The Hermit of Sant Alberto (eBook)

THE MONASTERY OF SANT ALBERTO DI BUTRIO, ITALY 1334

Dawn was beginning to spread its morning veil of sunshine over the small monastery of Sant Alberto di Butrio. It promised to be another stifling day, with breathless humidity and a heat that would scorch the unprotected. The monastery lay nestled in the region between Genoa and Pavia in the vast tranquillity of Lombardy, sheltered at the top of a steep cypress valley that descended westwards to the episcopal diocese of Tortona.

From his vantage point at the top of the monastery’s bell tower, the youthful, gangly figure of Brother Francis finally had sight of an expected cavalcade approaching up the long, rough path to the old building.

The tower, the building of which had only finally been completed three years since, was the brother’s favourite place in the whole of this simple tranquil house of God.

With the advantage of a high lookout, Francis could fully enjoy the vast landscape surrounding the sandstone buildings that encompassed the monastery, their warm colour of burnt umber distinct against the walls of rich green fir trees that protected the buildings on two sides. The novitiate’s young face held a drooping open mouth, large brown eyes and a permanent expression of awe. He all but hung out of the open archways surrounding the large bell that summoned the community to their daily regular devotions.

His gaze had now become fixed on a small party of horsemen, at least six, which accompanied a richly decorated carriage that rumbled slowly along the rough track. Brother Francis knew only too well that the path through the surrounding countryside could be almost impassable to those unfamiliar with its rough terrain. He, however, had travelled it many times, often to help the hermit, William, gather some of the plants and flowers for the monastery’s infirmarian - Brother Alphage.

Though only a thin wiry figure, the young novice was strong and lithe, his almost white skin was covered in the youthful spots of acne from his straight nose down his narrow throat, where his prominent Adam’s apple moved rapidly. Long, pale, hairless legs now carelessly exposed above his knee; his wide feet and overlong toes wore ill-fitting leather sandals, presenting an almost comical figure.

Brother Francis watched for a few minutes longer, his young sharp eyes drawn to the small cavalcade, for there were indeed few visitors to this outback community. His observance was interrupted by the impatient voice of Brother Nicolo, the monastery steward, from the bottom of the steps that led up to the bell tower.

“Brother Francis,” he called sharply, “do you see anything yet, or are you merely using your task as an excuse to be idle?”

“I see them, brother.” Francis tore his gaze from the beautiful scenery that stretched out further than his eyes could see - excellent though his vision was. The youth quickly descended the narrow, dusty steps of the tower, and stepped out of the building into the sunlight, the heat of which was already stifling and oppressive. He screwed up his eyes, blinking against the sudden brilliant light.

Below him, the monastery was, even at this early hour, bustling with life and activity. Many of the brothers were already out in the land surrounding the abbey, large rimmed hats of straw protecting their bald pates from the sun’s punishing heat. At the abbey itself, the laundry was underway, garments hung from thin ropes at the rear of the small building that served as a wash house, the heat of the day drying them with convenient speed.

The scriptorium, small though it was, nevertheless held some rare works, and studious brothers bent over their desks carefully transcribing texts and books with glorious elaborate lettering and colours of blue, gold and red.

In the warm, airless weather, the delightful cooking smells from the kitchens mixed with the pungent intoxicating aromas from the workshop of the apothecary blending in an almost heady concoction. Against this calm organised flow of activity, Brother Francis stood facing the frowning monk.

“There are horsemen and a carriage,” he announced proudly. “The carriage is red and adorned with gilt decoration, from what I could observe.”

Brother Nicolo, a small round figure with a large fleshy face, pursed his lips in annoyance. His sharp dark eyes, almost lost in his full chubby cheeks, missed very little of what occurred within the abbey. A proud and rather arrogant individual, he was, however, a most practical man who successfully ensured the business of the abbey ran smoothly, and yet whilst he lived within the community peacefully enough, he nonetheless gave the impression that he did not particularly enjoy doing so.

Regardless, he tolerated his fellow brethren as best he could, whilst admonishing those who transgressed. It was, he believed, far better that the brothers of the small community be censured by him than ask the Lord’s forgiveness for the error of their ways.

Brother Nicolo, despite being a most devout brother of the abbey, was considered to suffer those grave sins of intolerance and impatience; and if there was one individual to whom he liberally directed his considerable ire, it was the novice who now stood awkwardly looking down upon him. The steward tapped a sandaled foot in growing irritation, and closed his small, beady eyes briefly, as though seeking divine patience with the boy.

“As steward of this most holy community, I and indeed the Abbot himself, needed to know when exactly the party of our expected guests had been sighted, not told they were almost upon us, and how the carriage was adorned. How far away, do you think? Minutes? An hour?”

Without waiting for an answer, he sniffed sharply in annoyance and turned away, setting off in the direction of the abbot’s chamber. In his haste, he almost collided with another of the brothers and, after mutual apologies, the steward lightly took hold of the sleeve of the other monk’s habit, gently pulling him closer conspiratorially.

“I am told, Brother John, that our important visitor is almost upon us, and yet still I am unaware of his identity - it really is most odd.”

Brother John made to comment, but the steward continued, barely drawing breath.

“We had the horseman that arrived here last week, eager to see the abbot, and informing him that we were to expect a guest, and now he arrives, neither on horseback or donkey but in an ornate carriage! With a group of horsemen! That is, of course, if our young dolt of a novice is to believed!”

Nicolo cast a look of annoyance at the younger man, who was now rubbing at the side of his habit in an attempt to rid it of a dark orange dust that he had collected from his observation point in the bell tower.

Brother John once again opened his mouth to speak, but the steward again appeared to anticipate the question before it was uttered.

“No brother,” he stated, as though talking to a child. “I have no idea who this most eminent visitor is nor why he should wish to visit our community. There is a mystery here indeed, one which we shall no doubt uncover in time.”

It was well known throughout the brethren that the steward enjoyed nothing as much as gossip, be it from those who lived within the monastery walls or the few inhabitants whose dwellings were scattered around the locality. It was not for his own interest of course; how many times had he scolded his fellow brothers that they must guard against such trivia? The role of steward, however, permitted him to descend from so lofty a position from time to time if it was in the interests of the monastery.

From the corner of his eye, Nicolo noticed the tall figure of the abbot approaching. The steward turned to leave, advising Brother John that he should not ask so many questions. “Goodness, how you all pester me for details! Now, carry on brother, important guest or not, we have our duties to perform.” So saying saying, he turned away, and after instructing the young Brother Francis to again take up his position in the bell tower, he scuttled off in the direction of his superior.

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The party of horsemen and the elegant carriage that were the subject of the young novice’s interest were making slow progress towards the small monastery. They had journeyed uneventfully along the narrow road that wound its way through a dark forest. Their path now led them through woodland that was less dense, and offered a glimpse of the surrounding countryside, with its rugged gorge and plants that peppered the thoroughfare leading to their destination.

An eerie silence was broken only by the noise of horses’ hooves and the rumble of the small carriage. The coolness of the woodland had been a welcome respite from the heat of the sun that beat down relentlessly from a cloudless sky. The passable throughway they had been afforded in the forest was now harder to discern; the dirt path, strewn with mountain rocks and stones, and the dust generated from the horses at the front of the procession, hung heavily in the still air so those at the rear could only try not to breathe in great gasps, as they finally had sight of the monastery.

It had been hoped that, with such an early dawn start, they would have drawn nearer to their destination before the relentless heat would make the journey almost unbearable. The horsemen had at least been given permission to abandon their heavier tunics in favour of a lighter ones. Consent had been granted, albeit begrudgingly, by the older of the two travellers in the decorated carriage, for he was most observant of protocol, even in these stifling conditions.

Whilst ceremony and appearance were of the utmost importance to him, he had...