The Miracle at St. Bruno's

And the answer is yes. It was a miracle. It was for this purpose that I came to the crib on Christmas morning. Men and women have uttered calumnies concerning me. And you, the one whom I chose, believed them rather than me. But this I swear. The money with which I am rebuilding this Abbey did not come from Spain. It came from heaven.

And if you say that could only be a miracle, I answer: So be it. I tell you that man cannot harm me. But you do not believe me.”

"If you swear to me that you are not in the pay of the Spaniards...”

"I do not beg you to believe me. I merely tell you that he will not betray us. It may be that in due course you will have a little faith in me.”

With that he left me.

Twenty-four hours grace. I knew Simon Caseman well enough to believe that he would carry out his threat. He was an acquisitive and vengeful man. He could not believe that I would fall in with his monstrous suggestion. He enjoyed tormenting me, making clear to me how much I and my family were in his power. Moreover he lusted not only for me but for the Abbey, and I knew that to gain that was his main purpose.

It was no use remonstrating with Bruno though what he could do to save himself I could not imagine. I had no doubt that not only had Simon Caseman seen with his own eyes what was going on in the Abbey but he would have witnesses.

It occurred to me that I might take the girls and go to Kate. Would that save them? Would it involve Kate?

The tension was so unbearable that it left me numb; I felt as though I could only wait for what would happen next. I tried to act normally and went along to the bakehouse as I often did in the mornings to consult Clement about the food for the day. He had been present in the church last night.

I was surprised for he did not seem unduly perturbed.

"Clement," I said, "what will become of us all, think you?”

"We shall be safe," he answered complacently.

"You think those were idle threats?”

Clement raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Bruno will save us from evil.”

"How can that be?”

"His ways are miraculous.”

There was a complacency about the man which astonished me. He did not seem to realize that he could be dragged to a place of execution, hanged, cut down while still alive and barbarously tortured. Had he not heard of the monks of the Charterhouse? What had they done but deny the supremacy of the King as Head of the Church. His actions would be considered as treasonable!

"You heard what that man said last night, Clement. You were there.”

"I was there. But Bruno spoke to us afterward. He said there was no need to fear.”

"What can he do to save us?”

"That is for him and God.”

They believe he is divine, I thought. Oh, what a rude awakening they would have on the morrow!

The sudden vision of kind simple Clement, who had carried my children on his back and had surreptitiously slipped them tidbits from his oven, being tortured was more than I could endure.

"Clement," I said, "you could get away. There is still time.”

He looked at me in astonishment. "This is my life," he said. Then he smiled at me almost pityingly. "You have no faith. But fear not. All will be well.”

What faith they had in Bruno. During that day I realized what had been happening over the years. Bruno was not only refounded the Abbey, he was building up that image of himself which had been his before the coming of Rolf Weaver.

That day everything was as usual. No one but myself seemed to be aware of the threat which was hanging over us.

My mother called in the afternoon. I wondered whether Simon Caseman had confided in her and she had come to warn me. He could scarcely have told her of his suggestion to me.

She had brought the usual basket of good things-her newest wine, a new form of tansy cake she had made, her own special brand of marchpane.

She kissed me and said that I was not looking well. Her anxious eyes scrutinized me and I knew that she was wondering, as she did every time we met, whether or not I was with child.

I quickly gathered that she knew nothing of her husband's discovery for she was too frank to have been able to hide it, but she did talk to me about the merits of the Reformed religion.

"And it is true, Damask," she said, "that our King is of the Reformed faith. Poor lad, he is sick. They say that he never recovered from that bout of the smallpox.

Some would say he was lucky to survive that at all." She became very confidential.

"I have heard it said that he cannot live long, poor boy.”

"Mother," I said, "has it occurred to you that if the King died, which I hope he will not, the Lady Mary could be Queen; and if she were, might there not be a return to Rome?”

"Impossible!" cried my mother, growing pale at the thought.

"Yet it is not an impossibility, Mother. Should we not be cautious about proclaiming our views until we are sure?”

"If you know the true faith, Damask, how can you deny it?”

"But what is the true faith? Why cannot we accept the simple rules of Christ? Why must it be so important that we worship in this way or that?”