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is why people hated you .
    As the silence between the two men continued, Brother Conradus made himself as unobtrusive as he possibly could while he set about measuring out the ingredients for the pies they had planned for supper. He wondered if maybe he should just leave the pies for later and go away.
    â€œWhat are we going to feed them, then, if we do not give them rabbit?” William asked. Brother Cormac looked up at him, the relief in his face more than William would have thought the situation warranted.
    â€œCouldn’t they eat fish, as we do? Or pigeons?”
    â€œAnd if the guests clean us out of pigeons—I’m not being fanciful, we have a big influx at times—what do we eat?”
    â€œWell… couldn’t we eat beans… and eggs maybe… and cheese?”
    William realized that he was not listening to a man who had given little thought to the matter; this came from the centre of Cormac’s heart.
    â€œBrother Cormac,” he said with a sigh, “you go on ordering your rabbits from the market. Do as you think best. Don’t you worry.”
    As he turned and left the kitchen, and Cormac picked up a cloth to wipe down the table that was already clean, Brother Conradus kept his eyes focused firmly on his pastry, doing the best that he could to be there and yet not there at all.
    William walked back to the checker, the encounter oddly clear and powerful in his heart. He felt as though his soul had become a battleground between faithfulness to the Christ who prioritized love above all else and the habits of cynicism and—he didn’t like the idea but made himself face up to it—bullying, which he had always found worked well enough for him in the past. But if the Christ who prioritized love was the Lord of this community and the Lord of his own life, what he couldn’t disentangle was where his feelings for Madeleine fitted in. He thought the only way he could cope with shutting her out of his mind would be if he barred the way to every impulse of tenderness and humanity, reverting to the arid state he’d been used to before he came here. The more he went on thinking about it, the more clearly he realized that was no longer an option for him. His heart had been broken open to life and love, and he didn’t think he could seal it up again, even if he wanted to. And, he had to admit in the still small voice of his innermost being, he didn’t want to, not when it came to it. And he thought that might be his salvation, but it was not unconnected with being in love.
    This was not the first time in his life that William had used account books as a refuge from thinking about things that threatened and confused him.
    â€œAny joy with Brother Cormac?” Brother Ambrose asked him cheerily as he walked through the door.
    â€œI said he could go on ordering the rabbits from the market.” Brother Ambrose had to strain to hear him, and William did not look at him.
    â€œOh. I see.” Ambrose thought it wisest to withdraw from further discussion of the matter. “Never mind,” he said sympathetically. “We all have that trouble with Brother Cormac.”
    William did not reply. He sat down at his table and picked up the next scrap of parchment from the pile of notes jotted down by the brothers, and receipts and bills from tradesmen. He looked at it in bafflement. He simply couldn’t read this monk’s handwriting at all.

    â€œI would speak with thy cellarer.” Old Mother Cottingham accosted Brother Martin on his way back to the gatehouse after the midday meal.
    â€œBrother Ambrose?” He regarded her with kindly amusement, this diminutive ancient lady, bent and leaning on her gnarled stick, her wild grey hair in disarray, her shawl awry, only a few teeth left in her jaw, but her eyes as bright and sharp as ever. Eyes that saw everything—on the inside as well as the outside. There was nothing wrong with her hearing