Dreamer: A Prequel to the Mongoliad

VERNA, 1224

The young knight’s thoughts continued to trouble him, and as it became clear that Raphael was uncomfortable being surrounded by the other monks, Brother Leo encouraged the young man to follow him. Once they had left the oratory, Brother Leo led Raphael along the path that trundled past the hermitage. The route took them into the shadows of tall rocks where tiny pools of water moistened fringes of pale lichens. The monk showed Raphael were to step so as to steer clear of a pair of empty bird nests — used this last spring, but empty now as the chicks had all grown strong enough to fly on their own. Eventually they came to the narrow footbridge that crossed a yawning gap in the mountain.

Brother Leo laid his hand on Raphael’s shoulder. “You have seen much, my son, and I have not the skills to ease your pain,” he said. “I am an old man, and my life is simple.” He chuckled. “I like it that way.”

“Aye,” Raphael said, offering him a shy smile. “I fear I have upset your tranquility, Brother Leo.”

Brother Leo shook his head. “I know you did not climb all this way to test my faith with your stories and your questions,” he said. “My simple life is of little import to you, though my heart is enriched by the knowledge that you will fret about having an undue effect on my thoughts.” He shook his head. “I wish that I could give you the gift of such simplicity, but I know I am not the one you seek. I cannot help you find your path.”

Raphael said nothing, and Brother Leo could not tell if the young man’s reticence stemmed from politeness or despair.

“Brother Francis does not live among us,” Brother Leo said, and when Raphael tensed at his words, he gently squeezed the knight’s shoulder. “He lives in a tiny cell,” Brother Leo continued. “Just over there.” Brother Leo pointed out the corner of the shack that stuck out beyond the wide shelf of rock that lay on the other side of the chasm. “We try not to disturb him during his vigil. Every day I come here and offer him a benediction. If he responds, then I cross the bridge and we say our prayers together.”

“What do you say?” Raphael asked, his voice breaking.

“It is from the fifty-first Psalm,” Brother Leo said, eyeing Raphael carefully. “‘ Domine, labia mea aperies.’ Do you know it?”

“‘Lord, open my lips,’” Raphael translated.

“Do you know what comes next?”

Raphael shook his head.

“‘ Et os meum annuntiabit laudem tuam,’” Brother Leo said. “‘And my mouth shall declare Your praise.’”

Tears began to track down Raphael’s face.

Brother Leo embraced the young knight. Raphael’s body was tense at first, but gradually the tears broke down his defenses and he relented, weeping openly and freely.

“‘Create in me a clean heart,’” Brother Leo quoted softly, recalling another part of the fifty-first Psalm, “‘and renew a steadfast spirit within me.’”

When he spotted the hunched figure totter around the edge of the rocky outcrop and make its way slowly and painfully toward the bridge, he let go of Raphael. “God knows what is in your heart,” he said to Raphael. “That is the true measure of the man.”

Raphael nodded, wiping at his nose. He looked very much like the boy he might have been, had many things been different. Had God granted him a different path, Brother Leo reflected.

“I have been lost, Brother Leo,” Raphael said. “I have not known what to do. Where to go. I just haven’t known…”

“Very few of us ever do,” Brother Leo said as he made the sign of the cross. He pointed over Raphael’s shoulder.

As the young man turned to look, Brother Leo departed. He wasn’t needed anymore. As he reached the first bend in the path, he heard Raphael’s voice — querulous at first, but stronger in its second attempt.

“‘ Domine…Domine, labia mea aperies…’”

Brother Leo did not wait to hear Brother Francis’s reply.