Chapter 4—Abbey Blessed

Friar Antonio Francis adjusted his twisted habit, straightening the bark-coloured cloth so that it fell into demure folds. He tightened the corded rope around his waist, then raked a hand through his thinning hair before indulging himself with a brief glance in the cracked and spotted mirror. Other than the simple white basin for washing, the only other accoutrements of the tiny room were a single bed pushed up against the wall and a half dozen pegs for hanging clothing. An oil lamp sat on a three-legged stool by the bed and afforded the only light.

Satisfied that he was sufficiently put together, he opened his door to answer the summons delivered by the kitchen boy, Mattias. He tucked his hands inside the sleeves of his robe and hurried along the corridor, seeking the back entrance of the abbey. His soft soled shoes made little sound as he walked, his passage through the hallowed halls silent and swift. It took no time to leave behind the ascetic’s chambers. As he left the quiet rooms behind, the abbey refined. Cold stone gave way to smooth, glossy marble and rough timber to fluted alabaster columns. He knew the closer he moved to the public spaces, the more opulent the interior would become.

Antonio had no desire to gaze on the splendor of the central cathedral. Instead, he took a small corridor to the left that led to the kitchens, which fed not only the residents of the abbey but the desperately poor and disadvantaged. Antonio, along with Sister Mary Clare, ran the charity for the homeless and ministered to those in need. Unlike the monks and pious nuns who cloistered themselves away to serve the Lord, he and Mary had chosen to serve the people where they were and teach of the Saviour’s grace. Their province was Camelot and the surrounding villages within a day’s ride. There was no shortage of work, and the need was great.

Friar Antonio bypassed the kitchen area and the smell of roasting fowl for the more urgent doorway that led outside. His stomach rumbled audibly in protest as he slipped past. The sound drew Sister Mary’s gaze and her eyes crinkled with humour. Antonio shot her a sheepish grin.

“I will have a plate ready for you when you return from your duty and for whoever you are going to greet. Mattias is with your guests. Please send him back here, to the kitchen.”

“I will. Thank you, Sister Mary.” Three more steps brought him to a heavy wooden door, banded in iron. He pushed on the latch and gave it a shove, swinging out into the cobblestone courtyard. The first thing to catch his eye was the large wagon hitched to a pair of the most amazing horses he had ever seen. Sturdy, thick-shouldered and deep-chested, they stood easily in their traces, stamping their feet as if impatient to leave. His eyes widened when he saw the wagon was riddled with arrows. A woman and a young lad sat on the seat. Mattias held the bridle of the nearest horse and smiled when he saw the friar.

“This is them, Friar. This is them.” He bobbed a respectful nod to Antonio.

“That’s a good lad. I will take it from here. Sister Mary needs you back in the kitchen.”

Mattias hurried away, and Antonio walked over to the wagon, stopping beside the driver, who was a handsome, middle aged woman. “I am Friar Antonio Francis. How may I be of service to you, daughter?”

“Friar, we come at your request. I am Huddel and this is my son, Merlin.” She handed the letter of invitation to the friar who unfolded it to see his own handwriting on the page, along with his signet. He handed back the letter. “This letter was sent to the master of your house, madam. Is he here?”

Huddel shot a look of warning to Merlin. “I am afraid that my husband was felled by bandits, en route to you. Merlin is now the master of our house. He apprenticed with his father and knows the brewing of our ale inside and out. I also assisted my husband and know the intricacies of the brewing process. We are fully skilled in our craft, Friar.” She hesitated a second then continued, her eyes pleading. “Please give us a trial. Let us prove that we are worthy of the king’s patronage.”

Antonio walked around to the other side of the wagon and held out his big hand to Merlin, who took it. “Welcome, son. Would you like to give me a tour of your wagon’s supplies? I believe we have a good spot for you to set up in a spare room behind the kitchens. You and your mother will be sleeping there too, but there is room enough to set up your brewing equipment.”

“Of course, Friar.” Merlin jumped down from the wagon bench and led him around to the back of the wagon. “We brought all of our equipment. The fermenting barrels are already seeded with the proper mash.” Merlin untied the sides of the tarps and drew them back, allowing the friar to see the contents of the wagon.

It was packed tighter than the seams in the marble floor of the abbey. There was no space anywhere that the friar could see. Suddenly, the room he had thought to direct them to was looking to be too small for their operation. He let out a low whistle.

“You have a lot of equipment here, lad.” He rubbed his chin, considering the load. “I think we would be better to set you up in the cellars. It has minimal windows, which should help with aging, and a broad set of steps for bringing in supplies. The ceilings are low, but you are not too tall, I think. You can keep the room off the kitchen for a proper apartment, or I can have rooms created in the cellar if you prefer. Come, I will show you and your mother around.” He walked back to Huddel and offered her a hand to help her climb down from the wagon. “Would you come with me please? I’d like to show you to your quarters.”

“Thank you.” Huddel climbed down from the driver’s seat with the Friar’s assistance. Merlin joined them, and together they walked toward the kitchens. The smell of bread baking co-mingled with the roasting fowl, the delicious aroma reaching them as they climbed the stairs. The friar’s stomach rumbled once again.

Merlin’s gave an answering murmur. “Oh, that smells so good,” he moaned as the door opened and a cornucopia of cooking assailed their senses. Merlin craned his neck to see inside the steaming interior as they passed by.

Antonio led them to a set of wide stone stairs at the end of the hallway. Grabbing an unlit torch from the wall, he dipped its end in the flames of a burning sconce and then said, “This way.” The L shaped staircase ended at a set of double doors. He pushed open one and led them into a cavernous space devoid of natural lighting except on the south side, where three large windows covered in iron bars looked out onto the stables. Merlin could see the legs of horses walking by the window. Tables and chairs were stacked against one wall, and a well pump handle stood in the middle of the floor surrounded by a basin made of what looked to be discarded clay tiles. Merlin wandered over to the well pump and grasping the handle primed it with a quick up and down movement. The old gears creaked and then a splutter of water spilled onto the floor. “Well, we have water, that is really the most important thing. The room is certainly large enough for our needs.”

Huddel nodded agreement. “Thank you, Friar, this will do us fine.”

“A meal is being prepared for us. Once we have eaten, I will send some of the boys out to help unload your wagon and carry everything down here. They are caring for your horses right now.”

They left the cellar and returned to the warm kitchen. True to his word, three plates sat on a trestle table, stacked high with bread and cheese, encircling a steaming bowl of thick vegetable stew. A smiling young woman, her hair concealed by her habit, waved them to the table, then joined them, her hands curving around a heavy pitcher of water. “Welcome to Glastonbury Abbey. I am Sister Mary Clare. Sit and eat before your dinner gets cold.”

Merlin threw himself down onto the bench and scooped up his utensils, salivating. He had barely gripped his fork when his mother slapped his hand. “Oww!” he yelped, shaking it to ease the stinging hurt. “What was that for?”

“Grace,” snapped his mother, and Merlin looked over to the friar who had his head bowed over the plate. His lips moved silently then he raised his head and smiled. “God’s grace is in all things, even eating a meal, young man. I have asked for the Lord’s blessing on our simple fare. Go ahead, eat.”

Merlin picked up his fork with a sheepish expression, then all embarrassment forgotten, shoveled the delicious dinner into his mouth as fast as he could chew and swallow. “This is so good,” he moaned, around his next to last spoonful. Sister Mary brought him a second plate as large as the first. He gave the nun a quick smile then tucked into it. He didn’t slow until it was three quarters consumed.

Friar Antonio smiled as Merlin slowed. “Finally, found the bottom of that hollow leg, lad? It’s good to see a healthy appetite.” Merlin groaned, holding his belly. “Now, the best thing to do is to wash down this meal with a sample of your fine brew.” He stood up and craned his head to see who was in the kitchen. “I need to borrow Patrick and Simeon,” he called. “Could you spare them for a half hour or so?”

Sister Mary tapped the two young men on the shoulder and they pulled their hands from a washtub of soapy water, drying them on a towel then shuffled over to Friar Antonio. Merlin and Huddel got up from the table and followed the friar back out to the wagons. The scullery crew grabbed a couple of carts and in short order they had rolled the barrels off the wagon and hauled everything into the cellar. Merlin vanished up the stairs with Patrick and Simeon to check on the horses and store the wagon.

As Merlin’s boots disappeared around the corner of the door, Huddel said, “Thank you for helping me and my boy. Let me pull you a pint for your kindness and generosity.” She fetched a soft mallet and tapped a keg, installing a pouring spout with a few precise taps of the hammer. Once in place, they rolled the keg up onto a stand on a short table. A quick search produced mugs, and soon she had produced two frothy flagons of ale. She handed one to the friar.

He sniffed at the surface, inhaling the aromas of hops and oak and honey. With a deep sigh and an even deeper smile, he took a long swallow of the brew. His eyes glazed over with bliss. “Oh yes, this is exactly as I remembered it. I have never tasted such amazing beer. How do you do it?” The pair claimed chairs set under the window and sat down with heavy sighs.

Huddel smiled and took a sip from her mug, ignoring the question. Brewers guarded their secrets with a religious fervour. She sighed with relief. “This has been such a difficult journey. I feared we might not make it.”

“Yes, the roads are especially dangerous this spring. The king sends out regular patrols of knights to keep order, but the bandits seem to be multiplying faster than they can be rounded up. The prisoner cells inside the castle are full.” Huddel’s eyebrow rose in inquiry. “The abbot sends me to take confession from the condemned, especially those accused of magic. Not that we find many of that ilk. Mostly it is just riff-raff, trying to take advantage of the poor.” He took another pull from his glass, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “Uther doesn’t want witches and wizards clogging up the cells, so he moves those trials along quickly. Barely has one pyre burnt out when they are building the next one.” He shook his head, mouth drooping. “Sad business, that. Family accusing family. More often than not, the one accused tells me of an unsettled debt or a love gone astray. Gold and revenge are the most common complaints offered for why they are being framed. Only once did a witch confess to her crime.” He took another sip of the ale, savouring the flavour. “Not sure why I am telling you this. Usually it is I, who does the listening.” He smiled.

Huddel placed a hand on his arm, in comfort. “I do not believe all magic is evil. There are those in my homeland who commune with nature and have a way about them that helps crops to grow. The weather in Northumbria can be quite harsh at times. It is an old magic.”

“Anything that takes the focus away from our Saviour and his sacrifice is a pagan belief and must be halted. It is not so much that what they do is evil, as much as they place their faith and the fate of their soul in a false belief system.” He frowned at Huddel.

“I understand. Will you be teaching the faith here in Camelot?”

“I am often traveling the roads around Camelot, visiting the outlying towns and crossroads. It is my calling to serve the poor.” His expression softened. “Of course, you cannot know of the ways of our Lord at this point. You are new to Camelot.” The friar got to his feet, swaying a little as he plunked down the empty goblet. “I will leave you to unpack. If you have need of anything, just ask in at the kitchens. “

“Thank you, Friar for your kindness.”

Friar Antonio nodded to Huddel then left the cellar, passing Merlin on the stairs. Merlin, a heavy bundle of pale-yellow sticks slung over his shoulder, stood aside to let the friar pass, then made his way back to his mother’s side.

“I have secured straw for bedding. We can stuff our mattresses. There is plenty in the stables, and we are welcome to help ourselves to as much as we need.” He lowered the bundle to the floor.

Huddel opened a crate and pulled out the folded striped ticking, laying them out on the dusty floor. “You are a good son, Merlin. I will start on this, go fetch some more.”

Merlin made three more trips, before they had their mattresses and pillows filled, and laid out on a pair of low bed frames that they discovered, leaning against a far wall in the shadows. Huddel made up the beds with blankets. A bell sounded, ringing out the hour. It pealed twice then went silent.

“I’d like to go and explore the town,” said Merlin, rubbing his arm where the straw had scratched him through the sleeve of his tunic. He picked a few more fibers from the coarse cloth, then ran a hand through his tousled hair, loosening a shower of dust.

“Go.” She waved her son out the door and returned to unpacking. Merlin wasted no time, pausing only to scoop up his satchel and ran up the steps, taking them two at a time.