Sanctity of Hate

33

Thomas stood at the edge of the meadow and looked at Brother Gwydo’s bee skeps. The two damaged by Oseberne lay deserted on the ground. Perhaps those bees had found a liege lord in another skep, or so he hoped. That they might have suffered because a cruel man committed a thoughtless act was an idea he could not bear.

He shut his eyes, lifted his face to the sun, and listened to the sounds of living things. Were he inclined to idle dreams, he might have imagined that the world just heaved a sigh, grateful that the killing was over. He wondered if it also regretted the death of a kind man, one who had turned away from bloodshed and longed for a quiet life.

But did violence ever end, even on lands placed under God’s rule? Tyndal Priory had suffered its own share of murders from the first day he had come here. In his darkest hours of melancholy, he feared he had brought the pale horseman with him like some plague. Yet Prioress Eleanor had arrived shortly before him, and all knew that unlawful Death was no boon companion of hers.

Opening his eyes to escape back into the sunlight, he rubbed the sleeve of his robe across his cheeks. They were damp with tears.

“You are sad, Brother.”

Turning around, he saw Tostig just a few feet behind him.

“Only pensive,” Thomas replied with a reassuring smile.

The man knelt and stretched his hands out to the monk. “You saved my beloved sister, Brother. I shall always remain in your debt for that gift.”

“We must both thank God for guiding me there,” Thomas replied and begged Tostig to stand. “I can claim no greater virtue than to have been His instrument in that moment.”

“Then what offering may I give Him in thanks?” Tostig looked around as if the answer might appear before him. “However inadequate, something is required. A sister owns a place in any brother’s heart, but Gytha has been like my own child.”

Thomas did not know Tostig well, but he had heard that the Saxon was a man who rarely revealed his thoughts and never his emotions. Hearing the man’s voice shake, the monk realized just how deep his devotion to his sister was. Perhaps he could offer a suggestion, one that might permit two people, for whom he cared as well, some happiness.

“You might forgive our crowner for speaking in a manner he profoundly regrets,” Thomas said. From Prioress Eleanor he had learned that Gytha had not visited the crowner, as was her former wont, and that Tostig knew the reason for this change. “Had he not put his own life at risk, I would not have been quick enough to save your sister’s.”

Tostig did not smile, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “To forgive or not remains my sister’s choice. As for me, I have known the man too long. His heart and his mouth are often at odds, and the latter does not always express his better nature. I shall speak on his behalf to her, but doing so is a small thing and not worthy enough of my gratitude to God.”

“Then I can only suggest that you consult our prioress.”

“I am unable to match what the baker offered, and I know how deeply Sub-Prioress Ruth must regret the lost altar candlestick. Sadly, I own no gold.”

“Oseberne’s wealth was stolen. Prioress Eleanor has refused to accept anything he once touched. Whatever you offer is an honorable gift.”

Tostig stiffened. “A Saxon is allowed to claim honor in a world ruled by Normans?” Then he flushed. “Forgive me, Brother. That is an ancestral wound which refuses to heal, but I should not have allowed its stench to pollute holy air. I did not mean to offend. As you surely know, I hold both you and your prioress in the greatest esteem.”

“She knows that well, Tostig. As for me, I am told that my mother was not of Norman birth. If so, then only half of me might be offended, and that half swore to follow the teaching of one who forgave all, even the Romans who killed him. Shall I do less over a matter that is so trifling in comparison?”

“You are a good man, Brother Thomas.” Then he looked away for a moment before facing the monk again with a puzzled expression. “I long for wisdom on another matter. May I ask your advice?”

Thomas nodded.

“Jacob ben Asser and I found we owned much common ground while he was imprisoned in my house. Is it odd, or even sinful, that one of his faith and one of mine could do so?”

Thomas turned thoughtful. “I found him to be a good man, one who, like you, has valid grievances in this world ruled by others of different heritage and, in his case, faith. Yet he loves his family and cheerfully greets those who approach him with good will, much as you do yourself.” He stopped for a moment, faced with his own, sudden and turbulent, whirlpool of unformed questions. Pushing them aside, he gave Tostig the reply that would most ease the man’s troubling doubts. “That you both felt kinship is not surprising, but I think God had a hand in this. While others of our faith threatened his family with cruel murder, you showed him the compassion that our Messiah taught us to practice. Your example may one day bring him to salvation.”

“I shall find comfort in that, Brother.” Tostig looked relieved. “He and I did speak of cooperating in a wool venture. If I can purchase the needed sheep and should he leave England, I will have an honest representative…”

Tostig continued, but Thomas drifted into his own perplexed musings. Ben Asser was a virtuous man, loving and caring to his wife and mother-in-law. He might have been angered by the insults and acts of Kenelm and Adelard, but he had truly turned the other cheek, despite all provocations. How was it possible that a Jew be more righteous than a Christian? The difference, of course, was in the acceptance of the Messiah, but scripture also made it clear that God had not abandoned those He had first chosen as His beloved people. Thomas was baffled.

Furtively, he glanced upward, directing the problem to God and was greeted with heavy silence. The monk sighed. His list of unanswered questions was growing longer, but God had never shown displeasure with the asking. On occasion, and in His own time, He had even replied.

Suddenly, Thomas was aware that his companion had stopped talking.

Gytha’s brother was grinning at him.

“Forgive me,” the monk said.

“I had just said that I know someone knowledgeable about bees, Brother. If I pay his wages, do you think your prioress will accept that from me as gratitude for my sister’s life?”

Thomas almost said that his prioress was just as thankful that Gytha was not dead, but he knew the man needed to proffer this gift. So he swore to bring the proposal to Prioress Eleanor and said he thought she would be pleased.

Tostig brightened, thanked the monk, and left, walking through the meadow where the bees let him pass in peace amongst them.

“I have no reason to be here,” Thomas murmured.

Turning from the place where Oseberne had died, Thomas walked back to the path that led from mill gate to the monks’ quarters. Sorrow lashed at him. His friendship with Brother Gwydo had begun but a short time ago when he first heard the lay brother sing, but he had found a rare comfort in the man’s company from the beginning. Not only would he miss one who was good even to God’s small creatures, but he grieved that he could never know such a man better.

When tears once again stung his eyes, Thomas did not stop them from flowing down his cheeks.