Valley of Dry Bones

Chapter Eleven

Thomas opened his eyes and stared at the pitched roof above his straw bed.

Dust motes drifted about in the fresh sunlight of the new day. From outside, he could hear the musical twittering of birds as they swooped to feast on the many summer insects. Before Father Eliduc’s arrival yesterday, he would have risen with innocent delight, rejoicing in God’s creations. This morning, despondency chained him to his mat.

“Why?” he groaned, unable to even face the altar of the invisible presence he served. “Have I not done this penance? Do I not honor my vows and seek atonement when I fail? Why must I suffer more than other men? Are their sins fewer? Surely the wickedness of some is even more loathsome!” He might have wept, but his melancholy was too great. Thomas turned over on his side, dug his fingers into the earth, and willed himself to lie utterly still.

As Anchoress Juliana once promised him, Thomas did learn, during these months as a hermit, that a little peace and the occasional revelation could be discovered in silence. Lying motionless and without thought, he felt an easing of the crushing weight on his heart and then enough strength to stand. Rising, he tightened the rope he wore around his robe and turned to face the altar.

Sunlight now warmed his back. The chirping birds sounded impatient, demanding that he get on with his day so their fowl-worthy labor might not be unduly disturbed by his traipsing about. Without giving voice to his prayers, he bowed his head for a few moments and then stepped out into the world.

A few feet from the hut, he hesitated, believing he had seen movement in the brush near the road. “Nute?” he called out.

There was no reply.

“You need not fear me. Ask your mistress, if you doubt it. She will confirm I am no monster and you have no cause to flee.”

Once again, there was no response.

He was saddened that Nute hid from him, while understanding all too well why the orphan child was wary. When he was even younger than this boy, Thomas’ own mother had died, and he had been left beset by dreadful fears, both in his waking hours and in his dreams.

“At least you have Signy to care for you, as I had my father’s cook,” he murmured. A woman with soft arms and a good heart could do much to soothe the inexpressible anguish of a child whose mother was buried in the earth.

Thomas shook off the thoughts. Since he was later in his rising, he suspected that the boy must have been waiting to see him depart before leaving the basket and jug. Not wanting to delay Nute any longer, the monk quickly turned toward the narrow path leading down to the pond.

The exercise of swimming should help rebalance his humors. Looking at the drying grass, he thought it a pity the earlier light rain had cooled the air so little.

Gently pushing branches aside on the descent, Thomas felt his spirits firmly brighten. Perhaps God did not hate him, he decided with renewed confidence. “Did you not test Job, a much beloved servant, far more than other mortals?” Then afraid he had been arrogant to suggest he might resemble that exemplary man of faith, he added, “Not that I am as good as he.”

Considering the pain suffered by Job, faith and patience might not be the only lessons taught in the story. God could use unease, doubt, or even anguish like a cowherd did his goad to make a man change or question his direction if such were necessary. There was more than one similarity between himself and an ox, Thomas concluded. God might well have to goad him.

Pausing to stare through the tree tops with their halo of sunlight, the monk knew he must decide what he should do next. He could not continue to loudly spew questions at God without listening for the small voice whispering answers.

As he continued, wary of his footing on the steep path, he grew convinced that change was due. Enough signs were there. Not only did Ralf visit for the first time in months, but Father Eliduc had arrived in the priory. That coincidence of events caught his attention, even if he did not understand their precise significance. He vowed again to consult Brother John.

As often as he cursed Father Eliduc, his visits also meant adventures for Thomas, times he enjoyed. Although he had hated Tyndal Priory when he first arrived, he found friendship here, with Crowner Ralf and Sister Anne in particular, and some purpose comforting the sick at the hospital or in the village. Maybe he could finally find contentment as a monk in this Order of Fontevraud. Even serving a woman had taught him a little humility, and Thomas knew how easily a man fell into sinful pride. All these things must be taken into account in his choice.

For cert, he could not remain a hermit. He was no holy man. No longer could he tolerate visitors at his door, begging for his touch that they might be healed. Even though he sent them to Sister Anne and Sister Christina at the priory hospital, the look in their eyes as they gazed on him both horrified and brought him evil dreams.

“I am committing blasphemy by staying here,” he whispered, then willed these thoughts aside as he reached the path’s end.

The pond was just a few steps away, and he eagerly pulled his robe over his head. For just a moment, he shut his eyes and stood still, letting the sun warm his body before he plunged into the glinting water. His fear of Father Eliduc and all his other torments diminished.

Then he smelled an unsettling odor and opened his eyes. Clouds of hungry flies caught his attention. All newborn serenity faded when he saw the cause.

A twisted body lay under the bush to his left.

Thomas knew the man was dead.