Transcript
I came here with Brother Hugues two years back after a time in a place called Burgundy. Days and days we took to get here. Longer than I thought the world was before we rode it.
I tend the horses. Two for the preceptory — Brother Hugues’s mount and the one I share with Brother Jean — and the reeve’s horse as well. Good animals. Truth be told, they’re better company than most people. The grey one, she’s steady. The bay has opinions about everything. I’d miss them if I left. More than I’d miss the folk.
The work fills the morning. Feeding, mucking out, exercising, checking their feet and condition. Then I serve Brother Hugues at dinner, maintain his clothing and equipment, carry messages when needed. The tack, the saddles, the old campaign gear — I keep it all in good order. Habit, mostly. None of it sees use anymore.
England. Cold. Wet. The food’s plain and the language… I stumble over the words. I can speak with Brother Hugues and Brother Jean, but the workers here — I don’t have the words for most of what I’d say. We get the work done.
I’m from Arras in France — a cloth and wool town. They buy fleeces from here sometimes. I grew up knowing it came from elsewhere. Didn’t know where it came from. Turns out, here. Strange, that.
I could leave. I’m not a brother, no vows. But this is where I am. The horses need tending. Brother Hugues needs attending. And I don’t know what I’d go back to, so I stay.
Jon Eland 