Please refer to Author Notes to learn more about unfamiliar terms  or concepts 

Note: This story is beginning to follow the actual history of this place…not good. 

 Previously: There appears to be great discord with the Abbot, his two assistants and some other person or persons. Whomever it was, they physically harmed Brother Roger. Hopefully they will have more explanation about what is going on.

In addition to the shouting performance reminiscent of what we heard on the occasion of Abraham’s confinement, there are the sounds of objects being thrown and bashed against stone walls.

Though Abraham, our favorite brother was being termed a lying heretic, there was never any indication that Abbot Richard had become this incensed. 

I’m wondering if there is a connection between Brother Roger’s beaten-up condition and the uneasiness I witnessed a few days ago on our free day. Is this what they were fearing. Do they have secret fears of something happening to them? 

Days passed and all three brothers, Richard, John and Roger are among the missing. We are sheep without a shepherd, feeling like lost lambs. Out of habit, we manage to continue to run the routines of the day. 

Nothing is forgotten. It is weird how we still keep silence, with the reader hypnotically giving us the Rule of Benedict in monotone. No one says anything, but I am sure our anxiety level is escalating with each hour that the unknown looms over our heads, which incidentally, I hope we can keep.

I detect a sigh of mixed emotions as each of the big three, Abbot Richard and Brother John followed by Roger whose left eye is betraying an ugly shiner, are all back at the head of our table. It feels like the spiral of life may be tilting closer to a balanced position.

With the usual required silence, we make an attempt to eat, to digest everything. The ferns in the soup seem to have been imbued with even greater bitterness. Ah well, more  penance yields more money. 

There will be a villager who will knock on the front door to donate money for our suffering. I wonder if there might be a bonus if they knew about Brother Roger’s near inability to move, due to some beating involving our money. 

I notice the fingers of his left hand are wound with large leaves. I guess they haven’t discovered gauze yet. My imagination is drawn to the movies and darts away, as I review, how the fingers are affected as a result of torture.    

I assume Brother Roger left here willingly. Who did he meet up with? Was it someone who just wanted to get points for abducting and torturing a short-statured, roly-poly, monk? I somehow don’t think any townsfolk are responsible for his close scrape with death.

In anticipation, I watch and listen to the Abbot, slurp by slurp and bite by bite as his bowl empties. As the moment for our dismissal arrives, he breaks with protocol and speaks.   

With a quivering voice, he commends us for carrying on without his guided instructions for the day. In the same breath, we are instructed to automatically resume our work assignments on schedule.

I am about to protest in my muttering mind at being left out in the dark, when he speaks a second time.  His whole being shakes as he stumbles through his instructions, “We h..have ssome very imp…portant matters to discuss.  We’ll forego Sect prayer and the kitchener is informed our noon meal may be delayed. It will be acceptable if None prayer time is waived.  Alright, be about your day’s labors, bells will ring in a short while for Terce. I will see you here in the refectory after Mass.

**********

Following Mass as instructed, we all file into the refectory or dining room. The tension in this room could be carved up with a fish flaying knife as we wait the  Abbot’s arrival at his spot at the head of our refectory table. There is much shifting of postures on the benches.  The brothers are doing their best to keep silence, however, if facial expressions made noise, there would be high-pitched cacophony.

Here he comes. We all sit rigidly at attention. What is Abbot Richard going to tell us? Hopefully, we will find out what happened to Brother Roger, who is here too. He looks like he could use some serious painkillers, possibly opium, a popular pain duller in this era. 

However, he doesn’t look like he is managing his pain at all. Ooof. It occurs to me, he is suffering for others and will bring in several shiny shillings for the sovereign pontiff or Pope. 

It’s papal property if he just takes charge. Who will win out? He or the King? And will we the unimportant monks become involved? Or will it just concern the higher up? We shall find out. Everyone is settled in as Abbot Richard begins speaking. 

Rubbing his forehead, he appears to be summing up courage to continue. “I will not mince words. As you have observed, our dear Brother Roger, my attache’ was away for a while and returned in a ragged condition.

An audible sigh prefaces the Abbot’s resuming. “We received notice that we are to close this Monastery. There are to be no more monasteries operating in England by word of King Henry the VIII with the Pope’s putrid permission.” Wooden bowls rock as he pounds the table, punctuating the power of the word ‘putrid’.