Struggling against the Thorns

The brothers met me at the Abbey door.  Dressed in their volumous black robes and cloaks, so far removed from the plain white of my own, hood raised, hands crossed. One looked older, the other two a little younger, closer to my age. As I dismounted, they spoke quietly, in whispers amongst themselves, a few hand signals given in passing to suppliment the conversation. And there I stood, alien.

The elder came forward after a while, a small bow and his hand jutted out to greet me. “Hello. I am the Father Prior.” he introduced himself in a rasping voice, “You are the Abbot they’ve sent, I presume.” His gaze looked me up and down, studying me. I could see it linger on my brand which, despite my best attempts at covering it as far as sumptuary would allow, was still quite visible from its home on my jugular.

“Yes.” I responded, trying to draw his attention away from the penitential mark, “Father Bene ab Piuso.” he nodded finally and motioned me to follow.  The Abbey Church was massive. Stunning. Even more beautiful than the Cathedral by some judges.  Its lights had been unlit save a few candles and it was filled with the congregation of black robed monks and nuns.  I was led to the altar where the Father Prior made his announcements.  The other two monks stood beside me, a silent honor guard. Finally, the bells began to ring.

The Father Prior turned to face me. “Piuso, do you swear to me now, before God, the vows of monastic life? Of celibacy, of obedience to the law of God, and to poverty?” “I do.” He nodded and I was gently, if ever so firmly, pushed to the ground. I lay on my stomach before the altar.  A black funeral pall was laid over me. All was silent save the church bells which kept their heavy, mournful toll.

I lay there in the darkness, my life passing before me. I saw in the shadows the red cloth of prelacy, the altar of the Cathedral. I saw Deviah, I saw Cedany. And above all, I saw her. I whispered my prayer, “Dav, I know this may seem like a little much now after it all.. You know my thoughts and my heart, no need to voice it. I think I’ll be a fine monk.  Give me strength and Faith. Give me hope and joy. I need both.” I laughed softly to myself but soon silenced as I felt the cloth around me being removed. I rose, a nod was given by the Father Prior who put and hand on my shoulder to guide be down from the altar, “Come, Father Abbot, the cloister is this way.”

The halls of the monastery, sitting at their perch at the very head of the Church, were long and echoing. The Chalice windows streaming faint light into the area. It was absolutely silent in the abbey, even the footfalls seemed dulled by an unknown and heavy solemnity. No laughter, no shouts, no song past the steady chants of the day’s prayer life.  The monks and nuns were similarly somber, dressed in the heavy sable of their habits they glided through on their detached march.  Their eyes were downcast and their minds seemed to be off somewhere else. Utter silence. I remembered Father Francis’s words to me when I told him I had been appointed abbot, “Ah, Piuso, be careful. A man can loose himself in a monastery.. much like a cemetery, everyone there have long since passed to the Lord.” I had not quite believed him at the time but now, what he said was right before me.

The tour was short, the quarters for the sisters and brothers, a council room where I would be expected to greet the monastery tomorrow, and finally my quarters. I remembered the place from before, I had helped get everything organized. It seemed so long ago now and even in this small piece of preserved time, like a memory come to life, it all seemed foreign.  I shuffled through everything, looked at the ledgers and notebooks kept for me. The Father Prior updated me on the comings and goings of the abbey. I nodded, we would see the library and scriptorium tomorrow, then onto Southside for my maiden voyage as ‘Father Bene ab Piuso, High Priest for the Southside of Lithmore.’ Oh, such weighty titles.

That night, I longed for my bed by the Cathedral which seemed so far off. I missed her all the more, suddenly, everything that had happened seemed so much more real. She was gone and I now lived in the constraints of the cloister, even when I were to leave its physical bounderies. But a month ago, I had been young, in love, looking ahead to marriage, children, a happy, normal life. A few months before, I had been Cardinal of Lithmore. Now Bene ab Piuso had been submitted, I was little more than a simple, anonymous title, ‘Father Abbot.’

Dav save me.

Only a few days later, I would find myself in a different cloister. The dank walls about me and the ever present promise of tortures to come.

I can remember my ordination day.

I remember the Cathedral, bright, full of life. I  remember how I stood there in the rectory and looked in the mirror, rubbing my hands over those rough robes, brown. Behind me, in the dim light, I could see laying on my bed, the new robes. An immaculate white with a small black skullcap perched upon them. I sat down and looked at them, upon them was a slip of paper written in the same familiar script of an old friend, a confessor:

“Piuso,

I know, you’ve been through a lot in the past months, but know we’re all here proud of you. Regardless of your choice, you’ll amount to much, Brother, don’t be afraid to make the right one. Only the Lord has the wisdom to see what lies ahead, but if you ask, He’ll answer. You just have to know the right question.

All the best,
Fr. Francis ab Petrum”

I read over the letter a few times, it was short enough, simple and plain. But it meant the world to me. The other day, I’d made my confession to the man, I’d confided in him that I had doubts, I wasn’t sure if I could take the vows when it came to it. I just wasn’t sure and how could I be? We’d been warned always that those not called to the Priesthood would make utter failure, that only the chosen had the graces to carry it out. I just didn’t know.. but here I was, in an hour, I’d have to make my choice.

So, I stood up and I slipped on the robes, the white garment of the priest. It fell about my ankles and enveloped my body, it seemed.. foreign, bright and I looked to the mirror. Looking back at me was the man who had always looked back in my dreams. The loyal Priest, the good man. He was calm, content though seeming also cool at times, like the stone of an ancient church or the hard wooden surface of an altar. A pious, reverent self whose soul was pointed straight to Heaven and mind hardly lingering on the things of this time. Yet, there was a tenderness to it, a hope. The robes came off. Pacing, pacing.. Finally, I dared to entertain a dream, a question. I didn’t know if I wanted this answer, what it would mean, but I had to have it. Quietly, I found the box in my closet, a small wooden coffer filled with a few clothes I had smuggled in. Simple, plain clothes, but the clothes of a layman. I had not dared put them on, but I’d kept them, just in case.

The man the looked back at me now was not what I’d expected. He was young, full of enthusiasm and potential. He had a future, a lover, a family to be had, a life to live. He seemed happy.. yet, somehow, as I looked at him, he seemed foreign. The eyes that looked back at me, though on the surface warm and full of life had something stirring in their depths, a regret, though deeply hidden. I could not describe it, but he seemed sad somehow, cheated, as if his life, though amounting to much, would truly amount to nothing. I looked at him for a long time, watching, thinking. Finally, I had my answer.

I knelt before the bishop that day. I made my vows to serve my God and His Church with my all. My nose touched the cold stone floor as I made my final supplication to the altar, my final reverence to that place at which I would come to serve and I shed a tear. I left that man, there are the altar, that man who could have been and inside, I laughed for somehow, I’d done it. I’d made the choice and though I still felt the stirrings of doubt, I somehow did not. It was but anxiety and it slipped away in time. Ben Piuso, the laymen who could have been, the Reeve or courtier, slipped away, receding int myself in favor of Father Piuso, Priest of the Lord.

Ben Piuso would occupy my thoughts from time to time. He was a deep part of myself, buried beneath the robes of office, an old faded promise of what could have been. I wondered where he would have gone, what he would be doing now. Yet, he was gone.. he was but a faint dream from the past, a lingering half memory. Soon, the reality was Bishop Piuso and then Cardinal Piuso. But then, suddenly, so many years past that fateful day, Ben Piuso quietly entered back into existence. He was there, suddenly, for a moment, there so much he seemed almost real, as if I were to look down at these myself and see not crimson robes but the normal greys, blacks, browns of a simple man’s clothing and no Cardinal’s ring upon my finger, but perhaps a wedding band. He’s come to linger with me lately, whispering the words of a future lost to a weary man’s ears. Yet, through it all, I think back. I think back to the floor, my nose in the dust. I think back to Ben’s eyes. I think back to the soft touch of the ordination blessing, through which God Himself seemed to have touch my soul. I remember the altar. I remember and I know..

As the first rays of the sun began to creep over the far horizon, the city of Lithmore slept. the streets were deserted this early hour save the occasional early traveller, or the merchant setting up his shop for the day. All was as it should, should be save for the great crimson flow that now stretched across Church Square. It was the Great Holy Synod, all the bishops and archbishops of the Holy Church were gathered here, in one place, and among them was Bishop Benedictus Piuso of Lithmore. It was deathly quiet.

Slowly, solemnly, the bells of the Cathedral began to toll as the procession began to move forward like a great flame slowly moving into the Church. Bene mounted the steps, his hands folded before him as they moved through the doors. He could see far at the head of the group, a paled body that was all too familiar: Cardinal Zinadya Tartaryn: a spiritual mother, mentor, and friend. She had been embalmed and now made her last journey as Cardinal of Lithmore through the Church she once guided so well. The moved through the great stone expanse, sweeping tumbling Eld about them. They pass by the Fountis and to the altar, stripped bare in mourning. The only light was by a single tall candle standing behind a great chair, the Cathedra of Lithmore, which now lay empty. Carefully, Bene found his seat, near the back of the area as was customary for the junior prelates, and waited. A thin, aged man got up to speak, dressed in the scarlet and gold of an archbishop. He gave a sermon, instructing them to the grave task they undertook. Lithmore only nearly had a King and Patriarch, and now it was deprived of its Cardinal. He or she who was picked would profoundly effect not only the future of the Church, but of Lithmore as well. There was a great solemnity to this.. naturally.

Then the debates began. Each bishop and archbishop, sitting in their spots began to speak at once. Chaos. Each advocated their own way, though one topic seemed to be central on the floor: the issue of the King. “He is not of Dav!” one prelate yelled, an elderly fellow from the south of Lithmore. “And the Lord Justiciar to boot! And he presumes to rule this Church?” he shakes his head, about him many nodded in agreement, “What we need is a man willing to take the Church on its own terms, not those of a King, one who shall not fixate on Davism, but on the religion as a whole.” At this, whispers began to ripple through the Synod, one word was on everyone’s lips: ‘Purist.’ Bene shifts in his chair, he doesn’t seem to mind this in the least. “The Patriarchate must return to the Church.” the bishop concludes, “And we must elect a Cardinal who can secure it for us.”

The first vote was called. As the paper ballots were counted one by one: no consensus. More debate. A second vote, no consensus. Things were becoming increasingly tense in the chamber two candidates had a lead: Piet ab Dome, and Archbishop from the South of Lithmore. He was an orthodox Davist, strong in Faith, stern, and had served in the Inquisition for the majority of his career. He had a small lead, though not the 2/3 required. The second was Bishop Atheln ab Deler, one of the rural bishops of Lithmore. He was a bit younger, had also served as an Inquisitor, and was a Purist. He was known for his openness, not to anything heretical per-say, but the willingness to work without the Inquisition in many moral affairs. The bickering between the two factions were coming to a peak: “We need experience!” the ab Dome supporters yelled “A man who will stand up and promote the Inquisition. Its absolutely necessary.” The ab Deler supporters countered “The Church is now known only by the Inquisition! We must not lose track of our real goal: the salvation of souls. The laity will react better to a more tender hand.” More yelling. Bene had voted for ab Dome in the first vote and abstained in the second. He was becoming increasingly disillusioned with the prelate, however. Far too full of himself, not good for the Church. As the yelling continued, Bene dismissed himself, falling back to the Sanctum Chapel. With a sigh, he sat before the statue and prayed. “O Zinadya, why did you have to go.. When we needed a strong leader the most, you left. What are we to do?” He put his head in his hands. He heard the signal for another vote. He would abstain this one again. A few moment passed, and the yelling took up again, no consensus. The debate continued and Bene continued to pray. An hour or so passed and he felt a soft touch on the shoulder, “Your Grace?” He looked back to a small acolyte, “Your Grace?” “Yes?” “You should know, Your Grace.” “Know what?” “The Synod-Dean wishes to speak with you. In private.” “Yes, yes, have him come here.”

The Synod-Dean entered, an older cleric with a kindly face. He sat down next to Bene and smiled, “Piuso. I have something you must consider.” “Yes, Eminence?” “There has been a secret election. We have a two-thirds majority, though it won’t be put in the next vote.. not until we speak with the proper persons.” “And I’m a ‘proper person’?” “Yes.” “Who is it then?” There was a long pause, “Your Grace, we have spoken, and its a new candidate. We think we need a new face to the chair. We need someone young, someone idealistic. Your Grace, the Synod is prepared to elect you Cardinal of Lithmore.” “Come again?” “Your Grace, you are to be elected.” “Then I will not accept.” “Your Grace, do not jump to so quick a conclusion. This deal has been secured very delicately. You shall push this on for weeks, months even. The Church must have her leader.” “But why me?” “The Lord has chosen.” “How can you be sure?” “Pray, child. You shall know.”

There was silence as Bene prayed before the statue, one of the first great Cardinals. He prayed, he cried. It was some time before he had his decision. Stepping out to the altar, all eyes were on him. The Synod-Dean stepped forward. “Bishop Benedictus Piuso. This Holy and Great Synod has reached its decision. Shall you accept the mantle of the Cardinalate?” “I- I shall.” Those words, two small words. Suddenly, the entire Synod seemed to collapse. Every Bishop and Archbishop fell to his knees before a man far younger than many there. In silence, he took his seat upon the Cathedra. It was not a comfortable chair, well enough, no prelate should be comfortable. He must always remember the punishment he shall face for laxity. One by one, they all came forward and knelt at his feet. They whispered counsels and fealties. They would serve him until the end. Bene stood to leave, he had now to announce his election. His hand moving in blessing, he began to make his way down the nave. Church bells rang high above. He knew that the call would be spread throughout the kingdom. Soon, every bell would ring as one. Now was supposed to be a time of joy. As he came to the doors of the Cathedral. He finished the ceremony, he knelt at them and prayed, Then, as he rose, a Priest held before him straw which ignited and fell to the floor, “So, Your Holiness, passes the glory of this Urth. Pray, do not succumb to it.” The doors opened and blinding sunlight cut through the Cathedral.