Brother Norton was never the same afterwards. Before his disappearance he was very friendly and jovial. He stopped talking. We didn’t know if he had lost his voice or if it was some other malady that caused this. “Give him time,” Brother William said. “Maybe he had a fright”.
“Perhaps it was exposure to the elements,” I wondered. “He was out all night, and it was damp.”
“I am worried for his soul,” Abbot de Brinkeley remarked. “I’m going to take him to Mother Agatha.”
The cloister on the grounds housed twenty-nine sisters. Like us their numbers had been decimated by the Pestilence. Unlike us, the townsfolk still held them in reverence and sent their daughters to replenish what had been lost. Half of the sisters had only just reached womanhood. Mother Agatha was their Mother Superior and the closest thing to a doctor that Bury St Edmunds had. Her wisdom was held in high regard throughout the land. During the Pestilence the cloister had become a hospital. The sick and dying were piled high. Although the dead were not given funerals, and like everywhere else were laid to rest in a mass grave on the outskirts of the abbey, near the tree line of the ancient forest; the sisters worked tirelessly to ensure that each person was given a proper shroud and kept records as to where each individual was buried. The fact that none of the sisters had run away further endeared them to the survivors of the little community. This was another thing that the monks could not boast, but we were not proud.
I went along with the abbot to the cloister that was a stone’s throw from the cathedral. Brother Norton was silent as ever but came along willingly. A tall middle-aged nun with dark eyes let us in.
“We’ve come to see Mother Agatha.”
She led us to a kind of parlor off of the stone foyer, to the right. Mother Agatha looked up from her reading and stood up to greet us. “Thank you, Catherine.” She motioned to a seat. Norton and I took it, but the abbot remained standing and took the plump little woman’s small white hand. “My old friend, what can I do for you?” She smiled. Her cheeks were rosey.
“Mother, Brother Norton, here, will not speak after having spent a long night in the forest.”
“When was this?” She went to Norton, touched his chin, and looked into his eyes.
“Just the other night.”
Now she looked to the abbot. “Not Walpurgis Night?”
He nodded. “Yes, the same.”
Suddenly she seemed concerned. “I presume he had no problems speaking before this?”
He shook his head. “No, none.”
“Can he sing?”
The abbot chuckled. “Brother Norton was never known for his singing voice.” It was true, he was tone deaf and could not carry a tune.
“Well, try. Any other troubles with him?” She was studying him intently again. Took his hands and opened his mouth. He seemed obedient as a poodle.
“Well, he was always outgoing and gregarious, now he is withdrawn.”
“Maybe had a fright.” That’s what William had wondered. “Take him back. Feed him up, and keep him warm. If you have any other troubles with him, sleeping, or behavior, bring him back to me. We will keep him in our prayers.” The younger nun was still standing in the front of the room by the door with her back against the wall. Mother Agatha raised her eyebrows to her and gave a little nod. “Sister Catherine will show you out.”
The abbot took both of her hands this time. “Thank you, mother, we will do as you say.”
Flowers had sprung up along the path and colored our way back to the hall. Brother Norton seemed to be intent on studying a busy bumblebee.
