Gilbert sat at the small table in his cousin’s bedchamber for supper. Lord Eustace and Lady Eleanor sat across from him. The abbot’s letter had explicitly dated when the attack had been. Tomorrow would be the one year anniversary. Gilbert knew his cousin and his wife knew. He clutched his spoon and stared into his pottage.
“How are you feeling, Gilbert?” Lady Eleanor asked finally.
“I am…fine,” Gilbert lied.
“Are you?” Lord Eustace asked.
Gilbert looked up. The sea monk’s words about being gentler with himself almost echoed in his head. Lord Eustace and Lady Eleanor seemed genuinely concerned.
“I am not fine,” Gilbert said.
“Perhaps, er, perhaps you need a night out?” Lord Eustace asked.
“The last time I went out…”
“I’d be with you,” Lord Eustace replied. “And Sir Thierry. We will bring you to a tavern.”
“Eustace, that is the last thing he wants to do,” Lady Eleanor said.
As much as Gilbert hated it, Lady Eleanor was right. Even so, he hated having a woman imply what he should and should not do. Drinking in excess was a sin, but he also did not want to be in a sober state tomorrow. He would feel miserable whether he drank or not. He might as well drink and maybe forget. Gilbert blushed, embarrassed to reveal his vulnerability, but he really had no choice, and continued speaking anyway. “Will you drink?”
Lord Eustace and Lady Eleanor exchanged glances. Lord Eustace sighed.
“No,” He said, “No, I shan't,” he paused. “You may drink as much as you like. Sir Thierry and I will watch over you.”
Gilbert hadn’t indulged in such a manner since taking the cowl. It was a sin, certainly. Nathless, he wanted to forget. He wanted to feel good. He wanted to feel happy .
Gilbert nodded slowly. “Visiting a tavern sounds fine.”
Lord Eustace patted his shoulder. “Finish up your food. I will have Thierry prepare the wagon.”
“A wagon?” Gilbert asked.
“I suspect we’ll be carrying you home tomorrow morning.”
The comment annoyed Gilbert so much he wanted to refuse to go, but the allure of alcohol drowned his irritable thoughts.
The monk kept his cowl on as they entered the tavern. Thierry glanced at his lord. He was surprised Lord Eustace approved his suggestion for a night on the town. But the noble had agreed Brother Gilbert needed to forget. They led Brother Gilbert over to a table in the corner, away from prying eyes. Well, as away from prying eyes as a Cistercian monk can get in a tavern. Benedictines had the rowdy reputation. Cistercians’ reputation was mostly for not wearing drawers.
Thierry could not help but wonder if the monk still wore drawers when he wasn’t bleeding. The knight immediately chastised himself for the thought. He also chastised himself for wondering if the monk still had a cock. He had heard that some men like Brother Gilbert managed to get theirs back if the demon was courteous.
“Sit here, Cousin,” Lord Eustace said, pointing to a small stool. “Sir Thierry will fetch us ale.”
“Yes, my lord.” Thierry said. He obeyed his lord’s command and returned shortly with three cups of the not quite finest ale the tavern had. He gave one cup to Lord Eustace first, the next to Brother Gilbert, and he kept the third.
“You’re drinking?” Brother Gilbert asked Lord Eustace.
“Just one cup. I will have my senses.”
The monks stared at his ale. “Perhaps I won't drink tonight. Excessive gluttony is a sin.”
“I will retain my wits.”
“That is what Brother Ralph always said.” The monk pushed his ale away.
Lord Eustace sighed. “As it would make you feel better, I shall refrain from drink.”
“Swear to God?”
“I swear to God.”
The monk immediately began to chug his ale. He snatched Lord Eustace’s cup and downed that too.
“Careful now, you’ll make yourself sick.” Lord Eustace warned.
“I’ve only had two. That is not nearly enough to make me drunk.”
“You drank fast enough to vomit.”
“I have not vomited yet!” The monk grabbed Thierry’s cup. He drank that too. Thierry had a sinking realisation that perhaps the tavern was not the best place to bring a melancholy monastic.
Within an hour the monk was heavily intoxicated. Eustace grimaced at his cousin as he slurred his words, laughed much too loudly at nothing in particular, and poked Thierry repeatedly in the cheek, demanding he “tell him a tale” of his exploits. Thierry had begun to tell about daring adventures on the battlefield, but Eustace’s cousin had stopped him, saying much too loudly, “No, no, not battles. Not stories about violence! Stories about, you know, exploits.”
“I…I don't have any,” Thierry mumbled. He glanced at Eustace. “None at all.”
“Liar!” Gilbert hiccuped, “Every knight has one of those.”
“Not me. I, er, I value my chastity.”
“You are too noble then, to tell of your adventures?”
“Not in front of my lord.”
Gilbert scoffed. “Even I have exploits.”
“We do not need to hear of those,” Eustace said quickly. His cousin was much drunker than he had anticipated. Gilbert stood.
“Where are you going?” Eustace asked.
“Privy.”
“We shall go with you.” Eustace said.
“I can piss on my own.”
“Outside? Alone?”
“Aye.”
Gilbert really was inebriated.
“I shall bring you there,” Eustace said. As they walked by, he muttered to Thierry, “No more drinks for him.”
The knight nodded.
Eustace took Gilbert out to the privy, showed him where to sit so he wouldn’t have to fish the man out of nightsoil, and shut the door. He stood by the door, with his arms crossed. As Gilbert relieved himself, he sang an off key Latin hymn.
“Deus in nomine tuo salvum me fac et in virtute tua iudica me, Deus exaudi orationem meam auribus percipe verba oris mei, Quoniam alieni insurrexerunt adversum me et fortes quaesierunt animam meam non proposuerunt Deum ante conspectum suum.”
Eustace knocked on the privy door. “Are you done in there?”
“Aye.”
“Well, come out then.”
“Aye.” The monk stumbled out of the privy. Eustace led him back inside. As they walked in, Gilbert looked around. Before Eustace could lead him back to their table, the monk spotted something. Gilbert stumbled up to the maid by the ale barrels. He hiccupped, then slurred, “I wanna another ale.”
Eustace and Thierry ran up to Gilbert.
“No, you don’t,” Eustace put his hand on his cousin’s shoulder. The monk let out a dreadful shriek.
“NO!” Gilbert whirled around. Eustace held his hands up to show he was not a threat. Gilbert panted. He pressed his hand to the scars on his neck.
“Oh. I thought…” the monk trailed off. His drunken unfocused eyes looked past Eustace and towards the other side of the room. “I think I know him.” He wandered over to a table of men.
“Do not serve him any more,” Eustace pointed at the maid. She nodded in terror. Eustace looked at Thierry. “We won’t touch him.”
“How are we supposed to make sure he stays out of trouble if we can’t touch him?” Thierry asked.
“You’re smart. Figure it out,” Eustace snapped. He ran over to Gilbert, who was drunkenly explaining Latin conjugations to a table of tipsy tradesmen. They tried telling the monk to leave them alone, but he was too busy explaining grammar. One stood up with his cup, ready to toss it in the monk’s face. Their faces went white when they saw Eustace storm over.
“Cousin Gilbert,” Eustace said loudly, “Come back with me.”
The tradesman with the cup quickly thrust it in his friend’s open hand. The friend put it on their table.
“No,” Gilbert slurred. “I am not done.”
“I think you are.”
“They need to know about–I’m gonna throw up.” Gilbert grabbed a nearby bucket and vomited into it. Not a single drop of sick went anywhere.
“For a Cistercian, you are talented at aiming,” one tradesman said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eustace demanded.
“N-nothing my lord!”
“I thank you,” Gilbert slurred as he cradled the bucket. “Had no choice.” he blinked. He threw up in the bucket again. “A demon castrated me.”
“What?” one tradesman asked.
“They do not need to hear about that,” Eustace said.
“I was out on an errand,” Gilbert swayed on his feet. “A demon–It grabbed my neck–and castrated me. They do not usually do that. Usually they just–” Gilbert waved his hand. Eustace grabbed the vomit bucket just in time. “–magic your cock and balls away. It cut mine off.”
“Cousin, they do not want to know about this.”
Thierry ran over to Eustace. “I think your cousin is right,” the knight said.
“They need to know! There are demons out there castrating men and injecting them with their spawn!” Gilbert shouted loud enough the entire tavern went quiet. He turned slowly. “God damn you all! All of you sit here in taverns, drinking and lusting like fools! The second you step outside that door a demon will crush the life out of your neck and castrate your writhing body as you struggle to escape! It will impregnate you–”
“Gilbert, perhaps you do not want to tell all of Notess this?” Eustace’s voice cracked.
“–And leave your body broken and destroyed! You will be forced to carry demonic spawn in your wretched womb for nine damned months as your body betrays you and you vomit up your organs and your newborn tits leak milk and you cannot pray! A monk who cannot pray! God damns you to Hell!”
“Is the wagon outside?” Eustace muttered to Thierry.
“Near the stable, my lord.”
“Tell the driver to come around to the front.”
“Yes, my lord.” Thierry ran out the door.
“You cannot pray no matter how hard you try! God abandons you to the demonic forces that grow and wriggle inside your very bowels! It grows bigger and bigger, all the more torment and proof that the God you love and worship has rejected your very being! Proof to everyone—proof you cannot hide!—God hates you! And then–then once you birth the spawn that destroyed your life and body and very being, your own mind turns against you and in a fit of madness you harm the man you lov—”
“NO!” Eustace shouted. “No, no one needs to know that. Do you want some mead?”
Gilbert blinked. “Aye. I’d like some mead.”
Eustace snapped at the maid. “Mead. Now.”
“But my lord, you said–”
“I know what I said!”
The maid quickly filled up a cup of mead. As soon as she was close, Gilbert snatched it from her hands. He downed it.
“God’s Teeth, that is good,” Gilbert burped. “Pardon.” He looked around for a moment, at his extremely captivated audience. He caught sight of a cambion, her horns and wings barely hidden by the lamp light, and stumbled over to her. “Do you know what you demons do?”
The cambion blinked. “I-I am not a demon.”
“Your sire was one, making you of the inferno too.” Gilbert spat at her feet.
“Gilbert!” Eustace shouted, “Leave her alone. She has nothing to do with you. We are leaving. No one cares to listen to you rant–warnings.” Eustace corrected himself quickly when he saw the genuine anger and grief in his cousin’s eyes.
‘“And he said to me, My grace suffices thee; for my power is perfected in weakness. Therefore most gladly will I rather boast in my weaknesses, that the power of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ may dwell upon me!”’ Gilbert quoted.
“Good God,” someone not quite murmured, “He’s drunk, isn’t he?”
“We are going back to the castle.” Eustace said. He turned towards the door. “Thierry!”
The knight came sprinting inside.
“Yes my lord?”
“Aren’t you tired? Gilbert, Thierry is tired. We are leaving.”
Gilbert looked at Thierry. He swayed. “God,” he breathed, “I want to fuck you.”
Thierry’s eyes widened. Eustace groaned.
“It’s not sodomy,” Gilbert slurred. “Look.”
He began to lift his habit. Eustace grabbed his hands. Gilbert whimpered, stared up at his cousin, threw up all over them both, and collapsed onto Eustace.
Eustace and Thierry sat in the wagon, with Gilbert snoring at their feet. Thierry had moved the monk onto his side in case he vomited again.
“We say nothing about this,” Eustace growled.
“Aye.” Thierry said.
“They were the drunken ramblings of a man severely affected by melancholy.”
“Aye.”
“And if he asks what we did, we say we had a nice time and he fell asleep at the table.”
“If anyone mentions it?”
“They will not.” Eustace’s tone indicated he was confident about the manner in the way men unafraid of using violence against their enemies usually were.
“...How should I handle what Gilbert said to me?”
“You shall do nothing. You will continue to watch him as I do not want him suspecting a thing. He knew not what he was saying.” Eustace paused. “If you fuck him, you’ll wish his demon got you. Is that understood?”
“Yes.”
The next morning, Eustace and Eleanor watched from their bed as the monk lazily sat up from the cot they placed him upon the night before.
“Good morning,” Eustace said.
Gilbert neither replied nor acknowledged his cousin. In his still half drunken state, he stumbled to his feet, and plodded to the garderobe. He did not bother to shut the door. After a long time, Gilbert stumbled out of the garderobe and crawled back onto his cot and fell asleep.
“Shall we wake him?” Eleanor asked.
“No,” Eustace replied, “Now that we know he shan’t piss himself, we’ll leave him be. A servant will watch him when we leave.”
Eleanor wrapped her arm around Eustace. “How long will he be here for?”
“Hopefully he’ll sleep the entire day.”
Eleanor kissed her husband’s greying bearded cheek. “How long will he be in the castle for?”
“Until his abbot fetches him.”
“I pray then that is not too long.”
“Does Gilbert annoy you, my dear?”
“With my news, I fear how your cousin may react.”
Eustace patted Eleanor’s cheek. “We will keep it quiet. Be subtle and I shall write to the abbot that something will need to be done sooner rather than later for his own sake.”
Eleanor kissed Eustace’s cheek again.
The early morning sunlight shone through the curtains. Gilbert blinked, slowly but fully waking, and sitting up. His body ached from his hangover. His cousin and his pretty young wife slept peacefully in their bed.
Today was the one year anniversary of his disgrace.
Gilbert pulled the neckline of his habit away from his body and looked down. A year ago he had a functioning body. Now he bled and his muscles were gone, replaced with stretch marks and scars and fat and feminine breasts and his teeth hurt and so much of his brown hair had fallen out. Yet, he did not feel entirely abandoned. It was as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He did not quite feel happy, but he did not feel as burdened as he had been the past year. Gilbert raised his head. Lord Eustace was now staring at him.
“You’ve been asleep for over a day.” he said.
“Pardon?”
Eustace repeated himself.
“I slept through the–it’s not…?”
“That was yesterday.”
“You are not lying?”
“No.”
“Swear to God?”
“I swear to God.” Lord Eustace paused. “How much do you remember of the other night?”
Gilbert thought. “I…I remember arriving at the tavern and drinking your ale. I do not remember much else….Did I do something?”
“No. You drank to excess and fell asleep on the table. Sir Thierry and I carried you to the wagon.” Lord Eustace paused. “We had fun. You had a good time.”
Gilbert smiled. “I am glad to hear that. I needed it. I feel as though God has lifted a great burden off of my shoulders. I–I think I am finally back in God’s favour. He…He has not abandoned me, after all!”