"A monk may go back to the daily life, then, and take a wife?"
"Aye, and rear children; many of those whom we call Brother may leave the order at any time. A man may be a husband and father and still be a deacon, lad; his service to the Church is second to that to his family. Yet many a brother will remain with the order his whole life, and never take final vows; 'tis simply that he doth not feel himself strong enough for the responsibility of the Mass, nor worthy to hold the Eucharist. Naetheless, some of those number wrought miracles by their holiness and, we have good cause to think, bask now in Heaven."
Gregory said slowly, "How doth it come, then, for a lad such as myself to know his vocation?"
"Thou canst not till thou art older; the age is eighteen, for our order. Till then, thou must needs bide and live as holy a life as thou mayest, and do all that thou canst for thy fellows."
Gregory nodded. "Prayer, fasting, and good works."
"Thou must not fast till thou art fourteen, and then but once a month, and only from dawn till dark." Father Boquilva wore no smile now. "This is thy first test: obedience. If thou canst not live by this command, thou hast not the makings of a monk within thee."
"I shall obey," Gregory said quickly, and Rod breathed a sigh of relief, combined with gratitude to Father Boquilva. Fasting, taken to the extremes which zeal made possible, could have ruined the boy's health.
He was amazed to realize Gregory was capable of such dedication. His gentle, thoughtful child—where had this fanaticism come from? With an uneasy prickle of conscience, he remembered certain excesses of fervor from his own adolescence—but the boy was only seven!
"But how when I am eighteen. Father?"
Boquilva nodded. "Then thou mayest go to the House of St. Vidicon in…"A shadow crossed his face. "Or mayhap thou shalt come here." He shrugged off the mood. "No matter."
But it did, to Rod. He took note that Boquilva regretted leaving the monastery. It spoke well of the man, that he had summoned the strength to do what he thought right, even though he hadn't wanted to; but it was also a source of weakness for the King's cause. What would happen if the Runnymede monks became pivotal in the current crisis, and became so filled with remorse that they decided to go back to their brothers and Abbot?
Rod decided to make sure they wouldn't become pivotal.
"And what shall I do there?"
"Thou shalt try thy vocation. We call such a young man, who cometh to discover whether or not he should be a monk, a 'postulant.' Thou wilt live the life of a monk in all ways save the performance of holy offices, and if, after a year spent thus, thou dost still wish to be a monk, thou wilt be tested, to say if thou art the stuff of which monks are made, or hast the strength to be a priest in a parish."
Rod perked up his ears; this was new. He'd never heard of a monastery testing for those qualities before.
Gregory frowned. " 'Tis toward the monastery that I feel the pull."
Father Boquilva nodded. "Many do, but have not the… talent for it, the qualities, the… different sort of strength required. In this must thou trust in the judgment of thy seniors, and abide by their decision. Naetheless, some find themselves unable to, and return to the world."
Rod frowned, wondering what sort of qualities differed monk material from parish priest. The ability to do research? Even in a medieval society, was it publish or parish?
"Yet where shall I go if thou dost think me destined to be a parish priest?"
"There are two parts to the House of St. Vidicon," Father Bolquilva explained, "the cloister, for those who will become monks, and the seminary, for those whose call is toward the parish. The two pray together, and sing together in choir, yet have little other contact."
Gregory asked, "And if, even told I must go to a parish, I still wish to serve God as a priest—what then?"
"Thou shalt proceed as thou hadst, in fasting, prayer, study, and labor—though there is less of that last for the seminarians; there will be labor enough in their parish lives, and they must learn in only a few years that which will fill a monk's lifetime; a seminarian must heed his books, that he may not preach errors when he hath his own parish."
"Nay, certes." Gregory frowned, nodding. "I had not thought that—but any priest must needs be a scholar of sorts, must he not?" And when Father Boquilva agreed, he said, "Mayhap I have such a calling. Yet how if I have not? How if I am to be a monk?"
"Then mayest thou take the vow of a sexton, and become a monk in earnest."
"Thereupon the cloister will be mine whole life?" Gregory asked, wide-eyed, and his voice sank to a whisper. "I will never go out therefrom, never gaze upon a lass or a knight, never again see my family?"
Rod felt a stab of apprehension, and nearly yanked the boy off his bench and bolted; but Father Boquilva said, "Nay. Thou wilt go out anon and again; our monks have ever journeyed to visit with their folk from time to time, commonly twice in a year—save, of course, those who have been brought to us as orphans. And, now and again, our services are needed."
Rod missed Gregory's next question and the answer, because inspiration struck with a blinding flash. So the monks were allowed to go home and visit from time to time, were they? Then the monastery wasn't completely cut off from the rest of the world! There was a channel of communication available!
He came out of the daze as Father Boquilva was saying, "Well, more questions will come, be sure. When they do, thou art welcome among us—yet I prithee, bring always thy father." He turned to smile at Rod. "I believe he hath need of it!"
"Oh, yes! You never know what you can get from a visit to a monastery!" Rod rose, reaching out to shake Father Boquilva's hand. "It's been great talking to you, Father! I tell you, you're sending me back out into the world with renewed energy and vigor!"
"Why, thus would I hope the cloister may ever do, for the faithful," Father Boquilva returned, "yet I own I have never seen it work so quickly. Art certain thou hast no need for a longer retreat?"
"No, I'd say I'm in the mood for a challenge. It's time to press forward—I might even say, charge!" He took Gregory by the hand and turned away to the door. "Come on, son, we've got to hurry and get your big brother moving."
"But he hath no call!"
"He's about to get one, and he darned well better answer!"
Chapter Nine
"Oh, Milord Abbot!" The Baroness hurried over as the Abbot stepped into the room, lowering his cowl to reveal hair plastered against his head. "I had not meant for thee to come on so foul a night!"
The Abbot looked up in surprise, displeased. "Thy message, milady, spoke of urgent need."
"And so it is, so it is! Yet tomorrow would have been soon enough. Oh, poor man! Come, come stand by the fire! Mayrose, pour brandy wine! Adam, move a chair to the hearth!"
"Nay, I am not so wetted as that." The Abbot pulled off his monk's robe, revealing another beneath it. "When I saw the rain, I took a larger robe for a cover." But the inner robe was damp, too, and as the clergyman stepped in front of the flames, he steamed. Still, the look in his eye as Lady Mayrose handed him a goblet said he did not regret the trip. Indeed, there was a haunted hunger there.