The Hawk and the Dove by Penelope Wilcock

Author:Penelope Wilcock
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lion Hudson
Published: 2014-12-30T16:00:00+00:00

It was only three days after Melissa had gone back home with Hugh and Edwin, and Father Peregrine had been plunged into a valley of despair: grief, temptation and sorrow. Every night during the week she had stayed with them he had kept watch and prayed for her before the altar in the chapel; and during the days he had put aside everything but the daily round of prayer to look after her, snatching an hour’s sleep here and there, fasting the greater part of each day.

On the day she left, a cloth merchant and his wife who were travelling past came seeking hospitality at the abbey. Peregrine had to entertain them at lunch and supper, disciplining himself to chat about trivial matters and show an interest in the ups and downs of the cloth trade. Also, the rent re-assessment and lease renewal for the farm tenancies belonging to the abbey must be made by Lady Day, so Peregrine had spent two arduous days in conference about the rents with Brother Ambrose, the cellarer, who looked after the finances of the abbey as well as the distribution of clothing, bed linen and other necessities. They had also discussed the provision of hospitality for the pilgrims and visitors who would be guests of the abbey during the Easter Feast.

After all this, he felt weary and numb, drained now of emotion. The old wounds in his leg were aching badly, since to keep himself awake as he prayed through the long nights he had forced the unyielding knee to kneel. So his back also was tense and aching, and he had a persistent, nagging headache just to round everything off. In the end, Brother Edward insisted that he come to the infirmary and submit to having his back and leg rubbed with oils of lavender, bergamot and geranium.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ snapped Peregrine. ‘I’m a monk, not a lady of the court. Save your aromatics for the sick, Edward.’

‘I won’t have to save them long if you carry on like this,’ insisted Brother Edward stoutly. ‘It’s you who will be ill if you don’t heed my advice. This week long you’ve not had those hands of yours attended to. Prayer and fasting are all very well, but you’re not adding common sense to the recipe. You can’t possibly undertake your responsibility to this community when you’re half dead with fatigue and aching from head to foot!’

‘How do you know I ache?’ mumbled Peregrine grudgingly.

‘Because I have eyes in my head and wits to understand what I see. Now, Father, you hear sense, and come to me in the infirmary.’

Peregrine would say no more, so Brother Edward left him, muttering crossly about his stubbornness. By the afternoon, however, Father Peregrine felt ill enough to give in. He made his way slowly down the cobbled path that bordered the kitchen gardens. A few gilly-flowers grew there, perfuming the air with their intoxicating scent, and among the cobbles, little heart sease plants grew, and a few violets still.

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