Schultz Plagues and Princes

The One True Prince
1. Auflage 2019
ISBN: 978-1-5439-6414-1
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 272 Seiten

Having survived the Great Mortality, Thomas de Parr hopes the communal solitude sought by the monks of Tintern Abbey will help cure his troubled soul. Yet finding that elusive state proves more challenging than Thomas could ever imagine. Lured into the company of an evil man, Thomas soon finds himself a pawn in other men's lust for revenge, power, and money. His only salvation is to follow an unfolding destiny that will change the lives of countless thousands.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Schultz, Thomas

Leseproben

Chapter TWO Tintern Abbey, Wales, December 9, 1348 Thomas hurried along the covered walkway to the main cloister as monks gathered outside the refectory, their black scapulars drawn up to protect their tonsured heads. Hidden faces shot blasts of fog into the frosty air in a display that reminded Thomas of dancing minstrels. Abbot Samuel insisted Thomas join the brothers for their daily meal and scripture readings during the forty days of St. Martin. “You must consider carefully God’s holy word in order to cure your troubled mind,” Abbot Samuel had said. After the last monk passed through the arched doors, Thomas entered the hall. Two rows of trestle tables with benches on the side facing the long walls lined the length of the room. Abbot Samuel sat with other senior monks on a raised dais at the far end, framed by a backdrop of decorative columns. A fresh layer of rushes provided a measure of insulation from the chill of the stone floor. The dusty smell mingled with the pleasant aroma of fresh, dark bread and cooked vegetables. Serving tables to his left held the meal selections. Thomas scooped a ladleful of steaming vegetable soup into a wooden bowl and balanced a biscuit on the rim. At the next table, he filled another bowl with a portion of thick, cream-colored pottage mixed with chunks of carrots, turnips and parsnips. His mug and spoon were already placed at his usual spot near the pantry door. While he waited for the reading to begin, he filled his mug with ale and snuck a sip of soup. Abbot Michael had said to savor the words and not the food. When Abbot Samuel became abbot and ended his service in the kitchen, savoring the words spoken rather than the food eaten proved to be an easy task. Today, Brother Jeremiah climbed the stairs inside the west wall to read from the balcony overlooking the gathered monks. After everyone recited the Lord’s Prayer, Brother Jeremiah said, “Let us continue with the eighth chapter of the Book of Tobit.” Thomas cringed and shut his ears to Brother Jeremiah’s squeaky voice as the words in Lord Sleaford’s message echoed in his mind. “Your sons, William and Thomas, are in grave danger.” He shuddered at the mysterious meaning. After the meal, Thomas helped in the kitchen where he could stay warm. This week, Brother Aldwin was responsible for supervising the kitchen. Thomas spent much of the previous spring and early summer at odds with Brother Aldwin over the art of gardening. After the disastrous murder of innocent carrots, Thomas thought Brother Aldwin would never again want to work with him. “I need for you to clean and cut these vegetables,” Brother Aldwin said. Thomas dumped the carrots and turnips into a rundlet filled with water and stirred them with an iron poker to loosen the dirt and sand. He piled the cleaned root vegetables on the old table that stood in the center of the high, vaulted room, carefully cut off the ends, scraped or cut away any bits that looked irregular, and chopped what was left into smaller pieces. He piled the good parts into serving bowls. Abbot Samuel would have never cooked vegetables the day before a meal. Now it made sense to him why everything tasted like mushy peas when Brother Aldwin took charge. “Thomas, you cannot put those scraps in the drain. Do I have to watch you all the time?” “No, Brother Aldwin.” “I hope you prepared those vegetables better than you cared for them while they were in the ground.” One of the lay brothers ran into the kitchen, looked around, then dashed away. A short while later, he returned. “Excuse me, Brother Aldwin. There’s a man at the porch who says he has turnips to sell. Would you speak with him? Brother Peter’s nowhere to be found.” “I am not the cellarer. Did you look for him in the warming house?” “Yes. Brother Peter’s not there.” “Very well. Thomas, keep watch over this soup and do not let it boil over. Swing the pot away from the fire if it gets too hot.” Thomas thought about adding another log, but then realized his own future meal would be in peril if he scorched the vegetables. He took a deep breath and slowly stirred the soup with an over-sized wooden spoon, thankful to be standing near a fire. He expected to be scolded for something when Brother Aldwin returned. The hanging cauldron, supported by an iron arm longer than his and blackened by constant exposure to smoke and flame, creaked on its hook as he stirred the broth. The massive fireplace could easily accommodate logs as long as Thomas was tall. Heat generated by the fire made his clothes feel hot to the touch. He ran his hand over the soft woolen tunic Robert had brought. The finely stitched fabric was his favorite dark-blue. His breeches were of the same soft wool and dyed a shade of brown like polished walnut, a comfortable improvement to the rough and shabby pair he usually wore. Steam rose from the bubbling brew. Soggy pieces of leek and dried peas as hard as pebbles swirled in the broth. He scooped a spoonful of the hot liquid and blew on it before tasting the mixture. The flavor lacked anything identifiable; only the sweet smell of leek hinted at the ingredients. When he jabbed at a piece of carrot, it disintegrated to mush. On the shelf to the right of the door into the lay brother’s refectory, Thomas spied the jugs of herbs Abbot Samuel kept. He climbed onto a cabinet to better reach the selection of unmarked, covered containers. He sniffed for the one with the earthy aroma of dried sage and added a handful of leaves to the pot. After a good chase of the spoon around the edges, he took another sip and wrinkled his nose. “Needs something else.” He kept stirring as he tried to think what Isabel might have added to improve the taste. Thinking of Isabel turned out to be a bad idea. An intense pain struck his chest as he pictured Isabel’s shroud-covered body lying at the bottom of her grave. “Why can I not forget?” “Forget what?” Brother Aldwin asked. Thomas jumped and dropped the spoon into the cauldron. “I’m sorry, Brother Aldwin. Greetings, Andrew.” Brother Aldwin scowled. “Andrew, please check our wood supply in the yard. I will mind the soup now.” He waved Thomas away, fished the spoon out of the pot with a ladle, and tasted his concoction. “Hmmm, this is good.” “Brother Aldwin,” Andrew said. “If you can do without Thomas for a while, I could use his help.” Without looking up from his soup, Brother Aldwin said, “Yes. You may go.” “Now?” Thomas asked. He glanced at the fire. Andrew returned a stern look. “Where’re we going?” Thomas shivered, but donned his cap and cloak and followed. Andrew led them through the yard behind the kitchen to an open area beside the sandstone walls of the monk’s refectory. He looked around and said, “You must be careful. You mumble too loud, sometimes. Not everyone understands.” “What?” “You were thinking of Isabel again.” Thomas’s gaze fell to his feet. “The thoughts just pop into my head.” “You need to think of other things.” “I miss her.” Andrew put his hands on Thomas’s shoulders and looked into his sad, blue eyes. Thomas recoiled. His face distorted, he shouted, “What do you know of the pain I’ve suffered?” “There’s no need to get upset.” “If I’m upset, it’s because you keep telling me I should be happy. I’m not. It hurts to think about them. And when I don’t, I’m afraid I’ll forget what they look like. I stare at the sky trying to remember their faces, the color of Isabel’s eyes.” “Help me to understand.” “How can you understand?” Thomas clenched his fists. “You’ve never lost anyone close to you.” “I loved Abbot Michael as much as you did.” Thomas shook his head. “That’s not the same.” “I never said it was. You’re the only family I’ve truly known. When I hear you shout out in your sleep, I don’t know what to do. I want to help.” “You can’t help me. Leave me alone.” Thomas ran toward the great hall, his cloak flapping like an angry bird. Stale and lifeless air confronted Thomas as he entered the small chamber off the great hall. An empty bed, a narrow chest, and a desk with a wobbly wooden stool beckoned for attention. He had avoided his room for over a month, ever since the terrible dreams stole his peace of mind. He feared his memories but didn’t want to forget. Now, another worry fought for attention; an unknown danger. His thoughts lost focus. Life whirled around him and he didn’t know how to make it stop. Every muscle twitched. He replayed the intense dream he had before he overcame the power of the insatiable pestilence. He pictured his father, Abbot Michael, William, and Isabel standing behind him as he...