The Gathering of Brother Hilarius by Michael Fairless
Scanned and proofed by David Price
ccx074@coventry.ac.uk





THE GATHERING OF BROTHER HILARIUS





PART I - THE SEED




CHAPTER I - BLIND EYES IN THE FOREST



HILARIUS stood at the Monastery gate, looking away down the smooth,
well-kept road to the highway beyond. It lay quiet and serene in
the June sunshine, the white way to the outer world, and not even a
dust cloud on the horizon promised the approach of the train of
sumpter mules laden with meats for the bellies and cloth for the
backs of the good Brethren within. The Cellarer lacked wine, the
drug stores in the farmery were running low; last, but not least,
the Precentor had bespoken precious colours, rich gold, costly
vellum, and on these the thoughts of Hilarius tarried with anxious
expectation.

On his left lay the forest, home of his longing imaginings. The
Monastery wall crept up one side of it, and over the top the great
trees peered and beckoned with their tossing, feathery branches.
Twice had Hilarius walked there, attending the Prior as he paced
slowly and silently along the mossy ways, under the strong,
springing pines; and the occasions were stored in his memory with
the glories of St Benedict's Day and Our Lady's Festivals. Away to
the right, within the great enclosure, stretched the Monastery
lands, fair to the eye, with orchard and fruitful field, teeming
with glad, unhurried labour.

At a little elevation, overlooking the whole domain, rose the
Priory buildings, topped by the Church, crown and heart of the
place, signing the sign of the Cross over the daily life and work
of the Brethren, itself the centre of that life, the object of that
work, ever unfinished because love knows not how to make an end.
To the monks it was a page in the history of the life of the Order,
written in stone, blazoned with beauty of the world's treasure; a
page on which each generation might spell out a word, perchance add
a line, to the greater glory of God and St Benedict. They were
always at work on it, stretching out eager hands for the rare
stuffs and precious stones devout men brought from overseas,
finding a place for the best of every ordered craft; their shame an
uncouth line or graceless arch, their glory each completed pinnacle
and fretted spire; ever restoring, enlarging, repairing,
spendthrift of money and time in the service of the House of the
Lord.

The sun shone hot on grey wall and green garth; the spirit of
insistent peace brooded over the place. The wheeling white pigeons
circling the cloister walls cried peace; the sculptured saints in
their niches over the west door gave the blessing of peace; an old,
blind monk crossed the garth with the hesitating gait of habit
lately acquired - on his face was great peace. It rested
everywhere, this peace of prayerful service, where the clang of the
blacksmith's hammer smote the sound of the Office bell.

Hilarius, at the gate, questioned the road again and again for sign
of the belated train. It was vexatious; the Prior's lips would
take a thinner line, for the mules were already some days overdue;
and it was ill to keep the Prior waiting. The soft June wind swept
the fragrance of Mary's lilies across to the lad; he turned his
dreamy, blue eyes from the highway to the forest. The scent of the
pinewoods rushed to meet his sudden thought. Should he, dare he,
break cloister, and taste the wondrous delight of an unwalled
world? It were a sin, a grave sin, in a newly-made novice,
cloister-bred. The sweet, pungent smell overpowered him; the trees
beckoned with their long arms and slender fingers; the voice of the
forest called, and Hilarius, answering, walked swiftly away, with
bowed head and beating heart, between the sunburnt pine-boles.