Philip had come to King's Bridge Monastery at the age of seventeen, but his life as a Monk had begun long before that. The earliest one could enter a monastery was six, but Philip had become a member of the monastic community at the age of four.
He hadn't been an orphan; in fact, his family was better off than most, owning a large farm. But when he was four, his family was killed in a rebellion led by the Nobility. As payment for raising Philip, the monastery took over that farm.
And so he was thrust into the monastic way of life, yet Philip was consumed by an unshakeable rage. Life in the monastery was not so terrible as to warrant such anger—there was food to eat, clothes to wear, fire in the dormitory during Winter, and even a measure of kindness. The strict discipline and tedious rituals, at the very least, provided order and stability. But Philip began to act as though he had been unjustly locked away in solitary confinement.
He defied orders and seized every opportunity to undermine the authority of the Abbot, stealing food, breaking eggs, setting horses loose, mocking the old, and insulting his elders. Yet he never committed blasphemy, and for that, the Abbot forgave all his other misdeeds.
But eventually, he changed completely. That Christmas, he looked back on the previous twelve months and realized he hadn't spent a single night in the punishment room all year.
This was why he had some sympathy for Eric's "impetuous" behavior. In his eyes, Eric was just like his younger self—helplessly thrown into a completely unfamiliar place, his life now set on a path entirely different from the one he had known.
Moreover, Eric was of noble birth. Thus, he was willing to show him the same forgiveness that the Abbot who had raised him had shown, even though Philip was only a few years older than Eric.
Of course, his transformation wasn't due to a single reason. His newfound interest in his studies likely played a part. The precise theories of mathematics fascinated him; even the conjugations of Latin verbs held a certain satisfying logic.
Apparently, Eric was even more gifted in this regard, and Philip was convinced that with proper guidance, Eric would surely become an excellent Monk and a devout Defender of the Faith.
'Good heavens, ten years have passed in a flash. I remember you didn't look very sturdy even when I first arrived. It must have been difficult for you to hold on for so long.'
He was standing before a pile of rubble—the remains of the monastery's tower. The strong winds from the previous night had likely been too much for the ancient walls to bear.
However, the rebuilding would have to wait until after the Epiphany. The monastery currently lacked the funds for such a major repair. 'I hope the remaining walls don't have any cracks,' he thought. 'It'll be a disaster if water gets in.'
DONG DONG... DONG DONG...
It was the sound of the chapel bell.
The sound broke Philip from his reverie.
A bell tolled in such a way usually signified an important announcement. He had no choice but to set down the stone he was holding and hurry with the flow of Monks through the cloister and into the church.
The Cathedral was a typical Romanesque structure. But because its windows were too small, and the monks had only placed candles in the frontmost rows to save money, it felt like a vast, gloomy cavern.
The Monks stood in two rows. Before them stood an old man with thinning hair but a neatly trimmed beard. Though he looked to be over fifty, his posture was ramrod straight. Ignoring his hair, one might mistake him for a man in his middle years.
He stood before the Holy Image, swaying slightly. He was clearly drunk. He began the perfunctory prayer, his words rushed and slurred. The alcohol had numbed his tongue, causing him to mispronounce several Latin words.
This infuriated Philip, just as it always did. It had infuriated him since his very first day here ten years ago.
And this man, of all people, was the Vice Abbot of King's Bridge Monastery. Philip revered Abbot Warren, but appointing this man as his deputy was one of the Abbot's few mistakes.
What troubled Philip was that it was Warren—the very Abbot he revered, the man who had raised him—who had tasked him with setting King's Bridge Monastery to rights. But with this Vice Abbot in the way, his hands were tied.
'I ought to grab Vice Abbot James by the neck,' he thought, 'shake him and scream, "How dare you? How dare you rush your prayers to God? How dare you turn a blind eye while novices gamble with dice and Monks keep pet dogs? How dare you live in a palace surrounded by servants while letting the house of God crumble to ruin?"'
But he did not. And he swore it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Dean James was of noble birth, had traveled Europe as a Wandering Knight, had fought Heretics in Iberia as a Holy Warrior, and possessed peerless combat prowess even in his old age.
"Since everyone's here, I have... an announcement. *Hic*... Our beloved Bishop of Hereford, Elfseye, unfortunately passed away in his sleep from a fever four days ago.
"He abided by the commandments of God and lived a life of... of great Devotion. Though some whispered that he was swayed by Heresy, the truth is that he was a true Christian.
...
"In life, he was a bastion of faith; in death, a paragon for all England. He is blessed, for he has now returned to the embrace of Christ."
A collective sigh of mourning rose from the twenty-one Monks.
"Furthermore, there is another piece of news, a joyous one! Abbot Warren will be the next Bishop, and I have been designated his successor—the new Vice Bishop! I will be leaving you all shortly."
A massive cheer erupted from the twenty-one Monks, all of them sincerely overjoyed for their kind, amiable, and understanding Vice Abbot.
"And one last thing. The next Vice Abbot—your new administrator—has been chosen. I imagine the man in question already has an inkling. After all, the choice was beyond doubt. He is kind, pious, diligent, this Monastery's most loyal Servant of God..."
As James spoke, one man in the crowd grew visibly more excited.
Lait impatiently smoothed his robes, ready to ascend the platform. 'As the Vice Abbot's closest aide, not to mention the most prestigious and capable Monk in the entire Monastery,' he thought, 'the position of Vice Abbot is mine by right.'
Lait took a step forward, unable to resist shooting a glance at Philip. The man's face was a mask of disgust, as if he'd just swallowed something vile.
The sight filled him with malicious glee.
'Philip, you sanctimonious prick,' Lait sneered internally. 'Always running your mouth, acting like you're the only one with any real piety. You've offended everyone in the Monastery. What good is your devotion now?'
Lait despised Philip. Why should this upstart, this boy, be treated as his equal from the moment he arrived? On what grounds?
"The man chosen is... Philip!"
"Hooray!"
One groggy Monk started to cheer out of habit, only to receive a sharp rap on the head from the man beside him.
A collective groan replaced the cheer.
Of course, the murmuring began at once. Philip's reputation among them wasn't terrible, but it was by no means good.
It wasn't that he lacked piety; on the contrary, he was *too* pious, so much so that he was an outsider among them. They didn't want a Vice Abbot who would police their every move.
Lait, who had already placed a foot on the steps, froze as if turned to stone. Even Philip, standing at the very back, was dumbfounded, pointing a disbelieving finger at his own chest.
Without giving Philip a chance to ask questions, James let out a great yawn, stuck a hand down his back to scratch an itch, and ambled out of the chapel.
The Monks dispersed, their murmurs filling the air. Lait spat viciously on the floor and stalked away.
Before long, Philip was the only one left in the church. In the silence, he raised his eyes to the distant Holy Image.
"Lord, is this Your will?"
"Congratulations, Philip."
A familiar, though panting, voice broke the silence. Philip turned to see a lavishly dressed Priest standing at the entrance to the church.
He was clearly not one of the Monastery's Monks. He looked travel-worn and disheveled.
"Francis? What are you doing...?"
Francis was Philip's older brother, his senior by three years. He had left the monastery at the age of sixteen and, thanks to his exceptional talents, had become the Earl of Hereford's private Priest and secretary.
He didn't visit often, though. A visit once every two years was a good year, even though King's Bridge Monastery was not far from where he worked.
And yet, it had been less than a month since Francis's last visit.
Francis gave Philip no chance to speak, pulling him into a corner.
"There's no time. Philip, listen to me. I need your help."
"With what?"
"You'll help me, won't you?"
"I... if it aligns with the Lord's will..." Philip glanced nervously at the Holy Image beside them.
'The Lord's tests come far too quickly,' he thought. 'I haven't even officially taken up the post yet.'
"Have you heard? The King plans to disinherit his eldest son, Robert, and make his second son his heir."
"Can that be true? I thought it was just a rumor."
Philip had overheard it by chance two nights ago while passing the Vice Abbot's chambers. The drunken man had been drinking and boasting with a few old Priests.
He had dismissed it as the drunken ramblings of old men.
"It appears to be true. In a short time, Prince Robert has won over the Earl of Kent and Count Moretan, and now the Earl of Hereford is siding with him as well. In fact, the Earl made his decision long ago.
"They're secretly gathering their forces now, sending out one coded letter after another. You have to help me get word of this out. England can't afford to be torn apart by these Normans again."
Francis grabbed Philip fiercely by the collar.
"You want me to expose him? Why can't you do it yourself?"
"I'm his secretary. If he finds out I was the one who informed on him, I'll be hanged."
"But I'm just a Monk! I have no one to report this to!" Philip was taken aback by his brother's intensity.
"To your Bishop, Warren! Listen to me, if they succeed, the English Church will be crushed beyond recovery. Prince William has already promised Archbishop Lanfranc that he will restore the Church to its proper place."
"Francis, I don't trust the royal court. I wish only to follow the will of God." Philip waved his hand dismissively and tried to leave, but Francis held him fast.
"This *is* the will of the Church, which is second only to God's! Philip!"