Pagan's Vows Read Online Free

‘Are you deaf? Did you hear me? Did I give you permission to speak? In the Rule of Saint Benedict, Pagan, the Fifty-third Instrument of Good Works is ‘not to be fond of much talking’. Kindly remember that.’
    Oh really? Well for your information, Needle-nose, I do remember that. And I remember something else, too.
    ‘But Master, the Eighteenth Instrument of Good Works is “to come to the help of those in trouble”.’ (So there, bog-brain.) ‘Roland was in trouble, and I came to his help.’
    Gasp. That’s done it. A stifled squeak from Durand. A choking sound from Bernard.
    Clement clears his throat.
    ‘In Chapter Sixty-nine of Saint Benedict’s Rule,’ he growls, ‘it states that in a monastery no one should presume to defend another. “Special care must be taken that under no pretext should one monk presume to defend or uphold –” ’

‘Yes, but what about Chapter Seventy-two?’ Courage, Pagan. Stand up and speak your mind. Looks can’t kill, after all. ‘In Chapter Seventy-two it says: ‘Let no one follow what he thinks most profitable for himself, but rather what is best for another’. What about that?’
    Dead silence. Everyone seems to be holding their breath. Roland throws me one of his long, blue looks, and shakes his head a little. Clement narrows a steely pair of eyes.
    ‘So,’ he says at last, very slowly and very, very quietly, ‘we have an orator with us. We have a master of argument. How impressive. And tell me, my young Cicero – you who are so learned in the art of discourse – tell me, what are the two kinds of argumentation, according to Boethius? What is a syllogism? What is an enthymeme? What are the five parts of rhetoric? Can you tell me this? Hmm?’
    Oh, very funny. Very amusing. ‘No, Master.’
    ‘No? But surely you must know the thirty-two instruments of verborum exornatio? ’
    ‘Not personally.’ You big fat heap of pigs’ offal. ‘We haven’t been formally introduced.’
    A titter from Gaubert. Clement stands up.
    ‘Then it’s time you were,’ he says, and every word sounds as if he’s spitting out teeth. ‘Come. All of you, come this way. You too, Pagan. This is for your benefit.’
    What –? Who –? Where are we going? Out the door. Around the herb garden. Past the refectory. Clement’s stick rapping along just ahead. Bernard, flashing me a sly little grin over his shoulder. Roland, beside me, lending support. The comforting pressure of his hand on my elbow.
    Oh, Roland, I think we’ve made a big mistake here.
    ‘Hurry up,’ Clement barks. He seems to be heading for the church. No, for the guest-house.
    No. Of course. He stops at the book-presses.
    ‘Ah, Brother Gerard. How fortunate,’ he observes. And there’s Brother Gerard, arranging books on one of the shelves. He’s a shuffling, round-shouldered, cross-looking monk, with an apple-red birthmark completely covering the left side of his face.
    He frowns as he looks up.
    ‘Brother Gerard, I have need of a book,’ Clement announces. ‘Book Two of the De topicis differentiis , by Boethius. Could you get it for me?’
    Gerard breathes an elaborate sigh (as if to suggest that he’s got enough damned work to do without other people’s selfish demands), drops the stack of books he’s holding, and drags over a little footstool. The way he climbs up onto it, you’d think he was scaling Mount Sinai.
    ‘Here,’ he says, pulling a massive volume from the topmost shelf. ‘How long will you be needing it?’
    ‘Oh – some time, I think.’
    ‘Then I’ll mark you down in the register.’ Gerard hands the book to Clement, who staggers slightly under its weight. It’s as big as a road-fort, and just as impenetrable. The spine makes a noise like a bone snapping when Clement parts the middle pages.
    ‘Now, if I remember correctly . . . I think it’s in Book Two . . . Ah yes. Here we are.’ He shoves the thing under my nose. ‘What does this say, Pagan? Read it to us.’
    Oofl Talk about