Chapter 16.2.2

He frowned, and looked out the window. "This summer, perhaps. Now the roads are covered with snow."

I might be free to go where I wished, but he was still bound to his lord.

He brightened. "Still, the road to Slatten should be open. We could go there, and see if we find anyone we know."

"When would we go?"

"I need to finish my penance, first, then take communion. And it will be best for you to rest at least a week more."

"I don’t wish to wait long," I signed back.

A rattle of dishes came from the door. Peter stood there with a tray in his hands, his eyes wide and his face stern. He looked at Charles, then at me.

The knight lifted his hands. "Do you remember the rats in Wellcome’s dungeon? They were four feet long, the color of swamp mud, and stank worse than a midden. Three of them took less than to hours to strip that horse to its bones, then..."

Peter set down the tray by my bed. "Idle chatter is not becoming to a monastery, and neither are idle hands."

Charles snatched up his broom and darted out the door, surprisingly quick for one of his frame.

"There is more between you and the knight than I thought," Peter said quietly.

"This is not our first adventure together," I signed back. "He knows the language of the hands, and is a welcome companion."

Peter bit his lip, as if blocking off further questions. "Here is your breakfast."

Had our discussion from the night before offended him? I asked him about it.

He shook his head, paused, then spoke. "I talked with the abbot. He reminded me that you are a Heathen and ignorant of the truths of the Christian faith. That you have good intentions, but still, it is best that I speak to you no more than necessary. Then he sent me to ponder the stations of the cross until all impure thoughts were cleansed from my mind."

What was impure about accepting the summons of a god?

"But I must know, Gerard – why did you come to Rockridge disguised as a Silent Monk?"

"There truly is something wrong with my voice, and I cannot speak. No one questions a Silent Monk’s lack of speech."

"But – why did you come to Rockridge at all?"

"To help the Lady Laurice escape with the Bard." That was true enough.

He sighed. "And now that she has chosen his apprentice, we are both cast aside."

Far too true.

Chapter 16.2.1

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The next day I found I could move easily. I rose went out the door, then through another door that led outside. I looked upon an inner court, a square of pristine snow bordered by covered walkways. Before me the spire of the church thrust higher than the red tile roofs of the cloister, and beyond it I could see the low, dark stain of the Dragon’s Tooth Mountains. I faced to the west, therefore. Towards Slatten, the Guildhall – and Elise. I closed my eyes and basked in her memory.

Not long, my lady, before I hold you again.

"Gerard!" Charles called out.

I opened my eyes to see him running across the square, a broom in his hand. I signed, slowly and with broad movements, "Careful. You ruin the snow."

He looked back at his footprints and shrugged. "More will fall. Go back inside, where it’s warm."

I hadn’t noticed the cold until he mentioned it. I retraced my steps, motioning for him to follow me.

Inside the room, he pulled the chair next to the fireplace, Then he sat on my bed, leaving the chair for me. "How are you doing?"

"The Abbot knows I’m a Heathen."

Charles looked as if this were not news to him. "What is he going to do?"

"I don’t know. He is letting me stay, but when I can travel, I think he will want me to leave."

Charles puzzled for a bit, then asked, "Will you go back to Songless?"

I shook my head. "I’m free of that place. I owe no allegiance to Lord Reinard. I will go to Slatten to look for Elise, and then – did you mention that you might go on a pilgrimage? To Bartiese?"

Chapter 16

Peter returned with my supper, a dish of beans, cabbage, and boiled fish. He also brought a cup of red wine. As he set these down, I signed to him, "Have you heard the news about the Bard-killer?"

"He’s dead." Peter spoke quietly, and not happily.

"That means you are free. You told me, back at Rockridge, that you wanted to walk your own path. This is your chance."

"Walk your own path." He frowned. "That’s a Heathen saying, isn’t it?"

I signed quickly. "I may have picked it up from the Bard I was traveling with. Tell me, where will you go now that the Bard-killer is dead?"

His look was one of disbelief. "Nowhere. I hoped to follow my cousin and take a place in her husband’s home, no matter who she married, but she has taken a Heathen beggar for a mate. She will realize what she has done, no fear of that, and return to her father – but hen she’ll not be a fit wife for any man of honor."

"Will the Bard be that bad a husband for her?"

He looked out the window. "The Bard would have been a better choice than the wretch who followed him. That’s the one my cousin went with – the penniless ne’er do well."

"Where did they go?" I asked innocently, hoping to show him the possible path.

"My cousin said that they were bound for Slatten."

Another change of plans. What was Wallen thinking? "So what will you do? Will you stay here?"

"I’ll stay here, but the circumstances of my birth prevent me from taking serious vows." He folded his hands in his lap.

"How is that?" I signed.

"I’m a bastard." He shrugged. "Imperfect in the eyes of God and man."

What a strange idea. "Why should your father’s actions mark you?"

He looked straight at me, and said without rancor, "You are a Heathen, Gerard. You don’t understand why a bastard can not be child of God."

"What a strange God you have, to throw away the hearts of those who are unpleasant to him." Even as I signed this, I knew that the suffering god did not think this way.

Peter frowned sharply. "The Lord God and his son Jesus Christ do not throw people away. They give their mercy to all the poor sinners of the world!"

And here I thought they had only one God. "If that is true, then any poor sinner could devote himself to your God, and this be a monk. Is that right?"

He shook his head. "A monk must be more perfect than the sinners of the world."

"Then a man must be perfect before he can be a monk?" This did not fit at all with the monks I had known at Songless Castle, many which were men first and men of faith second.

Taking a deep breath, Peter leaned forward and spoke patiently. "We find perfection through the sacrifice of Jesus Christ. Our hearts are purified through worship and his mercy."

Had he ever listened to the words he had learned? I pointed out, "Then if you worship your god, you’ll be perfect, and it won’t matter how you were born."

He frowned, then crossed his arms. "Church law states that no man of illegitimate birth may take orders."

"The Church says that," I signed. "But what does your god say? Ask him in your heart, and listen to his answer. Walk the path set before you."

He frowned sharply. "Eat your supper. I must talk to Father Alfred."

He did not return that night.

Chapter 15.5.2

"The problem is one that has been with me for some time. I have learned to live with it." There – let him find fault with that.

The abbot leaned back, the mouse gone from view. "The monks here who know you: they say they have seen you at Lord Reinard’s holding."

"I spent some time there, yes."

"Did you ever meet the man who is called the Bard-killer?"

Sourness burned the back of my throat. How would a pious Christian answer that? My movements were still curt. "I did indeed. He is not an easy master, but his people should not have to suffer for his sins."

"Indeed." The abbot linked his hands together on his lap. "Have you heard that the old lord is dead, and his son now rules the holding?"

This seemed an honest question, so I answered it truthfully. "Yes. But no priest has come to unlock the church so that the people may enter."

"The new lord has neither petitioned the Bishop for forgiveness, nor made peace with the Bardhall. Until he does, his people will stay without grace."

Had anyone explained this to Wallen?

Suddenly the abbot straightened. "But we were talking about you. The things I have heard about you, Gerard, since you came through our gate! Brother Peter swears you are a brother in good standing. Brother Umberto thinks you are a wizard in disguise, for he found strange symbols sewn into your robe. A maiden who lives with the nuns claims that you are a saint – though her father says you are a black-souled Heathen, yet a good man. None of the brethren will speak against you, but none will explain you, either. Tell me truthfully, Gerard, what are you?"

"I am a humble beggar who does not pretend his is anything." Thus I proved that I did indeed pay attention to the sayings of the Silent Monks.

The abbot leaned forward. "Oh, I heard that you play a harp. Gerard, are you a Bard?"

I jerked up my hands, palms inward, to show him that no harp was marked on them, and I glared – then realized that I had answered his question. No one but a Bard would gesture so. Slowly I signed, "What will you do with me now?"

"Rest. You are safe and will remain so." Father Alfred stood and laid his hand on my head. "May the gods watch carefully over your path."