“You choose the higher virtue, Pieter,” said Frieda. The young woman had sought out her friend. “I thought you once told me that.”
Pieter nodded. “Well, I oft forget what I once knew.” He smiled wearily. “Your counsel is right. In this world of sorrows we don’t often have pure choices. We are to pray for wisdom—wisdom to see the higher virtue. Thank you, my dear sister.”
Frieda colored with embarrassment. Pieter took her hand and stroked her hair. “You are a beautiful young woman, someday soon to be a young mother. You will be a blessing to your husband and to the little ones who shall clutch your gown. I can see them, happy and bright. One will be like ‘is father: spirited and willful, brave … and a bit prideful!”
Frieda laughed.
“And another will be like you: spirited and wise, brave … and charitable. As for the rest, a blend of good things, to be sure!”
The young woman was beet red by now, but laughing, and Pieter was glad to see it. The man took both her smooth young hands in his. “Dear Frieda, these next days shall not be days of tepid waters, but rather days of ice or boil. We must all be brave. By compline on Friday, we will have been sorely tested, hammered into yet a finer shape atop the anvil. In the end, whether we fail or whether not, we shall be different … and we shall have lived life very much alive.” Pieter stared wistfully into the bright forest. He took a deep breath and smiled. “But I believe it shall be a good day. I can feel it in my bones.”
According to plan, Katharina faded into the shadows of Villmar’s inn as Arnold rapped loudly on the abbey door. The man turned and winked at the woman before a young porter bade him enter. “Thanks be to God.”
“Quite,” grumbled Arnold. “No kisses, no prayers, and my feet are clean enough, thank you. I’m to see Prior Mattias on urgent business.”
Egidius the porter bowed. “You are Arnold of Weyer.”
“Of course, y’dolt.”
The monk scurried away as Arnold wandered among the gardens of the cloister grounds. He looked at the stone walls now penning him within another world. They were higher than two men and were intended to keep sin and corruption out, as well as to keep the attention of the brethren on things godly.
Of course, honest work was godly to be sure, so within the walls were numerous workshops where lay monks labored to build barrels or hammer tin, to work with iron or dye wool. Both the lay monks and the choir monks shared tasks in the gardens, which, in this July, were lush with the vegetables of the season. Barns were filled with last month’s hay and the first bushels of harvested oats. The brewery was always making beer, and the bakery filled its corner of the courtyard with the aroma of heaven. Arnold wandered about all this with a suspicious eye. He had never believed the monks to be sincere. He thought them to be joyless, self-serving hypocrites. His eye fell on the cider press and a row of empty barrels. “In two months, they’ll be making cider and selling it for a profit!”
A kindly, rotund little monk waddled toward the man with an offer of cheese and a tankard of beer. “May I serve thee?”
Arnold took the beer and drank a long draught. He swallowed the cheese and glared at the simple man before him.
The monk smiled. “I am Brother Johann, the cantor. Are you seeking something, my friend?”
“I’m not yer friend, shaveling. But, aye! I’m seeking joy and wisdom … and long-suffering for the likes of you!” Arnold sneered.
“Ah, well, then you’ve come to the right place!”
“I doubt that.”
“Why?”
“Look about. Not so much as a smile. So much for joy. I’d not dare bother one of your brothers with a good laugh—they wouldn’t want to be distracted from their piety!”
The monk grinned.
“If they were wise, they’d not be hiding behind these walls. They’ve no silver, no women …”
“My friend, I fear you’ve much to teach us. See those barrels?”
“Aye.”
“In September they are filled with red apples. Most are firm and sweet. By October, we find a few that are soft and brown, their neighbors as well.”
“So?”
“So it is the same with us. In good season, the brethren are charitable and selfless. In time, sin corrupts one, then the other. We need our barrel dumped from time to time!”
Arnold grunted. He was planning to do some dumping of his own.
The monk continued. “In thanks for your keen sight, allow me to share this small thing I have learned: when you seek joy, seek it humbly, for you shall not be joyful until your old affections are taken away. When you seek patience, have a care, for you shall not have it until you have been sorely tested. When you seek wisdom, tremble, for first you must be stripped of all you thought was true.” The wise monk took Arnold’s hand and looked deeply into his soul. “We are not all what you believe us to be.”