After a cold night, the sun was climbing into a clear sky as Ilika knocked on a large wooden gate deep in the southern part of Cobble Town. No response came from within. He knocked again, harder.
Finally, perhaps a minute later, the gate opened with a creaking sound, and a large, round-faced monk filled the opening and gave the visitor a blank stare.
“Hello . . . I would like to see if there are some people, in your order, whom I might be able to hire.”
The monk continued to look at the visitor as if no words had been spoken.
Ilika was about to try a different question, but the gate was pulled open wider. A priest, judging by his robes, stepped forward. The monk shrank away.
“Greetings, young sir! Do I understand correctly that you wish to hire someone? You must forgive my brother. He takes his vows very seriously.”
Ilika glanced at the monk, whose eyes were downcast, then looked at the priest. “I was told I might find some . . . good workers here.”
“Come in! Let us walk in the garden while we discuss your needs. Thank you, brother,” he said to the monk still standing nearby, “you may resume your duties.”
The monk looked at the ground as he shuffled off toward a stone shed.
With an ominous click, the wooden gate was closed and locked. Ilika shivered for a second. After a deep breath for courage, he turned to look at
the garden.
Plants crept over the ancient stonework everywhere. Cobbled paths led to religious statues, often with a monk or two kneeling in prayer. As the young visitor and the older priest ambled along, no sound penetrated the sanctuary from outside the walls.
“I am looking for people who are able to travel,” Ilika explained, “and are flexible enough to deal with different cultures and . . . different types of people.”
The priest paused a moment to direct his visitor toward an archway. “The brothers make good use of every opportunity to travel. It gives them a chance to spread the Word.”
Ilika furrowed his brow for a moment as they entered a stone building filled with wooden tables and benches. “How much time do the brothers need each day to . . . practice their religion and . . . spread the Word?”
“We pray for an hour in the morning, at mid-day, in the evening, and before retiring,” the priest said as he led his guest toward a door where several monks could be seen working in a kitchen. Two mugs of tea were quickly poured for them. “But we practice our faith constantly, looking for words or deeds that violate our beliefs wherever they arise.”
The tea was bitter, but Ilika sipped it slowly. “The work I am talking about has specific duties . . . and the people I hire would not be able to do religious work at the same time.” He followed the priest along a covered walkway into another building. Many monks sat at tables reading aloud from different books. None of them appeared to be listening to any of the others. Ilika cringed at the resulting noise.
“Our scribes and illustrators are good at getting their assigned work done, by candlelight if necessary,” the priest said loudly so the visitor could hear him. “At the same time, they are constantly watching for violations of our faith in their work, and in the people around them. Some of them can copy as many as five pages a day!” the priest said proudly.
They left the reading room and stepped into another garden. A slapping sound, followed by occasional moans, came from the far end of the yard, and made Ilika’s hair stand on end. As they approached, he could see two monks with bare backs flogging themselves with short whips and trying to deal with
the pain silently, but not always succeeding. Ilika swallowed hard and struggled to keep his feelings from showing on his face.
“As you can see, the brothers practice self-discipline,” the priest said with a pleasant smile.
“Yes, I . . . I see.”
They entered a building, climbed a stairway, and came upon several monks working at desks near open windows. Precise lettering, sometimes brightly colored, slowly formed under their pens and brushes.
“What do they do if they notice a . . . violation of faith?”
“The usual. All copies of the work must be burned. If it arises from the words or actions of a person, he must be whipped and given the opportunity to repent before being stoned.”
They descended a narrow staircase, single file, so the priest didn’t notice the painful look on Ilika’s face.
“We can also offer cooks and gardeners,” the priest said as they returned to the order’s main gate.
Ilika bowed slightly to the priest and handed him a small silver piece.
“Thank you for your time. I will consider your brothers for the work I have.”
When the wooden gate had been closed and locked behind him, Ilika let out a huge sigh and a long shiver.
For the rest of the day he ate soup, wandered already-familiar streets, and sat on a bench near the marketplace, all the while wearing a thoughtful expression. Sometimes silent tears came to him, and much later in the day, a smile of acceptance.
The following day, after a good breakfast of hot porridge and fruit, Ilika wandered over to the bakery to buy a tart.
“Delicious,
Tori!”
“The wife gets the credit for tarts and pies.”
“Please tell her. Tori . . . I was wondering . . . are the three religious orders different in their beliefs and practices?”
“Yes, but I couldn’t say exactly how. It’s not a topic people discuss when buying bread.”
The younger man thanked the baker and set his feet to the streets of
Cobble Town. Not far from the marketplace, some street musicians caught his attention. Pipes and a stringed instrument created a lively tune that caused several of the children to dance in circles. Half an hour later, Ilika left a coin and dragged himself away.
Finally he arrived in the southeastern corner of the city, but his feet became heavier and heavier as he approached his destination. He gazed at fancy book pages in a scribe’s window while attempting to gather his courage.
Out of sheer force of will, he eventually arrived at the wooden gate, even larger than the one he had knocked upon the previous day. He stood a full minute, touching the plain, dark bracelet on his left arm.
When Ilika finally tapped, the gate quickly opened and a priest with a short sword on his belt looked the visitor up and down.
“I . . . I wonder if it might be possible to hire . . .”
“Come,” the priest said, and rapidly escorted the visitor through a small yard and into a large timber building, up a steep wooden stairway, and into a tiny room with a simple bench. “Wait here.”
Ilika looked around the featureless room. The small window could not be reached without a ladder. It could have been a prison cell, except that the door was not yet closed. He fingered his bracelet thoughtfully as he sat down on the bench and tried to relax.
“You wish to hire someone,” a man about fifty said from the doorway a few minutes later. He was not wearing the robes of a priest, nor was he armed, but his bearing revealed high status and extreme self-confidence.
“Yes,” Ilika said as he rose. “I am looking for companions for a journey
. . .”
“Where will you be going?”
“To many different far-off lands, so the people I hire need to be adaptable and . . .”
“What will you be doing in these foreign lands?”
“Um . . . sometimes just visiting . . . at other times bringing supplies . . .”
“Will these supplies ever include books, writings, or art works that have not been approved by the order?”
Ilika’s eyes opened wider, but he suppressed several emotions. “I would not want to violate the beliefs of the order. You have a list, I presume . . .”
“Of course. To what order do you give allegiance?”
As the interrogation continued, Ilika somehow found vague answers to the high priest’s pointed questions. At the same time he slowly walked back toward the order’s gate, forcing the older man to walk with him if he wished to continue the questioning. Eventually they arrived in the small yard near the gate.
“Will you submit your records to the order for review each year?”
“I never hide my activities from anyone. Thank you for your hospitality,”
Ilika said with a slight bow to his host, then handed him a small silver piece.
“You still must declare the types and numbers of workers the order shall send.”
“I will consider your workers,” Ilika said. Facing the gate, he waited for it to be unlocked and opened while his heart pounded in his chest.
The high priest was silent for a moment as he glared with hostile eyes at the young man. Then he abruptly gestured for the armed priest to open the gate.
As Ilika walked down the street away from the religious order, he knew the gate had not yet been closed, and could sense he was being watched. He touched the reassuring bracelet he wore. Slowly, as he turned corners and put distance between himself and the wooden gate, he began to breathe more freely.
Finally, back in the marketplace, surrounded by the aromas of ripe fruit and baking bread, he let himself smile for the first time that day.
Deep Learning Notes
The simple monk Ilika first met would probably be a slave if he was not in a religious order. What positive roles did religious communities play in medieval societies?
Ilika came face to face with the hard, cold reality of medieval religious beliefs and practices. His reaction was similar to when he accidentally walked into the slave market. Is there anything that the two institutions have in common?
The two orders were separate because of some difference in belief, practice, or leadership. Do Ilika’s experiences give us any hints about the difference?