guests once say that our old King Richard would have been jealous of the lad’s skills, but Queen Eleanor, the Lionheart’s mother, would have made Master Huet a rich man for his songs.”
Thomas did not reply and slowed his pace as he finished with the stall and began to curry the donkey. Soon the stableman was done and offered to complete what the monk had started. Thomas refused, claiming he would be through soon enough, and the man left.
The monk continued to work on the donkey’s coat, a task he usually found both pleasurable and soothing, but this time the work did not keep troubling thoughts from pricking at him.
He had taken an almost instant dislike to Ranulf, and he now condemned himself. The elder son might be made with edges sharp enough to cut anyone who offended him, but wasn’t there merit in that? Surely his unbending spirit also gave him firm direction and method, even if it also rendered him incapable of seeing his failures or listening to different ways of managing the land. Others who had experience in the work knew well enough how to do the tasks required. As the stableman said, all a man had to do was learn how Ranulf thought and discover ways of circumventing his instructions when necessary.
Disliking the intermittent grooming, the donkey flicked his ears and snorted with vexation.
In spite of himself, Thomas laughed and scratched between the donkey’s ears. “As you do well to remind me, even an ass knows how foolish it is to burden competent servants with ignorant masters,” he said, “and strategy without wisdom is as destructive as no objective at all.”
Perhaps he had thoughtlessly found merit in Ranulf’s benighted ways because Huet seemed without any direction. The younger son was a difficult man to comprehend and that unsettled Thomas. Huet was truly as nebulous as a shape-changing imp. He might be charming but he had also demonstrated irresponsibility by showing disrespect for an influential lord who had paid for his education. Why had Huet tossed aside a fine future? For a lute-player’s life? The man must be mad. Or was his witty grace but a thin-coating that hid an evil heart?
Thomas shivered. Maybe the second son truly was a changeling after all and not some gift from a sympathetic God. On the other side of that argument, Huet might also be a good youth who lacked only one wise man to guide him on a more adult path.
He wished he could simply dismiss Huet as a charming and perhaps indolent fellow, but he liked him. Too much. Satan must be making sport again, and he had suffered enough. First, the Prince of Darkness had turned the sweetness of Thomas’ love for Giles into a bitter and earthly Hell. Next, the Evil One destroyed his sleep by sending rampant imps to seduce him into sinful acts, and most recently, at Amesbury, the creature had filled him with lust for another man. No sooner did he recover from the wounds of one encounter then the Devil sent another affliction. Did he not have cause to fear Huet?
He quickly checked the donkey to make sure he had finished with him.
These recent nights had been innocent enough. The two men slept in each other’s arms, nothing more. Thomas, however, had found too much comfort when Huet held him closer and wondered whether the man had really done so just for the greater warmth it provided.
Did Huet know his weakness? Was he using his wiles to seduce Thomas? Or did he hope that giving him such a minor pleasure would distract him from seeing some other evil that Huet had committed? Painful though the recollection might be, Thomas did remember that the man had left the hearth the night Tobye was killed. What he could not recall was exactly when he had disappeared. The absence was far too long for any trip to the privy and long enough to commit murder. But was it early enough to have left a corpse barely stiffened?
He cursed himself. Huet might well be as innocent of evil intent as a babe, while he, an accused sodomite, cloaked the
Thomas did not reply and slowed his pace as he finished with the stall and began to curry the donkey. Soon the stableman was done and offered to complete what the monk had started. Thomas refused, claiming he would be through soon enough, and the man left.
The monk continued to work on the donkey’s coat, a task he usually found both pleasurable and soothing, but this time the work did not keep troubling thoughts from pricking at him.
He had taken an almost instant dislike to Ranulf, and he now condemned himself. The elder son might be made with edges sharp enough to cut anyone who offended him, but wasn’t there merit in that? Surely his unbending spirit also gave him firm direction and method, even if it also rendered him incapable of seeing his failures or listening to different ways of managing the land. Others who had experience in the work knew well enough how to do the tasks required. As the stableman said, all a man had to do was learn how Ranulf thought and discover ways of circumventing his instructions when necessary.
Disliking the intermittent grooming, the donkey flicked his ears and snorted with vexation.
In spite of himself, Thomas laughed and scratched between the donkey’s ears. “As you do well to remind me, even an ass knows how foolish it is to burden competent servants with ignorant masters,” he said, “and strategy without wisdom is as destructive as no objective at all.”
Perhaps he had thoughtlessly found merit in Ranulf’s benighted ways because Huet seemed without any direction. The younger son was a difficult man to comprehend and that unsettled Thomas. Huet was truly as nebulous as a shape-changing imp. He might be charming but he had also demonstrated irresponsibility by showing disrespect for an influential lord who had paid for his education. Why had Huet tossed aside a fine future? For a lute-player’s life? The man must be mad. Or was his witty grace but a thin-coating that hid an evil heart?
Thomas shivered. Maybe the second son truly was a changeling after all and not some gift from a sympathetic God. On the other side of that argument, Huet might also be a good youth who lacked only one wise man to guide him on a more adult path.
He wished he could simply dismiss Huet as a charming and perhaps indolent fellow, but he liked him. Too much. Satan must be making sport again, and he had suffered enough. First, the Prince of Darkness had turned the sweetness of Thomas’ love for Giles into a bitter and earthly Hell. Next, the Evil One destroyed his sleep by sending rampant imps to seduce him into sinful acts, and most recently, at Amesbury, the creature had filled him with lust for another man. No sooner did he recover from the wounds of one encounter then the Devil sent another affliction. Did he not have cause to fear Huet?
He quickly checked the donkey to make sure he had finished with him.
These recent nights had been innocent enough. The two men slept in each other’s arms, nothing more. Thomas, however, had found too much comfort when Huet held him closer and wondered whether the man had really done so just for the greater warmth it provided.
Did Huet know his weakness? Was he using his wiles to seduce Thomas? Or did he hope that giving him such a minor pleasure would distract him from seeing some other evil that Huet had committed? Painful though the recollection might be, Thomas did remember that the man had left the hearth the night Tobye was killed. What he could not recall was exactly when he had disappeared. The absence was far too long for any trip to the privy and long enough to commit murder. But was it early enough to have left a corpse barely stiffened?
He cursed himself. Huet might well be as innocent of evil intent as a babe, while he, an accused sodomite, cloaked the
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