In the vegetable gardens, he checked how well the brothers were keeping the rabbits away from the tender shoots. Then he skirted the goat meadow to inspect his favorite building, the Scriptorium, where Paulinus was presiding over six ministers hunched at tables, making fine copies of The Rule of St. Benedict and the Holy Bible.
Josephus loved this chamber above all because of its silence and the nobleness of the vocation that was practiced within, and also because he found Paulinus to be pious and learned to a fault. If there were a question on the heavens or the seasons or any natural phenomenon, then Paulinus was ready with a thorough, patient, and correct interpretation. Idle conversation was frowned upon by the abbot, but Paulinus was an excellent source of purposeful discourse, which Josephus greatly valued.
The prior crept into the Scriptorium, taking great care not to interrupt the concentration of the copyists. The only sounds were the quills pleasantly scratching on vellum. He nodded to Paulinus, who acknowledged him with a hint of a smile. A greater show of camaraderie would not have been appropriate, as outward displays of affection were reserved for the Lord. Paulinus gestured him outside with the crook of his finger.
“Good day to you, Brother,” Josephus said, squinting in the midday glare.
“And also to you.” Paulinus looked worried. “So, tomorrow is the day of reckoning,” he whispered.
“Yes, yes,” Josephus agreed. “It has finally come.”
“Last night I watched the comet for a long while.”
“And?”
“As midnight approached its beam became bright and red. The color of blood.”
“What does this mean?”
“I believe it to be an ominous sign.”
“I have heard the woman has begun her labor,” Josephus offered hopefully.
Paulinus folded his arms tightly across his habit and pursed his lips dismissively. “And you suppose that because she has given birth nine times before, this child will be delivered to the world quickly? On the sixth day of the month rather than the seventh?”
“Well, one might hope so,” Josephus said.
“It was the color of blood,” Paulinus insisted.
The sun was getting high, and Josephus made haste to complete his circuit before the community assembled back in the Sanctuary for prayers at Sext. He rushed past the Sisters’ Dormitory and entered the Chapter House, where the rows of pine benches were empty, awaiting the appointed hour when the abbot would read a chapter of The Rule of St. Benedict to the assembled community. A sparrow had gotten in and was urgently flapping overhead, so he left the doors open in hopes it would find its freedom. At the rear of the house he rapped his knuckles on the entrance to the adjoining private chamber of the abbot.
Oswyn was sitting at the study table, his head hovering over his Bible. Golden shafts of light shone through the glazed windows and struck the table in a perfect angle to make the holy book appear to be glowing fiery orange. Oswyn straightened himself enough to make eye contact with his prior. “Ah, Josephus. How are things at the abbey today?”
“They are well, Father.”
“And what progress on our church, Josephus? How is the second arch on the eastern wall?”
“The arch is nearing completion. However, Ubertus the stonecutter is absent today.”
“Is he not well?”
“No, his wife has begun her labor.”
“Ah, yes. I recall.” He waited for his prior to say something more, but Josephus remained silent. “You are concerned by this birth?”
“It is perhaps inauspicious.”
“The Lord will protect us, Prior Josephus. Of this, you can be assured.”
“Yes, Father. I was wondering, nevertheless, whether I should venture to the village.”
“Toward what end?” Oswyn asked sharply.
“In the event a minister is required,” Josephus said meekly.
“You know my views on leaving the cloisters. We are servants of Christ, Josephus, not servants of man.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Have the villagers sought us out?”
“No, Father.”
“Then I would discourage your involvement.” He pushed his bent body up from the chair. “Now, let us go to Sext and let us join with our brothers and sisters to praise the Lord.”
Vespers, the sunset Evening Office, was Josephus’s dearest of the day since the abbot allowed Sister Magdalena to play the psaltery as accompaniment to their prayers. Her long fingers plucked the lute’s ten strings, and the perfection of pitch and precision of cadence were testament, he was sure, to the magnificence of Christ Almighty.
After the service, the brothers and sisters filed out of the Sanctuary and made toward their respective dormitories, past the blocks of stone, rubble, and the scaffolding left for the day by the Italians. In his cell, Josephus tried to clear his mind for a period of contemplation but was distracted by small sounds in the distance. Was someone approaching the walls? Was news of the birth forthcoming? At any moment he half expected the guest bell to be rung.
Before he knew it, Compline was upon him and it was time to reconvene in the church for the last service of the day. Because of his preoccupations, his meditation had been unsuccessful, and for this transgression he prayed for forgiveness. When the last strains of the last chant were uttered, he watched the abbot carefully descending from the high altar and thought that Oswyn had never appeared older or more frail.
Josephus slept fitfully, roiled by disturbing dreams of bloodred comets and infants with glowing red eyes. In his dream, people were gathering in a village square, summoned by a bell ringer with one strong arm and one withered one. The bell ringer was distraught and sobbing, and then, in a start, Josephus awoke and realized the man was Oswyn.
Someone was thumping at his door.
“Yes?”
From the other side of the door he heard a young voice. “Prior Josephus, I am sorry to wake you.”
“Enter.”
It was Theodore, a novice who was charged this night with attending the gatehouse.
“Julianus, the son of Ubertus the stonecutter, has come. He pleads that you go with him to his father’s cottage. His mother is having a hard labor and may not survive.”
“The child has not yet been born?”
“No, Father.”
“What hour is it, my son?” Josephus swung his feet onto the floor and rubbed his eyes.
“The eleventh.”
“Then it will soon be the seventh day.”
The path to the village was rutted from the wheels of ox-carts, and in the moonless dark Josephus almost turned his ankles. He labored to keep up with the long sure strides of Julianus so he could more readily follow the lad’s hulking black shape and stay on the path. The cool light wind carried the sounds of chirping crickets and calling gulls. Ordinarily, Josephus would have relished this night music, but tonight he hardly noticed.
As they neared the first cottage of the stonecutters’ village, Josephus heard the bell ringing back at the abbey, the call for the Night Office.
Midnight.
Oswyn would be told of his foray, and Josephus was quite sure he would not be pleased.
Being the middle of the night, the village was eerily active. In the distance Josephus could see oil lamps glowing from open doors of tiny thatched cottages and torches moving up and down the lane, signs of people out and about. As he drew closer it was clear that the center of activity was Ubertus’s cottage. Villagers milled outside it, their torches casting fantastic elongated shadows. Three men were crowding the door, peering in, their backs forming a phalanx blocking the entrance. Josephus overheard feverish chattering in Italian and snippets of Latin prayer the stonecutters had overheard in the church and stolen like magpies.