Read Monk's Hood for Free Online Page A

of south Shropshire who was quite unaware that Abbot Heribert had been
summoned to London to be disciplined, and sent for his delectation a plump
partridge, in splendid condition after a fat season. Naturally it arrived at
the abbot’s lodging to be greeted with pleasure by Prior Robert, who sent it
down to the kitchen, to Brother Petrus, to be prepared for the midday meal in
fitting style.
    Brother
Petrus, who seethed with resentment against him for Abbot Heribert’s sake,
glowered at the beautiful bird, and seriously considered spoiling it in some
way, by burning it, or drying it with over-roasting, or serving it with a sauce
that would ruin its perfection. But he was a cook of pride and honour, and he
could not do it. The worst he could do was prepare it in an elaborate way which
he himself greatly loved, with red wine and a highly spiced, aromatic sauce,
cooked long and slow, and hope that Prior Robert would not be able to stomach
it.
    The
prior was in high content with himself, with his present eminence, with the
assured prospect of elevation to the abbacy in the near future, and with the
manor of Mallilie, which he had been studying from the steward’s reports, and
found a surprisingly lavish gift. Gervase Bonel had surely let his spite run
away with his reason, to barter such a property for the simple necessities of
life, when he was already turned sixty years, and could hardly expect to enjoy
his retirement very long. A few extra attentions could be accorded him at
little cost. Brother Jerome, always primed with the news within and without the
pale, had reported that Master Bonel was slightly under the weather, with a
jaded appetite. He might appreciate the small personal compliment of a dish
from the abbot’s table. And there was enough, a partridge being a bird of ample
flesh.
    Brother
Petrus was basting the plump little carcase lovingly with his rich wine sauce,
tasting delicately, adding a pinchof rosemary and a mere hint
of rue, when Prior Robert swept into the kitchen, imperially tall and papally
austere, and stood over the pot, his alabaster nostrils twitching to the
tantalising scent, and his cool eyes studying the appearance of the dish, which
was as alluring as its savour. Brother Petrus stooped to hide his face, which
was sour as gal, and basted industriously, hoping his best efforts might meet
with an uninformed palate, and disgust where they should delight. Small hope,
Robert had such pleasure in the aroma that he almost considered abandoning his
generous plan to share the satisfaction. Almost, but not quite. Mallilie was
indeed a desirable property.
    “I
have heard,” said the prior, “that our guest at the house by the mill-pond is
in poor health, and lacks appetite. Set aside a single portion of this dish,
Brother Petrus, and send it to the invalid with my compliments, as an
intermissum after the main dish for the day. Bone it, and serve it in one of my
own bowls. It should tempt him, if he is out of taste with other foods, and he
will appreciate the attention.” He condescended, all too genuinely, to add: “It
smells excellent.”
    “I
do my best,” grated Brother Petrus, almost wishing his best undone.
    “So
do we all,” acknowledged Robert austerely, “and so we ought.” And he swept out
as he had swept in, highly content with himself, his circumstances, and the
state of his soul. And Brother Petrus gazed after him from under lowering
brows, and snarled at his two lay scullions, who knew better than to meddle too
close while he was cooking, but kept the corners of the kitchen, and jumped to
obey orders.
    Even
for Brother Petrus orders were orders. He did as he had been instructed, but
after his own fashion, seeing to it that the portion he set aside for the
unoffending guest was the choicest part of the flesh, and laced with the
richest helping of the sauce.
    “Lost
his appetite, has he?” he said, after a final tasting, and