Free Brother's Blood by C.B. Hanley Page A

he’s a skittish horse, that might work.
    He took half a pace back so he wasn’t crowding the monk, and spoke soothingly, placatingly. ‘I’m not saying that you have to stop. You’ll still be doing your duty. But …’ he cast around for an idea that would sound right. ‘But surely it would be my duty as a good Christian to help with some abbey work while I’m here?’ He was quite pleased with himself for coming up with that.
    Benedict nodded doubtfully. ‘Well, if you put it like that … as long as I keep going as well … I’m sure …’
    Martin grinned. He took off his belt and tunic, rolled up his shirtsleeves and spat on his hands. ‘Pass me another axe.’

    Edwin sat in the church. The open space in front of him, where the congregation would stand and kneel during Mass, was empty; the choir, where the monks sang their services, was away to his right on the other side of the altar screen. He had found a bench pushed up against the side wall, presumably put there for the benefit of those parishioners who were too aged and feeble to stand or kneel, as was the case in the church at Conisbrough, and he had been there some time observing the church from this unusual angle and trying to order his thoughts.
    Eventually a bell began to toll somewhere, and a few people made their way in from the western end of the church, the end which led out into the precinct. It must be time for vespers, which parishioners were no doubt allowed to attend if they could. Edwin slipped off the bench and mingled with them, gaining a few looks but no suspicion – the people here must be used to strangers and abbey guests being in their midst. He knelt along with them as the monks filed in, chanting, and the service began. The lay brothers were all along one side of the church and the choir monks away near the altar behind the screen, so he couldn’t see them very well. Edwin tried to look around him as much as he could without arousing too much notice. The parishioners all looked like respectable people – no working men among them at this time on a Saturday, of course, but some older folk and a few devout-looking goodwives. The lay brothers – well, frankly, they all looked alike. All bearded, all wearing the same scapular over their clothes, which were in themselves very similar tunics of brown wool.
    Edwin said ‘Amen’ without thinking and then realised that the service was at an end and that people were leaving. He watched the parishioners go out of the west door and decided that now was not the time to try to talk to any of them – better to wait until Mass tomorrow morning when there would no doubt be many more. The lay brothers could wait as well; they might not be too keen to talk to him after a full day’s labour and besides, he wanted to take Martin with him if he was going to leave the abbey. Instead he slipped on to the end of the line of choir monks and followed them out of the door which led from the church into the cloister. He followed them around the edge of the square and to the entrance of the refectory, where they filed in and sat in silence at two long tables. Edwin did not like to go in, so he hovered by the doorway. One monk saw him and detached himself to come over. Red hair, middle-aged – yes, it was Brother Helias, the cellarer.
    ‘Can I help you, my son?’ His voice was a whisper.
    Edwin hadn’t meant to be noticed. ‘Thank you, no, er, what I mean is …’
    Brother Helias moved them both to one side so they were out of the doorway. ‘We’re about to have our evening meal – the days are so much longer in the summer that we are allowed to eat twice. You won’t be able to talk to anyone during the meal, I’m afraid.’
    From inside the refectory came the sound of sixty or so men all sitting down at once. Then a single voice started to speak, reading sonorously from what Edwin now recognised as the Rule. Thanks to his early studies Edwin’s Latin had always been reasonably good, so he