The Beautiful Thread by Penelope Wilcock Page B

scrubbed the tables down as usual, swept the floors, and had now started on the laborious job of rubbing in the polish. Brother Walafrid made good-sized pots of this, using their own beeswax fragranced with lavender from the garden. The turpentine he added softened it somewhat, and Brother Conradus had set the pot to stand near the kitchen fire since first lighting it this morning. But the consistency remained stiff; applying it to all six tables took some muscle. When the last one had been completed, the first should be ready for the patient work of buffing with first one cloth, then another of softer fabric, and finally with a square of sheepskin – the fleecy side, obviously. Nobody looked forward to this job, but at least Placidus could console himself it had got him out of a long morning of New Testament Greek. Father Theodore had with reluctance given his permission.
    Humming a cheery (but sacred) melody, Brainard came into the refectory, and paused to inhale deeply the aromatic mixture scenting the room.
    â€œAhhh!” he exclaimed appreciatively. Brother Placidus continued his work without pausing; as a novice he was not supposed to get into conversation with the abbey’s guests, unless that proved unavoidable. Brother Richard looked up and smiled.
    â€œGood morrow,” he said pleasantly.
    â€œAha!” Brainard contemplated the fraterer with approval. “Now, that’s what I like to see – a smiling face. Did you know, Brother… er… smiling while you work makes you more productive? Smiling men get more done! Imagine that! Ooh – look – Brother Er; you missed a bit! Just here; can you see? If you tilt your head sideways – lean to the left a little way – you have to look at it so the light just catches the surface. No, not there – a little further along; by that knot in the wood. Yes, that’s right. Ooh, and look – another little patch near the end; only small, but I’m sure you want to do a good job. Oh and another – hahaha! Isn’t it a merry thing, how once you really start to look, you see little places missed everywhere! That’s right. Oh – another little spot; here, look.” He pointed. “How remarkably felicitous I happened to come by. Just think, you might never have noticed. Such occasions – not coincidences to my mind, I like to call them Godincidences – the mini-miracles that blossom unheeded along our daily path. Ooh – another spot here, Brother – er…”
    He watched with lively attention as Richard, having little choice in the matter, doggedly persevered with his application of beeswax, baring his teeth in his best approximation of a smile.
    â€œZounds! Fie! Is that – wait! Just a minute! Go to! There’s a mouse!” This elicited little astonishment from Richard or Placidus; the frater hosted plenty of mice. They had a cat, and it hunted valiantly, keeping the population within tolerable limits. But Brainard, moving more swiftly, and more silently, than Richard would have judged within most men’s capability, managed to arrest the little creature’s escape by treading on its tail. He stamped on it with his other foot, grinding in a vigorous circle to be sure it was dead. Placidus, straightening up from his work, watched open-mouthed. “I think that’s done for it – well, nearly; it won’t last long,” said the jocund equerry. “A bit of a mess, I’m afraid, but nothing a scrubbing brush won’t shift. Well, I must be getting on – I’ve a list of requests as long as your arm for Brother – er – the kitchener.” He stepped sprightly towards the cloister door, leaving a faint trail of blood mixed with tiny traces of gut, fur and body fluids in his wake. “Don’t forget, now!” Almost coquettishly he looked back: “Keep smiling!”
    Brother Richard had always maintained that Brother Cormac,