Illusions 18

It was a man in his late twenties, his early thirties maybe, and he wasn't moving. Was he still alive at all? The abbot bent down and put his hand on the man's carotid artery. The heart was still beating and Rhobert noticed at once that the man was hot from fever. There did not seem to be any major injuries, although the head wound… There was not much time; if he hesitated any longer, that man might die under his hands. Looking at this man, he was once more glad about his own stature being more like a warrior's than a monk's. Most people were intimidated upon meeting Rhobert for the first time. He put his arms around the man, lifted him up and put him down on his donkey. He did not even stir once. Hopefully it wasn't too late.

Thoughtfully, Rhobert observed then man sleeping in his bed. After three days the fever had broken and he had managed to save him. Brother Angor had been able to keep him awake just long enough to make him drink some hot broth and water. His complexion was sallow and he looked gaunt and haggard even though his stature was the one of a strong man. There were several scars on his body, probably a result from fights, and some old welts on his back. Rhobert frowned; the man must have been but a little boy when he got those.

His clothing had been torn, but it was obvious that this man was not just a simple peasant. Maybe he had been robbed and left by the wayside to die, Rhobert had thought at first. However, this didn't explain why he had been lying there with a fever. Brother Angor had then given him a letter he had found up the man's shirt sleeve. A strange letter… It was written in English, so presumably the man was English, too. Rhobert would have to wait for the man to wake up and answer for himself… if he could. There, he had moved. One hand resting on the blanket had twitched slightly, and his eyelids were fluttering… a moan.

„Are you awake? Can you hear me?" a dark voice echoed from far away. Only with great effort could he open his eyes; his lids seemed leaden. He turned his head towards the voice and set eyes upon a fuzzy face. He blinked and the picture became focused.

He was lying on a bed, covered in several blankets and a man in a brown monk's habit was looking down at him. A monastery, he was in a monastery! His memory was coming back. The soldiers had thrown him out of the carriage at the Welsh border, and obviously, this man had found him. Cautiously, Guy propped himself up on one elbow and then sat up slowly. The man stuffed a pillow behind his back. "It was about time for you to wake up", he said in a solemn but friendly way. He looked into Guy's eyes and seemed relieved. "I'm Father Rhobert...Your eyes are focused again. You will hurt for a while, but you don't have to worry anymore. Are you thirsty?" Guy nodded and the monk poured him some fresh water from a pitcher and handed the cup to Guy. "You have been here for four days. Your family will be in great distress; tell me whom we should contact. What is your name?"

"Guy…."

„And….?" Rhobert was waiting.

„Only Guy, nothing else… just Guy."

The monk had addressed him in English; he must know that he was not Welsh. Of course, the letter…

Rhobert didn't say anything for a while, but when Guy remained silent as well, he finally nodded. "I will leave you alone now. It will take a while until you are well again, then we can talk. Brother Angor will bring you something to eat and we will include you in our prayers." It's no use anymore, Guy was about to say, but he did not utter the words.

The little toothless monk who brought him food told Guy that the man he had talked to earlier was the abbot, Father Rhobert, Rhobert Ap Morthwyl to be exact. He came old Welsh nobility. Pretty young for an abbot, Guy thought. The man was even younger than himself. The third son, Angor had said, so apparently, they gave one of the younger sons to the Church here as well. What a waste; recalling the abbot's stature, he would have made a fine warrior.

It was still dark when Guy woke up. He was feeling considerably better; his head seemed clear, so he pushed away the blanket. His knees were still wobbly when he left the bed and crossed the room over to the rough wooden table on which there were a wash basin, a pitcher and a clean cloth. He examined the room; he had been stripped of his torn clothing, but there was a clean garment on a chest. He washed himself and put it on. It was slightly big and made of fine fabric; it had probably belonged to the abbot once.

From somewhere he could hear the monks singing… early mass? Guy turned the door knob and the door opened with a squeak. He found himself in a circular corridor leading around a garden. Uncertain, he stood there; there was no one to be seen. The smell of freshly baked bread was wafting through the corridor and Guy suddenly noticed how hungry he was. He went back into his room; at some point after mass Angor would come and bring him his breakfast. He hadn't intended to leave anyway; he had only wanted to check if they had locked him in or if he would have been free to go. And where would you go? it hit him.

He sat down on the chair that was in the scantily furnished room. Thus, Rhobert found him.

„I see you're awake. You must be hungry. Would you like to keep me company? We can eat in my quarters. I usually eat with the brothers, but this time…" Guy stood up upon his inviting gesture and smiled to himself. Obviously it was now time for the interrogation. He followed Rhobert in a spacious albeit simply furnished room; much simpler than he would have imagined for an abbot. Several blankets covered the bed but no soft duvets. On one shelf, however, he discovered some books; those were treasures indeed.

Shortly after, a young monk brought fresh bread, fruit, cheese and water, and again Guy was astonished, even though he didn't show it. Rhobert said a short prayer and both men ate in silence. At some point, the abbot sat back and Guy expected a few introductory words and then the monk's questions, but Rhobert remained silent and just looked at him.

Finally Guy smiled and gave him a knowing look. "I thank you for your hospitality, Father Rhobert, and, from what I've heard, I owe you my life as well. I cannot even reimburse you for your hospitality; as you have seen I don't carry many possessions with me and haven't got anything else I call my own."

„And if you did, what would you give me in return for your life? It is too valuable to be bought. Our hospitality is free; you are a guest and we won't take any money", Robert replied and looked at Guy enquiringly.

"Precious?" Guy did not quite manage to suppress the contemptuous tone, and the abbot looked at him, astonished and surprised. Yet he did not answer. Two can play this game. Guy examined the abbot openly. Even sitting down, one could see that, despite his height, he was not unrefined. His features were regular, his hair dark blond, a few lighter strands here and there, and his eyes deeply blue. Guy noticed that his first impression had been correct; he was maybe three years younger than himself. Hands with long slim fingers were resting on his thighs and he seemed…calm, Guy though, for lack of a better word.

Rhobert reached into a little box on the table, withdrew the letter Anne and Osgood had written to him and pushed it over to Guy, together with the gold coin they had found in Guy's garments. "This belongs to you. I read the letter because I hoped it would give me a clue as to who you are. – You don't wish to tell me your name?"

Guy's fingers closed over the letter and, without noticing, stroked the parchment gently. "I have given you my name and you have read it as well. Listen, I… I am not a nobleman… and besides this coin, I'm destitute."

"Please listen to me, Guy", Robert replied solemnly. „I do not care for games and I don't like lies. I have seen your clothing, I have heard you talk and I know that you can read. I am not a fool; you are no simple peasant or labourer. What I wish to know is if your presence can endanger our monastery. You are an Englishman. Will you give me your word that you are no fugitive?"

"My word?" Guy asked incredulously. "What is my word worth to you? You don't know me… but… I will give you my word." As soon as he had spoken these words, he wished he could have taken them back. He didn't even have the right anymore to give his word of honour; he had no honour.

Rhobert nodded. "Fine. I will believe you. I still believe in the good in people", the abbot added. "My impression is that your word can be trusted."

"The only impression you will get are the burns on your hands when you burn them on me", Guy replied.