London - Edward Rutherfurd [188]
“If so, then why should I fear to leave this Earth?” David asked.
“You should not, if you are ready and have served God,” the monk replied.
“I should have liked to have gone on crusade,” the boy said with a sigh. “But as it is, I have done nothing.”
A day later, he asked the monk about his own life. What had led him to a religious house? “A sense of vocation, I suppose,” Brother Michael answered. “Which just meant,” he explained truthfully, “that I no longer wanted anything but to be closer to God.” But the boy did not reply to this, seeming very weak. Yet he held on to life, day by day. A week later, it began to grow a little warmer. Still David clung to life, and still his uncle prayed.
Then, one day, for no reason he could explain, Brother Michael knew that the boy would live. He confided it to Ida, who was so moved that she kissed him. That morning, as he returned from the house, on a little patch of grass he saw a snowdrop growing by St Paul’s.
It was in the middle of February that Sister Mabel finally understood the meaning of her vision. She had once again revisited the curate at St Lawrence Silversleeves; despite getting nowhere in several attempts to persuade the Exchequer clerk to help the poor family, she was doing the best she could for them herself. She had decided to pay young David Bull a visit after this, and, in her usual cheerful way, had stomped up to the Bulls’ hall and walked in through the door when she saw them sitting together near the window. In that instant she perceived the truth.
There was no demon this time: just three very human figures. The boy was at the table with a handsome book before him. Brother Michael, sitting quietly beside him and guiding the boy’s hand over the complex calligraphy, was explaining a difficult passage of Latin. Ida, opposite, was not touching the saintly monk, but was looking at him with adoration. And now, gazing with horror at the three of them Mabel realized the unnatural love which was growing and which would catch them unawares.
She gave young David some medicine, then departed, and wondered what to do. She prayed, yet got no guidance. And then, meeting the monk in the cloister that evening, she told him bluntly: “You must beware, Brother Michael, of an unnatural love.”
It was rare indeed for Brother Michael to be angry, but just for a moment he was tempted. Yet then, remembering Mabel’s own attempt one Christmas night to lead him astray in this very cloister, the kindly monk had compassion. She was jealous, he realized, but what good would it do to throw that in her face? As for his feelings for Ida, he was confident enough.
“We all have to be careful,” he rebuked her gently. “I assure you that I am. But I think, Sister Mabel, that you should not say this to me again.”
Then he left her; and poor Mabel could only return to her cell and pray again.
JUNE 1191
The nightmare had begun. It was even worse than Pentecost had imagined.
Prince John had done his work well. At the start of the year, Silversleeves reckoned, there had not been a baron in England with any kind of grudge against the chancellor, who had not become John’s friend. Then, in the spring, John had begun to move.
First it was one of the southern castles that he claimed was his; then an important northern sheriff refused to obey the chancellor; then, in March, a messenger had arrived in London with still more ominous news: “John’s seized the castle of Nottingham.” It was one of the most powerful strongholds in the Midlands. “He’s gone hunting in Sherwood Forest as if he were king already,” it was said. Since then there had been constant rumours. John himself was moving about the kingdom, collecting supporters from half the shires. One of the barons was amassing a dangerous force on the borders of Wales. Indeed, in the city they were asking only two questions: