The Miracle at St. Bruno's

A Reign THAT HAPPENED in that momentous year of 1553. My thirtieth birthday was three months away. Thirty! It was not really old but in my thirty years I had seen events take place which had shattered the peace not only of my own household but of the entire country, I had suffered deep sorrow and known some happiness; and at this stage of my life I had reached a conclusion that I had made one of the greatest mistakes a woman can make in marrying a man who can never give her the rich fulfillment she craved. I had my daughters-my own Catherine and my adopted Honey; they were at that time my life; and when I thought of Rupert's warning and the dangers which beset us, it was of my children I thought, not of myself nor what might befall my husband and his Abbey.

The religious conflict was the main question of the day. Even my mother did not escape it.

When I visited her as I did not as often as I should have wished to, for I always feared to come face to face with her husband, or when she visited me she would chatter of her twins and their mischief, which seemed a source of great delight to her, her garden, her stillroom, her remedies. Only rarely would she refer to the new religion.

"You should study the new opinions, Damask," she said. "They are the views of the King and it is good for us all to follow him.”

"Mother," I replied, "I cannot say, 'This is the right and that the wrong,' for it seems to me that there is much to be said for both sides.”

"Nonsense," said my mother briskly, "how could wrong be right and right wrong? It must either be one or the other. And this is the right, I do assure you.”

"Having been assured by your husband?”

"He has studied these matters.”

"Others have studied them. There are clever people on both sides. You must know that.”

"It is easy for these people to be mistaken and your stepfather has given a great deal of time to it.”

I smiled at her indulgently. How try to explain to her! But the fact that she was aware of these matters showed how firmly they must have a hold in my old home.

It was a June night-there was a full moon and I sat at my window and thought of what Rupert had said of our dangers and I wondered whether Bruno would join me that night when I saw dark figures moving toward the church. I knew what this meant. They were going to Mass. Bruno would be with them.

I shivered a little. They knew that if this were known they would be in danger, and yet they continued to act in this way. Perhaps they believed that Bruno with his supernatural powers could save them from any disaster which might threaten them.

Some of the ex-monks were simple, I thought. Clement for one had clearly convinced himself that there was no truth in Keziah and Ambrose's story. Bruno had that power to convince people in the face of facts. The only one with whom he could not succeed was myself.

Clement was happy working in the bakehouse. He would sing Latin chants as he worked.

It was clear to me that he almost believed that he had never left the Abbey.

The figures had disappeared into the church and I sat for some time thinking of the significance of this when suddenly I saw another figure. It was not one of the monks this time. I stared for the man who was making his way stealthily toward the church had a look of Simon Caseman.

Impulsively I put a cloak about my nightdress and ran downstairs.

I sped across the grass past the monks' dorter to the porch of the church. I went in. A figure moved forward. I had not been mistaken. It was Simon Caseman.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded.

"You may well ask." His eyes were alight with excitement. I had never seen the fox's mask so clearly.

"Trespassing!”

"In a good cause.”

"You have no right to be here.”

"Yes, every right.”

"In whose name?”

"In the name of the King.”

"You speak fine words.”

"I speak the truth. What is going on in there? This has become a monastery once more.

It was dissolved but here it is again.”

"Do you not know, Simon Caseman, that many abbey lands have been bestowed?”

"I know it well. There is, mayhap, always a reason for such bestowals.”

"A very good reason, and one which is the concern only of the bestower and the bestowed.”

"That I agree, but when the place is used to break the King's law....”

"The King's law has not been broken here.”

"Not when that which has been abolished is slyly brought back.”

"There are many workmen here, Simon Caseman.”

"There are monks, too. They who have been dispossessed by the Crown now reinstate themselves against the laws of the land.”

"What is happening here?" A voice cool, curt and authoritative was demanding. Bruno had come into the porch. From the church came the sound of chanting.

"This is happening," replied Simon Caseman. "I have witnessed that which could send you to the gallows. Rest assured I shall do my duty.”

"Your duty is to go back to your house and live quietly there although you do not deserve to, having taken that which would never have been bestowed on you but for ill justice.”