We drew back into the shelter of the bushes and sat down on the grass. Kate watched me intently, knowing exactly how I was feeling and that I was really longing to go back through the door because I hated being where I knew I should not be.

“I wonder what musty old John and James would say if they found us here?” said Kate.

A voice behind us startled us. “They would take you down to the dungeons and hang you up by your wrists and there you would stay until your hands dropped off and you fell to the ground…dead.”

We turned around and standing behind us was the boy.

“What are you doing here?” demanded Kate. She did not scramble to her feet as I did. She merely sat there calmly looking up at him.

“You ask such a question of me?” said the boy haughtily. “That I find amusing.”

“You should never creep up on people,” said Kate. “It could be alarming.”

“Particularly when they are where they should not be.”

“Who says not? The Abbey door should always be open.”

“To those who are in need,” said the boy. “Are you in need?”

“I’m always in need…of something different…something exciting. Life is very dull.”

I was hot with indignation for I thought her very ungrateful and I resented the reference to life in our household.

“My parents are very good to you,” I said. “If they hadn’t taken you in….”

Kate’s mocking laughter rang out. “My brother and I are not beggars. Your father is paid well to manage our estate. Besides he is a sort of cousin.”

The boy had turned his gaze from Kate to me and I felt a strange exultation possess me. I thought of his being placed in the Christmas crib by angels and a great destiny awaiting him. There was a quality about him of which, young as I was, I was aware. He was aloof, seeming to be conscious of the difference between himself and ordinary mortals. It was a sort of sublime arrogance. Kate had it too but hers was the result of her beauty and vitality. Although I was apprehensive I rejoiced that Kate had found the door in the wall and thus given me a chance to see him so closely. He seemed a good deal older than I although there was not a year between us. He was taller than Kate and capable of subduing even her.

Kate was bubbling over with questions. What was it like to be a holy child? she wanted to know. Did he remember anything about Heaven because he must have come from there, mustn’t he? What was God like? What about the angels? Were they really as good as people said they were? That must be very dull.

He studied her with a sort of amused tolerance. “I cannot speak of these things to you,” he said coldly.

“Why not? Holy people ought to be able to do anything. Being holy seems to be no different from anything else.”

She was deeply impressed by him however much she might pretend not to be, and it must have been clear to her that she could not tease or torment him as she did me. He was too grave and yet there was a strange gleam in his eyes which I couldn’t understand. I thought of what I had overheard about his stealing cakes from the kitchen.

“Do you have lessons like everyone else?” I asked.

He replied that he studied Latin and Greek.

I told him enthusiastically that I studied with Mr. Brunton and at what stage I had reached.

“We didn’t come through the door in the wall to talk of lessons,” complained Kate.

She rose and turned a somersault on the lawn—she was adept at this and practiced it frequently. Keziah called it wanton behavior. Her object in doing it now, I knew, was to divert attention from me to herself.

We both looked on at Kate turning somersaults and suddenly she stopped and challenged the boy to join her.

“It would not be seemly,” he said.

“Ah.” Kate laughed triumphantly. “You mean you can’t do it?”

“I could. I could do anything.”

“Prove it.”

He appeared to be at a loss for a moment and then I had the strange experience of seeing wayward Kate and the Holy Child turning somersaults on the Abbey grass.

“Come on, Damask,” she commanded.

I joined them.

It was an afternoon to remember. When Kate had proved that she could turn somersaults at a greater speed than either of us, she called a halt and we sat on the grass and talked. We learned a little about the boy, who was called Bruno after the founder of the Abbey. He had never spoken to any other children. He took lessons with Brother Valerian and he learned about plants and herbs from Brother Ambrose. He was often with the Abbot whose house was the Abbot’s Lodging and the Abbot had a servant who was a deaf-mute and as tall as a giant and as strong as a horse.

“It must be very lonely in an Abbey,” I said.

“I have the monks. They are like brothers. It is not lonely all the time.”

“Listen,” said Kate in her commanding way. “We’ll come again. Don’t tell anyone about the door under the ivy. We three shall meet again here. It’ll be our secret.”

And we did. Any afternoon that we could get away we went through the secret door and very often we were joined by Bruno. It was a strange experience because at times we forgot how he had appeared in the Christmas crib and he seemed just like an ordinary boy, and sometimes we played games together—boisterous games at which Kate scored, but he liked guessing games too and that was when I had a chance. He and I were rivals in that just as he and Kate were at those which involved physical effort. He was always determined though to beat us both—his wits were sharper than mine and he had a physical strength which Kate could not match.

Of course, I said, it was what was to be expected of a Holy Child.

Rupert, though not quite fifteen years old, was working more and more in the fields. He could talk knowledgeably with my father of the crops and the animals. He found such joy in the newborn creatures and he liked to share that excitement with others, particularly me. I remember his taking me out to see a recently born foal and pointing out the grace of the creature. Animals knew him and were his friends as soon as they saw him; he had that special gift. He could shear a sheep with greater skill than the shearers; and he always knew the precise moment to start to cut the corn. He could predict the weather and smell rain a day or so off. My father said he was a true man of the soil.

Haymaking was a happy time; then we would all go into the fields, even Kate rather grudgingly, and then she would begin to enjoy it when the home-brewed ale was brought around and when we rode in on the hay cart. The harvest was the best time though; and when it had been bound and cocked and the poor had finished their gleaning there would be a merry harvest supper. From the kitchens all that day would have come the smell of roasting goose and baking pies. My mother would fill the house with flowers and there would be general excitement everywhere. Kate and I would hang up the miniature corn sheaves which would be kept all through the year to bring good luck to the next harvest. Then we would dance and Kate would come into her own; but my father always liked Rupert to take me out to the floor and open the harvest ball.

At this time conversation seemed to center about the King’s marriage with Anne Boleyn. He had put away Queen Katharine who had gone to Ampthill. Bruno used to tell us a great deal more than we learned elsewhere because visiting friars brought news to the Abbey.

One day as we sat on the grass keeping within the shelter of the bushes lest we should be seen, we talked about the poor sad Queen and he and Kate were once more in conflict.

“Queen Katharine was a saint,” said Bruno; and he went on to describe her sufferings. I loved to watch him as he talked. His face seemed to me so beautiful; his profile was clear-cut, proud and yet innocent in a way; and the manner in which his hair curled about his head reminded me of the pictures I had seen of Greek heroes. He was tall and slender; and I believe now that what I found so attractive was that blending of saintliness and paganism and the manner in which he changed from being a boy, fallible and quarrelsome, into a superior being who looked down on Kate and me from heights which we could never hope to reach. I believe Kate felt this too although she would not admit it and fought against it. To be with Bruno was so different from being with Rupert. My cousin was so gentle, so careful of me that sometimes I thought he regarded me as one of his newborn foals or lambs. I enjoyed being cherished, I always had; but when I was in the presence of Bruno an exultation took possession of me; and I was excited as I could never be in the company of any other person. I knew that Kate shared this feeling with me, because she never lost an opportunity of trying to score over him, as though she must convince herself, as well as us, of her superiority.

Now because Bruno talked so sympathetically of Queen Katharine she retorted that the Queen was old and plain. It was said that she had no right to be Queen and that Anne Boleyn with her Frenchified ways and her beautiful clothes was as fascinating as a siren.

“She is a siren who has lured the King to dishonor with her singing,” said Bruno.

Kate had no use for metaphor and she was bored with old legends. Whenever she talked of Anne Boleyn her eyes danced and I knew she imagined herself in her place. How she would have enjoyed it! To have had the eyes of everyone upon her; she would have reveled in the admiration and the envy. The jewels and the flattery would have delighted her and she would have snapped her fingers at those who showed their hatred of her.