A Dark Night Hidden by Alys Clare Read Free Book Online Page A

Saul was no more than thirty, at most.
    ‘Aye, we’re lucky, Sir Josse, and indeed it is a rare luxury. Only it’s been so cold, these last few nights, and’ – he lowered his voice diplomatically – ‘some of the older brothers do suffer so, and the Abbess, bless her good, kind heart, said we might light a blaze come evening.’
    Josse smiled, giving Brother Saul a quick touch on the shoulder. ‘It’s a luxury that I shall enjoy to the utmost.’
    He allowed himself to be led forward to a bench by the hearth. He nodded to the monks whom he knew, exchanging a few words of greeting with Augustus and old Brother Firmin. Presently, he was brought a bowl of broth and a hunk of rough bread, both of which he ate enthusiastically. The soft hum of male voices around him lulled him into drowsiness and, before the night was very old, Saul made him up a bed in the corner and he was soon asleep.
    He awoke to the sound of hammering.
    Getting up – he seemed to be the last man still asleep inside the monks’ dwelling – he went outside to see what was happening.
    He noticed straight away that it was considerably colder this morning than yesterday. The sky looked . . . sort of thin , he decided, and the wind had dropped. The air, however, felt like solid ice.
    A group of monks were standing in a rough semicircle around the doorway of the pilgrims’ refuge. A large branch had fallen down from one of the chestnut trees in the grove that sheltered the Vale’s buildings, and it had landed right on a corner of the refuge’s roof. The flimsy construction was not designed to withstand the impact of heavy branches and it had partially collapsed.
    Saul and Augustus were trying to get the weight of the branch off the roof before it did any more damage. Brother Erse, the Hawkenlye carpenter, had a mouth full of nails and a hammer in his hand and seemed to be attempting to fix a strengthening truss under the sagging roof. All three were, quite obviously, failing.
    What they needed was another pair of hands. Josse rushed forward and added his strength to that of Saul and Augustus. With three of them pushing, the branch gave a little. Then a little more. Then they managed to roll it right off the roof and there was a great crack as the now-unsupported branch tore away from the chestnut tree and fell to the icy ground.
    There was a ragged round of applause from the audience of monks. Turning to grin at them, Josse noticed how cold they looked; they were, he noticed with compassion, mostly elderly, thin and shivering. Brother Firmin’s skinny old feet in the clumsy sandals were bare and rapidly turning blue.
    He turned to Brother Saul, whom he had always considered the most sensible and wise of the Hawkenlye brethren. ‘Shouldn’t the old boys go back inside?’ he whispered.
    ‘I’ve been telling them so all morning, Sir Josse!’ Saul protested. ‘Only Brother Firmin, bless him, said they wanted to help.’ He gave a kindly laugh. ‘Help! Hardly likely, is it?’
    ‘Shall I try?’ Josse suggested.
    ‘Oh, Sir Josse, I wish you would!’
    Josse’s powers of persuasion were clearly superior to those of Brother Saul, or perhaps the old monks had simply got too cold to persist; either way, they gave in without an argument and meekly shuffled back to their dwelling.
    Saul watched them go with a smile, then turned back to the pilgrims’ shelter. And, eyes widening, said, ‘Dear Lord, but it’s ruined!’
    From within, Brother Erse called out, ‘Not as bad as that, Saul. Not quite,’ and Augustus, up on the roof, added, ‘It’s close, though!’
    The four of them collected in front of the shelter. The roof had caved in on one side, where a supporting post had given way. The wooden planks of one wall had deep cracks in them; another wall had developed a worrying outward curve.
    After some time, Brother Erse said lugubriously, ‘Reckon we’ll have to rebuild the whole thing. Won’t be safe, else. We don’t want the risk of it