DE MIRACULIS

DE MIRACULIS

All shall be ruled by fellowship I say,
When we are ruled by the love of one another.
All shall be ruled by fellowship I say,
In the light that is coming in the morning.

Sidney Carter: John Ball

Sir Rainald’s servants found the young man lying beside the track leading to the Manor House. His clothes, though dishevelled, were made of fine cloth and his hands were pale and soft, but his eyes were blank and he could not speak. He had no visible injury and allowed himself to be led to the long time empty cottage close to the Manor Farm. There Sir Rainald himself brought him a blanket of coney skins, a bed, a stool and a six-board oak chest black with age and beeswax. Each day food and wine, wood for the fire and candles to light the dark evenings of winter were sent to the cottage. Not a word did the young man speak, but he bowed low to Sir Rainald and nodded briefly to the servants.

One frost white morning as the reluctant Christmastide sun rose behind the low timbered walls and the reed thatch, a boy of perhaps ten years lifted the latch of the young man’s door, and went into the small dark room He was ragged and grubby, but he smiled and bade the young man a Good Day as he unpacked his basket. The young man looked silently away, unsmiling. Was there anything else the master wanted Aldret persisted. The young man hesitated, then pointed to the small wooden pipe which hung from the boy’s belt. “Play me a tune.” he said, and lay back against the wool filled mattress. Aldret put the mouthpiece to his lips and the young man shut his eyes

As he always did, the young mand saw in his mind’s eye his wife Ysolt in her coffin, her new born babe lying on her breast. The pipe filled the December gloom with the trilling of birds and the soft song of running water, and suddenly the gloom of the cottage seemed to be overwhelmed by a midsummer sun. He could hear laughter and there was Ysolt in her blue gown, her corn gold hair flying out loose behind her as she danced with him in her father’s hall. He walked with her once more across soft green fields and amongst the dancing dappled shadows of the ancient forest, and he came alive again.

“What miracle is this?” Sir Rainald came into the cottage as the young man, smiling while the tears ran down his cheeks, put a hand on Aldret’s shoulder and a silver coin in his scrip. “No miracle, my lord,” the young man said, “as when our Saviour was born of a Virgin and cradled in a manger. Rather it is the uniting of your abiding kindness to a mind-sick stranger together with Aldret’s generous sharing of his music with me, that have opened my eyes again to the loving presence of my lady who lives on in my heart’s memory. If such courtesy and compassion were always to direct us thus towards all whom we may meet, then my lord in this world we should perhaps have little need of miracles.”

Naomi