A/N: OutlawEris LIVES!!!! Sorry I've been busy lately with studying for finals and huge biology projects. (Life Cycles of Mushrooms. Reproduction of Amoebas. Need I say more?) And I promise to review for your guys, soon, too! You are awesome!!!
The wind howled outside of Grey Stone Abbey, drawing dead leaves and frail twigs across its windows and walls. The inhabitants of the building shivered nearly in unison and blew desperately on their raw fingers as nature clawed at their windows and wooden shutters.
Geoffrey peered nervously at his father; he was quite sure the man was the only creature in the shire not shivering. The lord of Locksley glowered at him, and he sent his eyes back to his feet, cringing in expectation of a wallop to the head. None came, and for a moment he wondered if the world were ending, or if his father had fallen senseless. Curious, he looked around to see if someone else was in the room; that usually meant forgiveness. But the abbot had not arrived yet. What in all of--?
Ah, yes. They were in a holy place. Geoffrey smiled weakly to himself, gifting his feet with a grin they could care less about. He was most assuredly going to like it here. Staring down at the floor, he wondered what made his feet uncomfortable. Maybe they didn't much fancy the cool stone, or maybe they were angry at him for wearing the boots that were much too small. Mayhap they didn't really like one another, or mayhap they didn't like him. They might even---
"Milord?" one of the monks called. Both Geoffrey and his father turned around, though the younger whirled with such force that he staggered. Already scarlet, he bowed quickly. The elderly man smiled happily at him. "You must be the little one training for the priesthood." Still silent, Geoffrey nodded. St. Benedict's laws had said something about complete quiet in a monastery, and he did not want to commit an idiotic sacrilege without even lasting a day.
"Aye," his father continued, "This is my son, Geoffrey. He has already learned to speak and write both Latin and English, though his Latin is hardly perfect." He eyed his youngest with disapprobation. "Can you do sums well, boy?"
Geoffrey's eyes widened like a deer's, and his lip twitched. How did he explain without speaking? The prior must have thought him a real simpleton. There was certainly no hope of his acceptance into the school for priests. Mayhap he seemed mute; oh, his father would be so angry if he had to come home again.
Suddenly, the prior laughed. "Ah, child, you may speak here if you wish. Benedict's silence only applies to the actual monks. Even I can speak here, being a lay brother not under vows." Cringing, Geoffrey laughed nervously. "My gratitude, sir. I – I have been taught sums, brother, and my instructor said I had surpassed him, but he is far too kind and I likely need more work. I am a very slow student."
"That he is," the lord of Locksley snapped, "He is disobedient, lazy, and his mind wanders when it should not. Do not hesitate to beat him; it is one of the few ways to make him work. But the child loves the Lord more than any mortal he knows, so he may prove diligent in learning of Scripture." Geoffrey was scarlet. He hung his head to avoid the gaze of the lay brother; he did not want to see what the man already thought of him.
"I am sure he will make a fine priest," the monk assured them both, smiling at Geoffrey. He did wish the boy would look up.
The lord of Locksley nodded curtly. "Very well then. Good day to you." He grabbed Geoffrey's arm violently and twisted him round. "Be obedient and try to use that addled pate of yours. It is your job to bring standing to this family, and you sure as the devil better do so."
As his father left the room, Geoffrey wondered vaguely if he would have preferred a lie saying he would be missed.
"Hullo!" Geoffrey forced his eyes open. God, he was tired. A round, cheery face, dotted all over with brown freckles, grinned at him. "You're the new one, aren't you? My name's Crispin! You've got to wake yourself now; we've Mass in a few minutes." Mass? The sun had yet to even appear on the horizon, much less rise. Crispin laughed merrily at the expression on his face. "Ach, 'tis what I thought. But this always helps."
Geoffrey spluttered as the frigid well water hit him. The sudden chill resulted in an instant headache, but it did help him open his eyes. Gasping, he scrambled off of his pallet. The morning air was even worse. He clung miserably to his own arms, and found they were bare. He yelped.
"Eh, you've still got your breeches on, simpleton!" Crispin laughed, "You were so tired last night you fell asleep without even taking off your shoes. One of the brothers picked you up – where'd he fall asleep, Stephan? – ah, picked you up from right outside out the door and put you asleep. Don't worry." Geoffrey nodded, grabbing the new tunic he'd been left and dragging it over his gooseflesh.
Crispin paused to look him over. "Eh, you're a scrawny little thing, aren't you?"
He scowled, knotting his fists as he stood. But a grudging smile crossed his face when Crispin continued to grin obliviously. "Aye," he finally mumbled, tying the cord that served as his belt hastily. The truth will set you free, eh?
"Well, come on now," his new friend continued, "If we're late, we a get a real shock of a blow from the lay brother Wat. He's got the heaviest hand in Christendom, I swear it by the Rood!"
Geoffrey found the real shock to be that none of the brothers could hear Crispin snoring during the Mass. He continued eyeing his new friend, though his conscience was screaming orders to pay heed to the Scripture. But those screams were not loud enough to drown out Crispin's snores. Geoffrey doubted much under Heaven was.
There was a silence as everyone knelt to offer individual petitions. Geoffrey elbowed Crispin as violently as he could, and the sleeping boy jumped, yelping. His awakener winced and forced his attention to God. Both eyes shut, he summoned the silence that he could create only in prayer, the silence not even Robert's laughter could invade. He drew in breath and knew himself heard in that separate silence. It was the most remarkable experience for someone quiet as himself. But somehow he knew that his own timid voice was given full attention, even in a room filled with the loud wills and demanding voices of England's holiest. And he never even needed move his tongue.
An insistent hand clutched his shoulder and dragged him upright from his praying position. Geoffrey blinked in surprise as his tailbone slammed into the hard wooden pew. He winced and turned to frown at the boy whose action had caused the pain in his backside. Crispin grinned stupidly at him. "I did not want you in trouble, now. You were praying too long."
The rest of Mass passed without event, and so Crispin fell back to his sleep again. Luckily, Geoffrey woke him in time to shuffle from the pew and receive the Eucharist. He staggered forward, muttering his thanks. Geoffrey nodded understandingly, forcing him forward the entire time. Crispin continued praising him for the awakening, even up to the point that he received the Lord's host.
Brother Gavin held aloft the Lord's own body. "Corpus Christi."
"You're really quite a good chap, Ge—Amen." Crispin was scarlet as he returned to his pew.
After Mass was over, one of the lay brothers barked at Crispin until the boy was actually apologizing – something none of his fellows were accustomed to hearing. Geoffrey felt rather sorry for him as he filed out with the other guiltless boys who had managed to contain their need for sleep (or at the very least their snores). Crispin HAD rescued him from the perils of Brother Wat by waking him. And it was not as if he had been assigned the charge of a new student. He had simply taken it upon himself.
Geoffrey sighed, stopping midway down the aisle. Lying, God love him, was one of the worst sins, but….
"Brother Wat?" he began, stepping toward the man who was lecturing Crispin on reverence. The portly man peered curiously at him, thick brows knotting together in concentration. "I've not seen you before," he commented, eyeing him suspiciously, "What's your name?"
"Geoffrey, sir, Geoffrey of Locksley is my name." He bowed his head timidly, only lifting his eyes.
"Well, what is it you want? I've yet to finish teaching this infidel the importance of reverence at Mass." Crispin flinched and simpered at Geoffrey.
"I – well, Crispin wasn't snoring, sir, he was chanting the 43rd psalm."
Brother Wat (and Crispin) dropped the lower jaw in shock. "He – he was?" the elder man asked, loosening his ferocious grip on Crispin's tunic. Geoffrey nodded hopefully. He had heard from Crispin on the way to Mass that Brother Wat was exceptionally dimwitted, even for a lay brother.
That same gossiper was now sweating nervously and trying desperately to remember one of the psalms. And the scrupulous eye of Brother Wat also further irritated him. He simpered. "It was awfully irreverent of me to be chanting a psalm during mass, sir, I know that well and I apologize," he said, bowing his head dutifully. The head of the lay brothers, Timothy, approached them just as Geoffrey explained that "Crispin just grew so very excited when you …well, the Scripture readings just fill him with this happiness…he was telling me all of it on the walk to Mass, sir." Oh, he was going to Hell for all these lies…
"Wat, what is this?" Timothy asked, stepping towards the small group. "Is there a disciplinary issue here?"
Crispin smirked demonically at Geoffrey for one hidden moment, and then flashed his shining angel's pout of contrition to Timothy. "I – I was horribly disrespectful of our Good Lord, brother. Throughout the entire service I heedlessly chanted the 43rd psalm. I simply cannot – the joy of God's word is truly too much for me." He quickly crossed himself, almost overdoing the act and earning both he and Geoffrey a sound beating for spreading falsehood. But Timothy obviously thought he saw truth in Crispin's lying eyes, for he smiled benevolently down at the "sweet young penitent". "Ah, child, that is no crime. You are in no trouble." He then turned his merry smile to Geoffrey. "And you, young Master Locksley, my gratitude for the fortitude shown by your correction of Wat here. The both of you may leave."
Crispin, soon as the two of them turned the corridor, held out his hand for Geoffrey to take. "You are officially the mastermind of Grey Stone," he cried, as Geoffrey and he clasped hands, "And I am just such a brilliant actor; we cannot really go wrong, with this one." He smirked, fully content with the nervous grin on his new friend's face. "This is the beginning of a perfectly lovely partnership."
A/N: I hope you enjoyed it! Robert comes back in very soon, worry not! lol. Summer vacation is nearly here!