was rather pleased, but after all, something had apparently hit him on the head, and an ill-tempered hoof could have laid him out.
Unlikely to have stripped him bare, though.
Joshua lay down on his belly to peer warily through the hatch, and saw them walking slowly along, one either side, looking into every stall. How could he get Christopher's attention? Christopher would probably laugh when he saw Joshua's nakedness, but he would also do something to help, Joshua was sure. An idea struck him, and he whistled, very quietly, a few measures of one of the songs he and Christopher had sung together. Too high, he hoped, for a half-deaf man to notice.
"Not here," came Brother Aubin's voice again. "Well, I'm sorry we have not found him, but I should not have liked to think he was hurt by one of the beasts here. I dare say he fell asleep in the chapel, or some such thing, and will be found safe and sound. Now, then, will you manage your horse by yourself? I'll let him have a little fresh water and something to break his fast before you go, come with me…"
It was an age before the business of feeding the horses was accomplished, but Christopher began to whistle as he helped Brother Aubin distribute buckets, the very tune Joshua had whistled, so he was fairly sure his message had been received.
"I wonder if you should tell Father Abbot that the missing novice is not here," Christopher suggested with a lot of power behind his voice. "It would help the brothers to know that they need not search for him here."
Brother Aubin thought this an excellent suggestion, and after saying so no more than three times, made his way out of the stables.
"He's gone," Christopher called. "Are you in the hayloft?"
Joshua waved to him from above, and hastened down.
Christopher was grinning very broadly indeed by the time he reached the bottom, and Joshua elected to ignore this as best he could.
"Well, something certainly happened to you last night," the minstrel said.
"I think someone must have hit me. And stolen my habit. I woke up in one of the stalls, and it was dark, and I was, um."
"So I see. Well, I think I could lay my hand on the man who did it, but I'm inclined to think we can do better. Joshua," he hesitated, "do you—you are a novice, aren't you, not a full brother of the church? Do you truly want to be a monk?"
"I… " It was shameful to admit, but it was true. "No."
"I wondered if you—if you'd like to come with me. I could, uh, teach you to be a troubadour, if you want."
"Yes. Yes, I want." A blossom of joy opened in Joshua's chest. "Oh, if I could… but how can I? I have nothing, not even…" he gestured down at himself.
"Oh, I wouldn't say nothing," Christopher said, with the wickedest look in his eyes. Joshua would never have guessed wickedness could be so very attractive. "I happen to have picked up, just, casually, you know, a few items that belonged to someone who—as a matter of fact, to the person who hit you and stole your clothing." Christopher led him along to the other end of the stable, where the minstrel's bags lay. "You missed some very interesting events. Here, get these on." He flung a handful of items in Joshua's direction, and they turned out to be a cotte, hose, a decent cloak with a hood, and even some soft leather boots.
As he dressed, Christopher explained. "There was a great to-do yesterday, right after Compline. Master Harcourt's man-at-arms discovered that certain items from his master's baggage had disappeared. And of course, they decided I was the thief. I dare say you were no less comfortable in your hayloft last night than I was in my cell."
"Why would they assume you were the thief?"
Christopher shrugged. "Oh, travelling minstrel, planning to move on, you know. Whom else would they seize on as a thief? The Abbot did his best to scare a confession out of me. He didn't believe me when I denied it, hence a night in your prison cell here, but he'd already sent someone into town for the Sheriff's man, and the Sergeant arrived early this morning, right after—oh, I can't remember what the office is called, it was early."
"I didn't even hear the bell."
"I don't know how you brothers ever get any sleep, always being rung awake. Never mind. The Sergeant was a decent fellow, of his kind, and he asked for an account of when the stolen items had been seen, so they established that the theft must have been sometime after noon, and I told the him I'd been here in the stable, and that Brother Joshua could be my witness. Well, they sent for you then, but they couldn't find you. I told them you were not in the chapel last night, because I'd heard you sing at Vespers and your voice was absent from the choir at Compline, and the Sergeant had the idea that maybe you were the thief, and you'd run off."
Joshua exclaimed indignantly, and Christopher smirked at him. "Welcome to the brotherhood of travelling minstrels. So then they summoned all the brothers together, and there was a full count, nobody missing. And when they asked if there was a brother present as could confirm my story, nobody stepped forward, and I—I thought, that, um."
"That I—but I would never do that."
"No, well. No. But then one of the brothers spoke up and said there was a new brother among them, one he'd not seen before, and one of the monks tried to make a run for it, but he tripped in the habit and fell down, and spilled the purse of silver all over the cloister. So the Sergeant took him away."
Joshua paused in pulling on the first of the boots. It was a little loose, and he could have wished for a thick pair of socks, but that would have been miraculous past believing. "I hope Master Harcourt apologised to you!" he said, indignantly.
"Not he! But the Abbot did, quite handsomely, really. I suppose being pompous and self-satisfied is part of the job, but he did acknowledge I'd done no wrong, and they let me go. No doubt they were relieved to find I was intending to leave. And I made a little side trip to the room where the thieving clerk had slept and purloined his things, which nobody else cared about and I doubt he'll be needing again, and here we are."
Joshua was not sure that he ought to accept the clothes. "If you'd left them there, the Abbey would have given them to the poor," he explained.
Christopher laughed. "Five minutes ago you had literally nothing, not even clothes on your back. They are being given to the poor!"
"Oh!" That was true. "And he did take my habit, so I suppose…" Joshua shrugged, and pulled the second boot onto his foot. He was glad the thief had had large feet. "I wonder why he bothered to hide himself as a monk? He must have come in here for his horse and found me here, but why didn't he just get on the horse and ride out? Why dress in my habit and stay?"
"Perhaps he didn't want to get wet," Christopher said, obviously not very interested. "Or, he hoped the theft wouldn't be discovered until I was gone, but he wanted to be able to hide somewhere if it was? I don't know! Probably he just panicked. Seriously, if I had been the thief I would have made a much better job of it! Are you ready? Because by my reckoning there's a spare horse here, and if we're quick nobody's going to think of it for a couple of days, until Master Harcourt decides to leave."
"I can't steal one of Master Harcourt's horses!"
"Ah, well, there's the thing—it isn't. The clerk was chance-met, just like myself. There was a lot of bluster when that came out, but from what I gather, Harcourt had picked him up further back on his journey. I told you he liked to have a retinue. I dare say there's more to it than that, probably the thief said he could witness the documents, or, eh, who knows. But by my reckoning, that horse is going to stay with the Abbey, leave with Master Harcourt, or take you wherever you want to go. And I know which I'd choose."
Joshua grinned. "Then I'd best get it saddled. Er, do you remember…?"
"Bay mare." They hurried to get their mounts ready.
Joshua paused as they were on the point of leading the horses outside. "Should I… tell the Abbot I'm leaving?" He felt a strong reluctance, as he was quite certain Father Richard would make a strenuous effort to persuade him not to abandon his vows. And he had sworn Obedience, when he took the cowl. No, he decided. He should never have taken those vows, and he was abandoning them now. Poverty, well, poverty was probably still in his future, he might have an empty belly in the days and years ahead, but he'd never cared about money anyway, and a minstrel would always make his way. Chastity… he didn't think he was going to keep that one for very much longer. And Obedience was already over. "If the faithless brother leaves, let him go," Joshua murmured. "I don't think they'll miss me."
Together they rode out into sunlit freedom. And as soon as they were past the monastery bounds, they sang.
It's my contribution to the popslash Christmas Cracker challenge-let.
brandywine28If he had wanted to spend his time digging, Joshua thought, he could have stayed with his family and worked on the farm. A plough, with Rufus collared to pull it and Joshua walking behind, would have turned this soil over and left him with breath to sing as he worked. Instead, he was wielding a spade. A task that warmed the body well enough, but left the mind at liberty to wander.
He sighed. It was his besetting sin, a tendency to let his thoughts wander. He should be better disciplined. He must be better disciplined. He must think of the work. It was humble work, but he should be grateful for his strong back and limbs, that he could put to the service of God. And of the abbey. Turnips were gifts from God. He was carrying out God's will, and should be glad to do it. He was glad to do it. He was glad to contribute to the welfare of his brothers. He was glad to be of use.
Truly.
Except the thought kept returning and would not be silenced: it was galling to be put to such menial labour, when he had thought he brought better gifts than his strong back and limbs. Better offerings to God. His voice was an offering to God, he thought, and then had to remind himself not to be guilty of the sin of pride. Other brothers could also sing. And in truth, music here was not as… fulfilling as he had expected music to be. So much plainsong. Chanting was not Joshua's idea of music. At home, behind the plough, he had sung many cheerful songs, and sad songs too, and surely that had been an offering to God as well? Although he had not, he knew, dedicated his singing to God. He had been selfish, singing for mere pleasure. It had not seemed sinful at the time, but it had not been holy, either, and now he was here and he must dedicate his thoughts and his work and his song to God.
Not that he could sing as he dug. Which was perhaps for the best, since he was not supposed to speak, let alone sing, during these hours of labour.
He reached the end of the row, turned, and took a moment to straighten his back and gaze about him.
There was a small party of horses, four, no, five, one was riderless and burdened with luggage, approaching the gatehouse. The second of the riders was well dressed in furs and a rich, dark red fabric that suggested something important riding in. A wealthy merchant, or a minor lordship come to speak with the abbot. Not Joshua's business at all, he was unlikely even to speak to the visitors. They must have business with far more important people than Brother Joshua, novice of the abbey of Saint Martin in Selby.
His work was important, too. Turnips were important. Turnips must be planted, so that the brothers might be fed, and Joshua was doing God's work.
He bent back to his digging, until the bell sounded for the office.
*
Joshua never quite understood how it was that some of the brothers knew about everything that was going on in and around the abbey. How did they ever discover it, when silence was the rule and light conversation very much discouraged? But Brother James murmured to him, as they ate bread, fish and boiled cabbage, that Master Harcourt was here to discuss the matter of his funeral dispositions with the abbot, and he had brought two servants and a minstrel with him.
The notion that there was a minstrel in the abbey fired a moment of enthusiasm, but Joshua knew full well that he would have no opportunity to hear the minstrel sing anything. Father Abbot was not a man who cared about music. He would have no interest in hearing a true minstrel, not even in worship. There was no soul-thrilling music here, even the hymns were not glorious, it was not the music his heart yearned for.
Joshua was being ungrateful again. He was here, he was fed and clothed and housed, he had work to do that was useful, and he had the fellowship of the Order. He was only a novice now, but perhaps, in years to come, he might become the Cantor, he might lead the choir through its daily worship. Father Abbot might—would, inevitably—die, and perhaps the next abbot would encourage the choir to glorify God with their voices. He must wait, be patient, be good. Perhaps there would be a reward. No, he must be good without expectation of rewards, because that was what was asked of him.
He tried. He really did.
He dug.
*
After Chapter the next morning, Joshua was surprised—and grateful—not to be sent back to the fields. The night's sleep, broken as always by Matins, had nonetheless refreshed his weary limbs, but there were aches in his muscles and he had not looked forward to more spade-work. Now he found himself in the stables with a task much more to his taste. Apparently the important guest's clerk and manservant would not be taking care of their own horses (nobody would expect their master to do so). Brother Aubin, the elderly and half-deaf brother who had daily charge of the stables because it was, most of the time, a task that demanded very little, there being but one horse and a couple of mules to be tended, was pleased to see Joshua. He spent a few minutes explaining that it was impossible for him to do so much work and very kind of Father Abbot to make sure there was a strong youngster given to him to do the work instead, handed him a pitchfork and told him where to find the buckets, straw and brushes. Then he disappeared to… Joshua had no idea, but suspected there was a quiet corner where Brother Aubin liked to snooze.
Joshua had always enjoyed being with horses. A horse, at least, as Rufus had for a long time been the only one at the farm, a well-tempered, sturdy animal able to pull a cart or a plough. Joshua had ridden him, once in a while, but Rufus generally had no more leisure than Joshua himself for frivolous riding. And perhaps being ridden was not so much fun for Rufus, he reflected.
He hitched up his habit around his knees and set to clearing out soiled straw.
A voice like a tenor bell, clear and pure, began singing something merry in a tongue Joshua did not know. Joshua paused, entranced. Welsh, possibly, or Gaelic? Though what somebody from Wales might be doing on this, the eastern side of England, he could not guess.
The voice switched to a more mournful ballad, and this one Joshua did know, and he found himself harmonising without ever really choosing—and caught himself, and stopped.
"Don't stop! I like a little counterpoint to my melody."
Joshua blushed guiltily. "I shouldn't," he called back.
The singer appeared by his stall, dark-haired and slighter than himself, and with the brightest, most mischievous brown eyes Joshua had ever seen.
"I'm not supposed to sing, except in the offices," Joshua explained. "For the glory of God, you see."
"I think God rejoices in a good tune," the singer said. "I've sung for plenty of lords in my time, and if they enjoy a song, surely the Lord of all will enjoy it too."
It matched Joshua's own thoughts exactly, but he had been told so many times that it was sacrilege to ascribe human thoughts to God. It was definitely against his vows of obedience to agree. "Are you the minstrel, that came with Master Harcourt?" he asked instead.
"Christopher," the bright-eyed man said, and held out a hand. It was already grubby, so Joshua shook it without qualms. "Yes, and no. I am a minstrel, I'm not exactly 'with' Master Harcourt. I'm making my way north, looking to find a place to overwinter, and he happened along, and," he shrugged "company is reassuring, on the road, so I was happy to travel alongside him. He," Christopher smirked, "liked the idea of enlarging his retinue. All for consequence, is Master Harcourt."
"His servants don't demean themselves by caring for his horses," Joshua observed in as neutral a tone as he could manage.
"Whereas I, humble troubadour, will tend to my own Trumpet with pleasure." Christopher paused, and looked very much as though he were about to make a vulgar joke, but thought better of it. Joshua was relieved, because he knew exactly what the joke would have been, and he would have laughed, and that would have been against the Rule. "Still, it turns out in my favour," Christopher said, "as I doubt the abbey would have been so welcoming to a mere travelling troubadour as it is to someone in the retinue of a man of property, and I'm glad to be sheltered from the weather. A night under the stars is very well in May, but October is more like to be frosty."
"But there's no opportunity for you to sing, here," Joshua said. "The brothers sing the hours, and we have scriptural readings during our meals, not music."
"Sing with me now, as we work," Christopher said, and moved out of sight. A moment later, that mournful ballad rang out again, and Joshua let his voice rise to join it.
The work went almost too quickly, with such singing to speed it along. When Christopher appeared again, Joshua had cleaned his stalls and was brushing the handsome chestnut which was unmistakably Master Harcourt's own mount, for its quality shone like its glossy coat; the dun horse and the two bays were serviceable beasts, and he could not tell which had carried the clerk, which the man-at-arms, and which the luggage. This time, the minstrel leaned nonchalantly on the stall gate to watch Joshua work.
"I'm surprised that a singer such as yourself is doing menial work," Christopher opined. "They ought to have you practising with the choir."
Joshua did not mean to explain, at length, that the choir here was confined to plainsong and some common hymns and that it had not been what he had expected, he did not mean to tell this stranger how he had come to the monastery in search of music and found it lacking, but somehow, the words tumbled out until he stopped, guiltily, and mumbled an apology.
But the stranger encouraged him to talk more, to explain that he had lived on the farm and worked there and knew how to tend a horse, but he had been a fosterling rather than entitled to his share of the farm, that his mother had been half-French and had not stayed long in England after his birth, that his true father—unknown, deceased, and probably a soldier of more than common rank—had left money for him to be educated, so he knew how to read and write. How he'd chosen the Benedictines rather than apply to become a cleric somewhere because he had thought it would bring him music. "It should have done," he said, sadly. "Some monastic houses have glorious musicians. But the Order sent me here."
"I don't know what to say," Christopher said. "Your voice deserves so much more. And you are tethered here, cleaning out stables. I'm sorry."
"Oh, this isn't so bad," Joshua said, hurriedly. "At least it's warm inside. And not wet!" For he noticed that rain was beating hard on the roof, and when he thought about it, had been doing so for some time.
"In that case, I'll be staying here at least another night," Christopher said, and Joshua was glad. Perhaps he would be on stable duty again tomorrow, and could sing.
*
The rain was torrential as he ran back into the chapel in response to the office bell, and his woollen habit was heavy with water after just those few yards, but he didn't care. Singing with Christopher had given him the most joyous hours of his life.
*
It rained all night, and in the morning, rain was still coming down, lashing like whips, bouncing on the cobbles, streaming across the cloister. Joshua ran through it to the stables, for the beasts could not be left untended, and besides…
No, Christopher was not there at present, but his horse Trumpet was still in the stall, so it seemed likely that he would arrive. Joshua found himself humming yesterday's ballad, stopped guiltily, tried to sing something in a holier vein, and eventually just gave in to the impulse. None of the senior brothers would be in here today, he was sure, and Brother Aubin was deaf enough not to notice any impious noises, and probably indifferent besides. Confident that Christopher would announce himself in song when he arrived, Joshua brushed stable floor and then horses and sang.
And after a few minutes, the beautiful bell-like tenor rose above his tune.
While Christopher tended to his own horse, the two of them sang, but afterwards they talked again as Joshua made Master Harcourt's three beasts comfortable. But as he worked, he decided it was time for Christopher to talk. Joshua had laid bare too much of his own soul yesterday, and he wanted to know more about this bright-eyed man.
So Christopher talked of the life of a minstrel. The comfort of playing for rich men in their manors and castles during the chilly winter months, the hazards of wandering freely across the country during the summer, when he could sleep in fields or haylofts, and earn his bread by playing in taverns, if there was no great house to pay him. "They're off to battle, often as not, during the summer." The pleasure of learning, all the time, new songs as they came his way or he was asked to compose them. Joshua envied him that more than anything.
They talked of instruments. Joshua had made himself many reed pipes, could not even remember when he first blew a rough tune, but had no experience of rebec or gittern, psaltery or vielle. Christopher favoured the gittern, which he promised to show Joshua on the morrow if only this rain would cease, and the tabor pipe and drum which were particularly popular at taverns and small outdoor fairs where he might be the only musician and was called upon to play for dancing. He also had a psaltery, which was often requested by high-born ladies. Joshua would very much like to see all of these, but he understood very well that Christopher did not wish to bring them out through the rain if it could be avoided, even though he kept them carefully wrapped in oilskins.
Yesterday, Joshua had gone to Nones alone, but this time Christopher joined the monks in the chapel and stayed humbly at the rear during the Office. When Joshua returned to the stable to complete his tidying, Christopher returned likewise, and, after some sarcastic remarks on the quality of the plainsong, the two of them sang again, although Joshua, feeling pricked in his conscience, insisted on hymns.
They followed the summons of the bell for Vespers together. Joshua always liked Vespers best, there were hymns as well as plainsong, real singing and he was not still sleep-fugged and could sing well. Perhaps it was the joy his spirit felt, or perhaps more mundanely that an afternoon of singing had loosened his voice, perhaps it was that he could hear Christopher's voice ringing above the rest, whatever the case Joshua found he could sing more truly and with real delight in offering his voice to God. It felt… like a blessing.
After Vespers, Brother Aubin accosted him and asked if Joshua would see to the evening feed in the stables. His old bones were uncomfortable in the wet, and Joshua might hurry across in less time and—Joshua assured him that he was happy to see to matters in the stable, stayed for instructions that took only twice as long as needful, and hurried back, his heavy woollen habit absorbing another soaking as the rain was still falling hard.
*
When he awoke, he could see nothing. Absolute darkness, but—oh! Something was tickling his face.
A rough brrrrr! of breath told him it was one of the horses. So, then, he must be… in the stable? Why was he in the stable? Why was he not sleeping in the dortoir? And, oh, his head hurt. Why did it hurt so? Joshua felt carefully over his skull, but nothing seemed actually to be broken. What had happened here?
And why was he naked?
He lay where he was for several minutes, trying to get his befuddled thoughts in order. It came to him, slowly, that it was quite warm in the stable, compared to the chill of the chapel and the dormitory. Horses, he thought. The horses are warmer than monks. They are sharing their warmth with me.
Still, it did not seem like a good idea to stay lying where a horse might nuzzle at him, because it might also step on him, or piss on him, and neither prospect appealed. He sat up. His head swam briefly but settled, and he decided that he was all right. No wonder there was no light, here in the stable. He felt around him and discovered the border of the stall, patted his way to the corner and eventually found the gate, opened it, and shut it very carefully behind him.
Now, then. Which side of the stable was he on? Joshua groped his way along and found, not the entrance, but the ladder to the hayloft.
Rain was still drumming on the roof. Very well, the hayloft it should be. He climbed cautiously up the ladder and crawled into the loft, blindly made himself a kind of nest in the pile, covered himself with straw, and decided to worry about whys and hows and consequences and what to wear in the morning. He went to sleep.
*
Joshua awoke with a start. Bright slashes of morning light were streaming in through gaps in the loft wall, and he had missed the bell for Lauds. He had not slept so well since he became a novice here, he thought, ruefully. But he had better go and… ah. Yes. Still naked.
Might there be some garment somewhere in the stable? Or, if Brother Aubin—he fought clear of his burrow and edged towards the ladder, when he heard voices, and froze.
"Are you leaving us this morning? I thought Master Harcourt was intent on seeing his thieving clerk brought to justice." That was Brother Aubin's creaky, over-loud voice. He had the deaf man's habit of talking too loud.
"It's a fine day, and I must be on my way." That was certainly Christopher, and Joshua's heart sank at the realisation that Christopher was moving on. "But I am concerned about the brother who is lost. I wondered if he might be here, in the stables? He worked here yesterday, might he have returned?"
"Do you think it might be so? I did ask him to feed the beasts, after Vespers. I wonder if he might have come to harm?"
"Kicked by a horse?"
"No, no. He seemed a competent lad, very obliging, not at all afraid of the animals," Brother Aubin said, and Joshua was rather pleased, but after all, something had apparently hit him on the head, and an ill-tempered hoof could have laid him out.
Unlikely to have stripped him bare, though.
Joshua lay down on his belly to peer warily through the hatch, and saw them walking slowly along, one either side, looking into every stall. How could he get Christopher's attention? Christopher would probably laugh when he saw Joshua's nakedness, but he would also do something to help, Joshua was sure. An idea struck him, and he whistled, very quietly, a few measures of one of the songs he and Christopher had sung together. Too high, he hoped, for a half-deaf man to notice.
"Not here," came Brother Aubin's voice again. "Well, I'm sorry we have not found him, but I should not have liked to think he was hurt by one of the beasts here. I dare say he fell asleep in the chapel, or some such thing, and will be found safe and sound. Now, then, will you manage your horse by yourself? I'll let him have a little fresh water and something to break his fast before you go, come with me…"
It was an age before the business of feeding the horses was accomplished, but Christopher began to whistle as he helped Brother Aubin distribute buckets, the very tune Joshua had whistled, so he was fairly sure his message had been received.
"I wonder if you should tell Father Abbot that the missing novice is not here," Christopher suggested with a lot of power behind his voice. "It would help the brothers to know that they need not search for him here."
Brother Aubin thought this an excellent suggestion, and after saying so no more than three times, made his way out of the stables.
"He's gone," Christopher called. "Are you in the hayloft?"
Joshua waved to him from above, and hastened down.
Christopher was grinning very broadly indeed by the time he reached the bottom, and Joshua elected to ignore this as best he could.
"Well, something certainly happened to you last night," the minstrel said.
"I think someone must have hit me. And stolen my habit. I woke up in one of the stalls, and it was dark, and I was, um."
"So I see. Well, I think I could lay my hand on the man who did it, but I'm inclined to think we can do better. Joshua," he hesitated, "do you—you are a novice, aren't you, not a full brother of the church? Do you truly want to be a monk?"
"I… " It was shameful to admit, but it was true. "No."
"I wondered if you—if you'd like to come with me. I could, uh, teach you to be a troubadour, if you want."
"Yes. Yes, I want." A blossom of joy opened in Joshua's chest. "Oh, if I could… but how can I? I have nothing, not even…" he gestured down at himself.
"Oh, I wouldn't say nothing," Christopher said, with the wickedest look in his eyes. Joshua would never have guessed wickedness could be so very attractive. "I happen to have picked up, just, casually, you know, a few items that belonged to someone who—as a matter of fact, to the person who hit you and stole your clothing." Christopher led him along to the other end of the stable, where the minstrel's bags lay. "You missed some very interesting events. Here, get these on." He flung a handful of items in Joshua's direction, and they turned out to be a cotte, hose, a decent cloak with a hood, and even some soft leather boots.
As he dressed, Christopher explained. "There was a great to-do yesterday, right after Compline. Master Harcourt's man-at-arms discovered that certain items from his master's baggage had disappeared. And of course, they decided I was the thief. I dare say you were no less comfortable in your hayloft last night than I was in my cell."
"Why would they assume you were the thief?"
Christopher shrugged. "Oh, travelling minstrel, planning to move on, you know. Whom else would they seize on as a thief? The Abbot did his best to scare a confession out of me. He didn't believe me when I denied it, hence a night in your prison cell here, but he'd already sent someone into town for the Sheriff's man, and the Sergeant arrived early this morning, right after—oh, I can't remember what the office is called, it was early."
"I didn't even hear the bell."
"I don't know how you brothers ever get any sleep, always being rung awake. Never mind. The Sergeant was a decent fellow, of his kind, and he asked for an account of when the stolen items had been seen, so they established that the theft must have been sometime after noon, and I told the him I'd been here in the stable, and that Brother Joshua could be my witness. Well, they sent for you then, but they couldn't find you. I told them you were not in the chapel last night, because I'd heard you sing at Vespers and your voice was absent from the choir at Compline, and the Sergeant had the idea that maybe you were the thief, and you'd run off."
Joshua exclaimed indignantly, and Christopher smirked at him. "Welcome to the brotherhood of travelling minstrels. So then they summoned all the brothers together, and there was a full count, nobody missing. And when they asked if there was a brother present as could confirm my story, nobody stepped forward, and I—I thought, that, um."
"That I—but I would never do that."
"No, well. No. But then one of the brothers spoke up and said there was a new brother among them, one he'd not seen before, and one of the monks tried to make a run for it, but he tripped in the habit and fell down, and spilled the purse of silver all over the cloister. So the Sergeant took him away."
Joshua paused in pulling on the first of the boots. It was a little loose, and he could have wished for a thick pair of socks, but that would have been miraculous past believing. "I hope Master Harcourt apologised to you!" he said, indignantly.
"Not he! But the Abbot did, quite handsomely, really. I suppose being pompous and self-satisfied is part of the job, but he did acknowledge I'd done no wrong, and they let me go. No doubt they were relieved to find I was intending to leave. And I made a little side trip to the room where the thieving clerk had slept and purloined his things, which nobody else cared about and I doubt he'll be needing again, and here we are."
Joshua was not sure that he ought to accept the clothes. "If you'd left them there, the Abbey would have given them to the poor," he explained.
Christopher laughed. "Five minutes ago you had literally nothing, not even clothes on your back. They are being given to the poor!"
"Oh!" That was true. "And he did take my habit, so I suppose…" Joshua shrugged, and pulled the second boot onto his foot. He was glad the thief had had large feet. "I wonder why he bothered to hide himself as a monk? He must have come in here for his horse and found me here, but why didn't he just get on the horse and ride out? Why dress in my habit and stay?"
"Perhaps he didn't want to get wet," Christopher said, obviously not very interested. "Or, he hoped the theft wouldn't be discovered until I was gone, but he wanted to be able to hide somewhere if it was? I don't know! Probably he just panicked. Seriously, if I had been the thief I would have made a much better job of it! Are you ready? Because by my reckoning there's a spare horse here, and if we're quick nobody's going to think of it for a couple of days, until Master Harcourt decides to leave."
"I can't steal one of Master Harcourt's horses!"
"Ah, well, there's the thing—it isn't. The clerk was chance-met, just like myself. There was a lot of bluster when that came out, but from what I gather, Harcourt had picked him up further back on his journey. I told you he liked to have a retinue. I dare say there's more to it than that, probably the thief said he could witness the documents, or, eh, who knows. But by my reckoning, that horse is going to stay with the Abbey, leave with Master Harcourt, or take you wherever you want to go. And I know which I'd choose."
Joshua grinned. "Then I'd best get it saddled. Er, do you remember…?"
"Bay mare." They hurried to get their mounts ready.
Joshua paused as they were on the point of leading the horses outside. "Should I… tell the Abbot I'm leaving?" He felt a strong reluctance, as he was quite certain Father Richard would make a strenuous effort to persuade him not to abandon his vows. And he had sworn Obedience, when he took the cowl. No, he decided. He should never have taken those vows, and he was abandoning them now. Poverty, well, poverty was probably still in his future, he might have an empty belly in the days and years ahead, but he'd never cared about money anyway, and a minstrel would always make his way. Chastity… he didn't think he was going to keep that one for very much longer. And Obedience was already over. "If the faithless brother leaves, let him go," Joshua murmured. "I don't think they'll miss me."
Together they rode out into sunlit freedom. And as soon as they were past the monastery bounds, they sang.
It's my contribution to the popslash Christmas Cracker challenge-let.