The Two Confessions John Whitbourn (best books for students to read txt) 📖

Justas they could compel him to go behind Lewes Priory’s high walls. And staythere. Forever.

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THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 2037

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cHAPTER 10

Quite understandably,'lay-brother Trevan' was refused permission to attend Melissa's funeral. Hewatched it from afar even so, spying across to Southover with aperspective-glass loaned by a kindly monk.

Therewas a fair crowd – though probably most were taunting Bogomils - but Samuel'sattention focused solely on the tiny coffin. It held all he'd ever pinned hishopes on, and they, together with a large part of him, went into the groundwith it. He said no prayers that day: said nothing. From then on he had fewmore words at all; for himself or anyone else.

Theday-in, day-out, went on for further weary years, an exact parallel to theequally relentless siege of the priory. They still bombarded him with the'god-bile' and entreaties after all this time. Once they grew impatient andeven dared to assault the place in force, seeking to carry him off to be their messiah.Mercifully, the permanent garrison proved equal to repelling everything. Eventhe elemental was held at bay and had to buzz and spark its impotent ragebeyond the walls. It therefore proved unnecessary to run the risk of shiftinghim to more secure accommodation like the Westminster Citadel or Rome itself.Or to consider even more drastic steps.

Thingssettled into a routine, the priory continuing its life of prayer and charitymuch as before. Soldiers and wizards came and went in rapid succession andSamuel lost track of the blur of faces. He learnt that this was a plum posting,the subject of intense competition, despite the dangers. Your pay was enhancedfor the duration, and promotion often followed in its wake. Samuel hated itwhen bluecoats accordingly treated him like a combination of career opportunityand fragile antique. Everywhere he went there were unwanted helping hands. Ifhe so much as paused, a chair would miraculously appear, if not two. Some days,Trevan positively waded through a treacly sea of cupboard-love. For a man ofhis nature it was customised torture. When it happened he hated his days.

Onlyoccasionally did reality speak out. Once he'd overheard an Irish captain ofarchers enquire: 'why don't they just bump him off: quick and kind like; anddo everyone a favour?’ But his men had howled him down, inspired by thegoose/golden eggs imperative. Similarly, a priest, also earwigging, scolded thecaptain and put him on a charge (‘Machiavellianism’ might be practisedbut was proscribed). Samuel had surprised everyone by interceding for the man.He who might be expected to have least sympathy said it was a fair question.Apparently, he increasingly asked it himself.

Wastedbreath. The Irish captain was demoted anyway – and, unfairly enough, neverforgave Trevan for it. Thereafter, his minders minded their tongues.

Everynight great warding spells were cast over him, and 'lockmaster' magicians wovetheir hands over the priory's main gate. It no longer mattered much to Samuelif they strove to keep him in or others out. Everything was indifference nowand he was easy.

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Itwas five years to the day after Melissa died; the year the Kwa-ZuluEmpire converted.

‘Arise.’

Thevoice was within his head. Trevan replied likewise.

‘Don'twant to. I want sleep.’

‘Byall means sleep on, Samuel-of-bitter-regret - but dream no more!’

‘Who-....’

‘Comewith me.’

Astrong hand wrenched the essential Samuel - a dry and shrivelled thing - fromhis slumbering form. He was drawn up far beyond the priory and into bluerskies.

‘Behold,rascal-of-the-wrong-path: Jerusalem the Golden!’

Indeedit was, or at least as Trevan had always imagined it: a city of the best ofeverything, perfect and reflective under a blazing sun. They saw from on high;an eagle or an angel's view.

‘Holdme or I'll fall!’ shouted Samuel.

‘Ha!I have never ceased to hold you, fool: not for one minute. Nochild-of-my-keeping shall ever fall.’

Samuelfound he could speak - and yet strangely not break the silence.

‘Isthis heav-....’

‘Itis mine, son-of-sorrows, all mine! Here I worship the ineffable and infinitelyexpand with joy. Would you lose this?’

‘No.What must I do?’

‘Letgo, Samuel-of-the-woeful-grip. Shed your armour: split the shell!’

‘I...can't.’

‘Observe!’

Theview was wider now, Jerusalem just a diamond speck central in an illuminedlandscape. Its glow was met and matched by other islands of light. They rangedfrom powerful beams shed by cathedrals and communities, to the candle flickersof lone souls treading their own way. In-between, there was both grey as wellas black, and each shade ebbed and flowed against the other. The pattern andbalance shifted constantly. Samuel saw some lights wink out and the dark floodin to cover their space. Elsewhere, new sources flared into being and the gloomretreated.

‘Observecloser,’ said his companion, proudly. ‘I helped make this!’

Theywere back over St Philip’s in Lewes. Samuel had not known it until then, butthe orphanage was a fiery star in the Sussex hills. Its light was almostblinding. And he saw himself nearby, still sleeping, a sunspot upon it, a blackdetraction.

‘Thefevered dream is almost done, oh Samuel-so-silly: childhood ebbs away. You mustnow make a man's decision. Once and for all - for always.’

Itproved easy. The biggest but easiest thing Samuel Trevan had ever done.

‘I'm...sorry,’ he said.

‘Whatfor?’ asked the voice, slightly puzzled.

‘Forbreaking my vow: your funeral Masses: Melissa - and everything!’

Samuelheard that old familiar bellow of a laugh and for a moment was happy again.He'd clean forgotten what it felt like.

‘Doyou still not see, Trevan-so-thick-of-head? We forgave long ago, didn'twe, Melissa-of-the-beguiling-smile? No, it is not us you must say sorryto....’

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Thefirst monk awake found Trevan prone before the great oak cross in the middle ofthe cloisters. He was fervently calling on Christ and His Church forforgiveness.

Theprior was summoned and, though his charge was plainly raving, agreed out ofkindness and concern to hear his confession. Nothing else would serve to calmhim.

 Samuel freely admitted this was only hissecond adult visit to the sacrament. Therefore he had much to tell and wasthorough. Absolution and a mild (considering) penance seemed to comfort thefevered brain. Then he spent the remainder of the day asleep - and the rest ofhis life almost as passively.

Toanyone who'd listen, Trevan said that he repented with all his heart. He hadbeen wrong and therefore, 'logically speaking', those who'd thwarted himmust be right. The bronze statue of Father Omar outside nearby St Philip’s hadtold him this,