Chapter 15.1

Things blurred for me after we rode into the monastery courtyard. A crowd of people in brown robes came out and helped me from the horse, then carried me into a room scented with herbs and soap. I was bathed, bandaged, and fed. Somewhere in that I lost consciousness.

I woke in the morning in a bright room where dried plants hung from the rafters. On one side of me stood a desk surrounded by shelves filled with large glass bottles and leather-bound books. On the other side sat Peter, reading from a book. His hood was thrown back so that the sunlight from the window struck his wealth of blonde hair and transformed it into an angelic halo. It was not trimmed short in the center, as other monks wore their hair, but was full and lush like a warriors.

Like his brother’s, I thought uncomfortably.

He looked up and smiled, then spoke in a rich tenor voice that would have been the envy of any Bard, "Good morning. Would you like something to drink?"

I nodded and tried to lift my hands to sign. Pain shot through the stiff, bruised muscles of my shoulders and back.

Peter moved toward me, a cup in his hand. He held it to my lips. I tasted something tart, but not unpleasant. "Brother Umberto says that this will ease your suffering and help you to sleep. Slumber is God’s best medicine. He also wants you to drink soup until you have an appetite."

I’m a Bard; I already had an appetite. But my jaw, I found, was too sore to move properly. I accepted the soup and a little more of the potion.

Peter helped me with other things, then settled me back into the bed. I was already tired.
"Do you want me to read to you?" he asked.

I tried to nod.

His sweet voice, discussing the philosophy of sin, was a lullaby that sent me back to sleep.