Edric’s mother was not so content. She could not sleep peacefully knowing that one of her sons would someday become a wealthy landowner, and the other would be sent packing like some unwelcome peddler. But she could not change the law, and she could not inherit the property herself. So at last she devised a plan: she would place Edric in the care of the monastery on the nearby island of Lindisfarne. She would have to contribute a hefty sum to the monastery’s coffers, but they would not turn away a nobleman’s son. At least as a monk Edric would have a respected profession, a roof over his head, and better meals than the gruel and foraged mushrooms the villagers lived on.

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Edric the Baby soon grew into Edric the Boy, and he had an idyllic childhood running through the barley fields with Alfred, playing Hoodman’s Bluff and plunking stones in the millpond. But eventually, Edric the Boy became Edric the Youth. The time for play was at an end.

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No one thought to consult Edric about his future. Everything was already arranged. As a monk, he would be expected to renounce all personal possessions, so there was no need to even pack a trunk for his journey. His parents simply waved from the shore as the ferry master rowed him across the bay to his new home on the monastery island.

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Alfred watched from the shore too, but he did not wave. He saw no reason they shouldn’t just split the inheritance when the time came, or perhaps build a second large house right next to the first one so he and his brother could be neighbors. But no one thought to consult Alfred either.

 

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The first rule: obedience. Edric would be where and when the supervising monks directed, no questions asked.

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The second rule: diligence. Whatever the task at hand, Edric would devote every effort to its skillful completion, no questions asked.

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The third rule: silence. Always, silence. This was why there would be no questions asked.

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Despite this austere environment, life at the monastery was not all bad. Though the monks insisted that spoken conversation distracted from the more vital pursuits of reverent study and contemplation, for the most part they were cheerful and pleasant companions, always eager to exchange an encouraging wave or a written note. The monastery itself was comfortable and well kept, and its library was positively luxurious. Edric had thought his father’s household richly privileged to be in possession of three entire books, but the scope of the monastery’s wealth left him speechless. (Or at least it would have, if he’d been allowed to speak.) There were books, scrolls, maps, and parchments tucked into every available nook and corner, shelf and cupboard.

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His childhood tutor had already taught him to read and write in English, but through his daily work copying ancient manuscripts and memorizing sacred texts, he soon learned Latin and Greek as well. The monks had even devised their own collection of hand signals to get around the need for conversation, and it was not long before Edric mastered this language too.

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Aside from languages, Edric was also instructed in geography, history, philosophy, theology, and art. And when all this study made him restless, that was the perfect opportunity to head out to the workshop and throw his bottled-up energy into mastering the monks’ blacksmithing trade. In three short years, he learned to forge everything from farm plows to gate hinges.

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Yes, he missed his family, but all told, life at the monastery was going pretty well for young Edric. Which is why he decided it was time to leave.

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If he didn’t talk to someone soon, he was certain he’d go absolutely mad.