The Breath of Peace by Penelope Wilcock Page B

ill-suited role as prior. Would he be any good as a cellarer? Chad was meticulous – fussy even, at times – dedicated, hard-working, dutiful. Not especially imaginative. Mild in his manner. He had been part of the community since forever, which was good. As prior, he had been privy to every decision made in the last two decades or so – except those decisions that William had re-assigned to himself without asking anyone during his brief and eventful stay in their midst. Chad, then? Was it right? Was it? John felt paralysed. He could not afford to make a mistake here. And who would stand in as prior?
    â€˜Should I ask the community, at Chapter?’ he asked aloud. Brother Tom had finished all that needed doing in his abbot’s house, but he was lingering, making himself look busy, cleaning things twice, because he had an idea his superior might welcome a listening ear and a second mind on the problem.
    In response to this question Tom came, the small brush and shovel for the ashes still in his hands, to stand opposite his abbot, facing him across the cluttered oak table.
    â€˜I see where you’re coming from,’ he said, ‘but whatever you decide on this one, I would counsel you to tell them, not ask them. In every community there are men who think a question is an invitation to object. No conversation is nicely rounded off for them without a winner and a loser. Even here. The way I see it, Father, is you don’t have too many options. If you put the one solution you have up for grabs and have to sit and watch men evil-tempered with cold and dark tear it to shreds, what will your next proposal be? You haven’t got one. It’s fair to tell ’em if you mean to bring William back here – but tell them, don’t ask. But before you do that, go and see him. He may have better ideas of his own than you or me. I hope I’m not speaking out of turn.’
    John stared at Tom in an agony of indecision. Brother Tom waited a moment lest he be further required, then turned away quietly and returned to the careful and meticulous sweeping of hearth and chimney stones.
    John sat, twisting his lips between thumb and forefinger, calculating risks and advisabilities, and seeing no new options emerge.
    â€˜I’ll go and see him,’ he concluded finally. ‘I just don’t know what else to do. Will you ask Brother Peter to get Bess ready? She’s not had much exercise through the winter – tell him not to worry, I’m not going far and I won’t ride her hard. I’ll ask Father Chad to look after the office for me, and set off directly.’
    And so it was that, just shy of noon, William, sitting at the table under the window with their household account books working out how much of a dent in their budget the hire of a ploughboy would make, and Madeleine, spinning at the fireside, caught the sharp ring of a horse’s shod hooves against the stones in the lane. Both paused in their tasks as they heard the thud of iron on wood that meant the gate latch had flicked over, and realized the rider had turned into their yard. William lifted his head.
    â€˜Expecting anyone?’
    â€˜Nay – I thought you must be.’
    They listened to the silence as the rider dismounted, the metallic thud of the gate latch dropping back into place, and the slow clop of the horse now led across the flagged yard, then both of them abandoned their tasks and went to the door.
    â€˜Adam! Adam!’ After a brief hiatus of astonishment Madeleine closed the gap between herself and her brother in a racing whirl of skirts and flung her arms around him. ‘Oh, how wonderful to see you! And how strange that you came just now – I’ve been missing you. William and I were only talking about it a day or so back – I’ve been thinking to make my way up to the abbey for a visit – and now here you are! Oh, I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you