Title: Vows (1/1)

Series/Sequel: The second in the Reincarnation Series.

Author: Vera

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Through the centuries of human history, two souls are bound together. This second tale takes place in the end of the 13th century. The timeline may skip, but it will end in the present.

Disclaimer: The boys belong to Sandra, I just like to mess with them.

Notes: Each title will tell you what separates the souls. I don't know if I believe in reincarnation or not, but it makes for fertile story telling ground. This was not written with the intent of offending any religion. I tried my best to research the religion portrayed here.

It had been a year and a day since his arrival and vow taking that Brother Marcus met his fate. He had come to St. Benedict's the previous year, by choice. As the third son of his lord father, it was traditional that he be the one to be given to the church. He had been raised for this purpose and was the only one of his siblings to attend school, learning from the monks at the closer monastery of St. Dominic's.

Consequently, he knew a great deal more about the world and felt that the farther away he could get from it the better. His family name, DiAngelo, he left behind him and took up Brother Marcus in the farthest order he could find. That this order forbade him to speak except in prayer or emergency did not faze him. He enjoyed the quiet, being of a contemplative nature and as the proverbial runt of the litter in his own home, he was used to long stretches of silence.

He became something of role model to the other Brothers, so fierce was he in his silence. Some of the men would qualify emergency to mean different things, so that once in a great while they could hear their own voice for the sheer pleasure of it. Brother Marcus had not spoken a word since taking his vows, except to pray. He even took up the job of gathering which required not only his silence, but by day a total separation from his fellows.

When others questioned this decision, he would point to the passage in the bible, referring to Moses, who was herding goats in silence and thereby had the patience to hear what the Lord told him through the burning bush. The other brothers may have felt this was a bit pretentious, but no one else wanted to take care of the goats, so he was free to roam the hills, watching over thirty some brown and white mammals until the sun set and they had to be brought in from pasture.

The first year past pleasantly enough and the timelessness of the monastery began to sink into Brother Marcus. Days flowed into one another, he and his brethren were merely awaiting a time when their toil would be through. The Order's primary function was copying and illuminating manuscripts, but most of the brothers were support staff for those who slaved over the books.

The manor that tithed to the monastery was close by and the villagers would pray in the same chapel as the monks on Sundays which the brothers found both interesting and disconcerting. It was a reminder of the life they had left behind by coming here and some regretted it more then others.

Brother Marcus had few regrets. His days were spent praying to his God out in open fields surrounded by goats. It was hard to be depressed when one spent large amounts of time with goats. Goats are pretty pragmatic creatures with a tendency to eat things that just shouldn't be edible. They accepted Brother Marcus like he was one of their own. Mother goats would deposit their young with him when they wanted to go farther afield, the elderly goats would graze right at this feet when they weren't up to running and often times, he would go out at night to the pens just to make sure they were all right.

The day he met his fate was no different then any other weekday. It happened to be Monday. It was early afternoon, the sun shone down pleasantly warm as it was most of the year, except for the rainy season of winter. Brother Marcus sat in the grass, watching two kids butt at each other. Soon the mother would separate them, but for now they were having a grand time.

He heard a rustle in the grasses and turned just in time to see a girl emerge from the grass. She was obviously a lower servant of some type in the nearby manor, her clothing better then that of the farming serfs, but no where close to that of a high ranking maid. Long brown hair must have at one time been plaited up, but now ran in a haphazard river down her back. Her skin was heavily darkened from years of running about unprotected from the sun. Brother Marcus' skin was fair and would have burned were it not for the large brim hat he habitually wore.

Unable to call out to her, he waited until like an animal, her eyes fell on him.

And what eyes! Wild, fierce and free eyes, dark with the intelligent cunning.

"Brother." She muttered to herself before sitting down beside him and pulling her knees to her chest.

Brother Marcus was at a loss. So he did nothing. All that day she followed him as he went about his duties. She was good with the goats and they seemed to like her very much. She kept her tongue, speaking only to say that her name was Bernice. Just as the Brother had gotten used to her presence, she slipped away with the sun.

At prayer that night, he found his mind wandering to the girl. He had been fifteen when he entered the monastery, so he must be about sixteen now. Birthdays and Saint's days were not celebrated here, but he knew his had passed about a month ago. She must be about fourteen, he decided and smiled a little to himself for even thinking about it. He had left such things behind him when he passed through the doors of the chapel he now kneeled in.

Still, he found himself waiting for the girl to appear the next day. When she did not, he felt a little regret, but soon pushed it entirely from his mind. He drew forth his Bible and allowed the familiar passages to soothe his mind. The week past and on the Sabbath he held himself strong enough that he did not even look for the girl.

The next day, his patience seemed to be rewarded as she appeared again, looking tamer somehow. Her hair was bound more neatly and her face was washed. Again she moved with him while he performed his duties and again he found himself interested in her. This time she spoke. Told the short story of her life to him in such simple words he found himself touched.

She had been born in a barn outside the manor to a maid mother and a stable hand father. Both of her parents had died early in her life and she'd been raised among the brood of servant hands about the mansion. The head cook, known to Bernice only as Cook, had taken a liking to her and recruited her to be a serving wench. Since she worked on the Sabbath and was normally a good worker, Cook gave her the day after Sabbath off. That was how she had come to be in the hills.

Brother Marcus had many questions he wished to ask her, but could not for unlike the other Brothers, he could not write her messages. She could not read. He attempted pantomime, but gave it up as to frustrating. As before when the sun began to slide from the sky, she left.

This time Brother Marcus felt no sadness at her going for he knew she would return next Monday. It surprised him how he looked forward to it. The silence had become oppressive though now he could not remember when that had happened. That night he prayed fervently that he should regain his patience.

But Bernice wore away at his control. Every week she came and every week, she would talk about the little happenings of her life. Things that to anyone else would have been unimportant, but to the Brother were like drops of water in the desert. Desperately, he wished he could speak back to her, but all the time was aware of the boundaries between them.

Eventually, she married. He had thought that would have meant the end of the bittersweet Monday's. Instead, they continued without interruption and by her narrative one would never have guessed that she married at all. It was an unimportant fact her daily grind of cook, serve, eat and gossip. When she did mention her husband, Isaac, a stable hand like her father, it was in passing and usually accompanied by a disparaging comment. Had he been allowed to speak, the Brother would have told her about respecting one's husband. But he could not speak, but listen and in that way learned more then he would have should he have spoken. Isaac was a brute and often hit his wild wife, not uncommon for the time, but he could never hurt her spirit because she did not care enough about him to care about his opinion.

Secretly, the Brother wondered if she wouldn't be better off without him.

So life went on and more and more the Brother felt split. He led two different lives. Tuesday-Sunday he was dedicated to his Church and to his God. He followed the laws and spoke only to pray. On Mondays....on Mondays he was tempted by the Serpent in the form of semi-pretty servant girl. His sleep, once the heavy deep sleep of the just, was disturbed and filled with dreams.

The next surprise was the day the Brother noticed she was pregnant. She must have been carrying the child for many months by then, but it was only on that Monday that she had grown enough that he could see the extra fat for what it was. Unable to let this pass without comment, he laid a gentle hand on the bulk. It was the first time he had touched her and her body was warm.

She had only smiled at him and nodded. He looked at her in wonder. It was the first time that he had any connection with a woman and the fact that someone he knew was capable of creating new life suffused him again with belief and hope.

As the months passed, he could see that it was harder for her to walk among the goats, her bulk preventing her from weaving as agile as the animals themselves. So he sat when she came and they would stare at the clouds. Sometimes, she would put her head in his lap and he would lay a hand on her stomach, feeling the stirring of life. These powerful moments began to ease the splitting of his world. She was part of the cycle of life, a part to be treasured as part of Creation. His attraction to her was no longer disturbing, but natural and easier to forget.

The birth of her child happened in the middle of the week, so that one week he was rubbing her stomach, the next she papered cradling a baby. It was a boy and it was endlessly fascinating to the Brother. She allowed him to hold it while she took a nap and for the longest time he just stared. It blinked up at him sleepily for a few seconds, before slipping into sleep. He sat still until his back ached, unwilling to jar the fragile body the least bit.

When it began to wail, Bernice awoke and took the babe from his hands. He looked away when she took her breast from the bodice of her utility dress and placed the babe to it. A gentle hand landed on his arm and turned him back towards her. Obeying, he tried to keep his eyes on her face, the dark skin with long brown lashes curving against the face. He is, however, only human and eventually, his gaze strays to where the single breast hangs over her dress. It is of lighter color then the rest of her body, a shock of white against dark brown. The aerole is a deep red and infant sucks with a gusto. Brother Marcus had never seen a woman naked.

His prayers were more fervent then usual that night.

Please dear lord, give me strength with which to resist temptation....over and over and over again until the words were meaningless and all that was left in his find was the picture of mother and child, among the goats.

And so it went for nearly three years. She came to him every Monday without fail, carrying and then walking besides her young son, whom was christened Thomas. Tom loved the goats and would run among them as if with playmates. Confident in his ability to avoid danger, Bernice would often ignore her son, unless he called directly to her. At first, Brother Marcus watched with sharp eyes for the child, lest the goats trample him, but it soon became apparent that that would not happen. He would sometimes bring the child things that he had made to while away the time like a few small goats carved from wood or a cross weaved from the plants that grew nearby. Bernice would only smile when he produced these things from his long brown robe, grateful, but not ready to thank, lest he believe she was begging or accepting charity.

It was after all this time that she finally spoke to him. Not that she had not been speaking to him before, she sometimes would talk for hours about what went on within her home, but for the first time it was like she was listening so that he would not only hear, but understand and reply. She started leaving pauses where he might have replied and took queues from his facial expressions about how he felt. It was then that she tried to guess his name.

It took her three months to get it right with him simply shaking his head at every wrong guess. He could not help her in any other way, so that it became a game between them, she with a wild cheer in her eye, he with a gentle patient smile, shaking his head until the his brain threatened to break loose. The day she did guess, she started to say it over and over again. Marcus, she would chant her soft low voice, Marcus, Marcus.

And that was when he stopped thinking of himself as Brother. He wanted to be known to her as Marcus. Liked the sound better and he was glad that she dropped the title from then on.

The definite moment when he knew that he loved her was hard to pinpoint. Love itself was not easy to accept, let alone decide when it starts. Marcus had long ago vowed to love only his God and his fellow brothers, but she had wrested him from the shell, that vow. His heart belonged partly to her now.

The realization somehow lessened the pain. It explained the feeling without needing it to be acted on. He loved his God, whom he could not see or touch or hear. At least with Bernice, he could be near her and bask in her warmth. In the deepest recesses of his mind and heart, he became dedicated to her. It seemed the exact opposite to his relationship with the Lord in which he could only speak and send his voice into the void with no hope of response.

And so it went. They grew together through the years and kept their odd friendship, their lives weaved together as strong as any two threads in a palace carpet. Bernice bore two more children, two girls Anne and Catharine. The three children loved Marcus too and delighted in figuring out his elaborate pantomimes.

The day had to come of course, when the silence was finally broken. It came swift and unexpected like a blow to the head. It was a Thursday and he had just finished penning in the goats for the evening, ready to head inside for prayer when Thomas, then a strong lad of twelve, came pelting down the hill at top speed.

"Marcus...it's mother, she is dying and she has called upon you to give her Last Rights."

His heart racing in his chest, all he could do was run along side the boy. He did it without thinking, just left the walls of the monastery behind, unthinking of the punishment he would earn. Did it because by now, Bernice was a greater love and to think of her lying dead was to much, to hard to escape. He thundered down the path and ran the half mile to the manor, matched step by step with Thomas.

It was the first time Marcus had been to the manor, but he did not have time to look around. He continued to run past the great house and to the squat peasant homes behind them. Instinctively, he headed towards one of them and was greeted by two year old Anne, sucking on her pinkie finger.

For once, he has little patience for her and runs inside. There is a pallet in the corner of the one small dank room. Here the older version of Bernice is lying on the ground. He quickly kneeled beside her and took up her hand. Her eyes focused on him as though she was looking through a dense cloud.

"Marcus..." She sighed out. " I thought you would not make it."

He merely squeezed her hand tighter.

"I'm leaving now, Marcus. I'd like to hear you speak before I go. So I want you to give me last rites. For that you may speak."

He paused for a long time, just feeling her hand on his. She's right of course. It's an emergency. If he does not to this for her, her soul may linger forever in purgatory. He glanced about the room and his eyes landed on a bowl of water. Thomas sensing his need brought forth a ladle and allowed him to sip some of the good clean water within. Finally he opened his mouth and in a tight cracked voice said,

"Begin as you wish, child."

"Brother, I have committed many sins. The only one I confess to you is the sin of lust."

Marcus paused. It had been so long since he had been taught the ideas that went with this type of thing he could not remember the formula. Luckily, Bernice knew exactly what she wished to say.

"I have lusted after you, Brother for all the days I have known you. I have prayed that you would break your vow, that you might speak to me. I see now that this could not be that grave a sin for at last God has granted me what I prayed for."

Marcus could feel his body shake and instead of continuing on with the bits and pieces he remembered, he leaned closed to her body, smelling the flowers of the valley on her and whispered, so that the children might not hear,

"I do not know what gave me the chance to speak to you, Bernice, my only love. But I tell you now, it was not God for he has been only cruel to me all these years. I can no longer believe that He would torture me so in this life."

A smile suffused her features and she reached up to stroke his face.

"This is as it should be. We will meet again."

And with that she passed into darkness.

That was the last time Marcus spoke of t Lord. He mouthed his prayers at services and thought only of Bernice during times of meditation. Her children would visit him when they could, but it was not the same. The pretty fantasies he had woven in his head were shattered. He knew they were not his children, nor would he ever have any. He walked among his goats and at night, dreamed of wild brown eyes, laced with poison and in darkest hour, when he knows that he must pray to something, anything, he chants to himself, "We will meet again."

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