The Miracle at St. Bruno's

"Did you think it was a ghost who was looking through the grille at you? You had a guilty conscience, Damask. Why? Was it because you were doing something you would rather not be caught doing? What were you doing?”

I could not tell him. How far we were apart! We were enemies. And yet this man was my husband. How could I tell him that I was hoping to find something which he would go to great lengths to stop my finding?

"I... I was looking at the dorter.”

"You find it interesting... suddenly?”

"Not suddenly. It was always interesting.”

"You were here recently. You seem to make a habit of visiting the place. I wondered why.”

"So you followed me.”

"What I want to know is why you are so startled to be found here.”

"Startled?" I countered. "Who would not be startled to see a pair of eyes watching them from the other side of a grille?”

"Sit down, Damask.”

He moved along the pallet.

I was deeply aware of the silence of the place and a great urge swept over me to turn and run... to run away from my husband.

I said: "Not now.”

"You are in a hurry? Surely not. You were making a leisurely search. Feeling the walls! What did you hope to discover? Were you looking for something?”

He had risen and was standing close to me. What was the meaning of the strange expression in his eyes? Did he know of the confession? Had Ambrose told him? Suppose he did know. Then he would guess that I was looking for it; and he would do all in his power to stop me. All in his power? He had great power. I knew that. I knew something else too. He would stop at nothing to prevent my finding that confession for in it would be a denial that he, Bruno, was the man he was determined to be-the prophet, the near-god, the superhuman man whom he wanted all those about him to believe he was.

Yet I assured myself that I must find that confession. I must make him accept the truth for I saw how right Mother Salter was when she said that his pride could destroy him, and perhaps us all.

I knew that he must not suspect that I was searching for the confession. He must not know that I was aware of its existence. If he did... what then? I dared not examine my thoughts too closely. I saw him clearly... too clearly for comfort... but he was my husband and I had loved him once. And a voice within me kept insisting: He must not know. You would be in peril if he did.

My wits came to my aid. I said quickly: "I was thinking to what purpose we could put this place. The building is so solid. It could make an excellent buttery.”

"You have suddenly decided this?”

"I have been thinking of it for some time. I am constantly thinking of how we can put these places to good use.”

"Doesn't the present buttery suffice?”

"It is scarcely adequate now that there are so many people here. I daresay that in the future you will be entertaining even more.”

I was trying to sound matter-of-fact.

"Yes," he said, "that's true.”

"Then what do you think of the idea?”

He was studying me intently and his eyes still held that cold snakelike quality.

"It's worth considering," he said.

I felt a great relief flooding over me. I believed I had convinced him that I had been inspecting the monks' dorter for this domestic reason.

I went to the bakehouse. Clement was there with two of his scullions and when he saw that I wished to speak to him alone he sent them off to scour some pans in readiness for the day's cooking.

"Tomorrow," I said, "Lady Remus will be here. She is bringing Mistress Catherine home.”

"Ah, I shall be glad to see the young mistress home. I'll make some of her favorite marchpane. There is no one that appreciates it but her now that Mistress Honey has left us.”

"And for Lady Remus?”

"There shall be a game pie and I'll work the Remus coat of arms in paste for her.

 There'll be bacon and sucking pig. Those are favorites of hers.”

"You will know how best to please her. Clement," I went on, "you must prepare almost as much food now as you did in the old days.”

He nodded thoughtfully.

"Do you regret the old days, Clement?”

He narrowed his eyes, looking back. "This present day suits me well, Mistress.”

"Do you ever go into the dorter, Clement?”

He shook his head. "Not since that day when the heretic-he crossed himself-Simon Caseman informed against us and almost took us to death.”

"Before that did you go to your own cell and imagine the old days were back?”

He nodded, smiling.

"I was looking at the old cells not long ago. I thought we might make a buttery there.

Those thick walls make it very cool. What do you think, Clement?”

"What does the master think?”

It was always so. They seemed afraid to express an opinion without Bruno's approval.

"I spoke to him of it. He thought it an excellent notion. Would you come and look at it some time and give me your opinion?”

There was nothing Clement liked so much as to be asked for an opinion. His face creased into smiles.

"When would that be, Mistress?”

"There is no time like the present. Could you meet me there in half an hour?”