MLRLM 02

Chapter 2…
The Priest and the Man (1)

Phyllis Menezes was following the priest. In the monastery, men and women were not permitted to walk side by side.

Over the past decade, the barren lands of Aljaz at the western edge had transformed into an unknown plain that offered young men and women new excitement. Where once only the gloomy monastery buildings stood, family villas had now appeared, and many of the wild plants that disrupted the view had been cut down. Yet, the surroundings of the monastery still felt desolate. Even on a bright day, the weather turned grim the moment one entered Aljaz.

Despite it being early summer, a single shawl was not enough to ward off the chill. Phyllis kept a steady pace behind Timeo, quickly scanning the monastery grounds. It felt as if someone had been watching them from above. Perhaps due to their reclusive lifestyle, the moment their eyes met, a curtain was hastily drawn. Phyllis shook her head in distaste as she noticed the shadows of two people entangled together. Among the young priests in the corridors, some openly scrutinized Phyllis and Timeo. Timeo, however, passed by with an unflinching, stoic expression. He likely regarded her as a trailing woman who had come to pay a fee with the flesh of a young priest. Though not entirely incorrect, Phyllis felt no discomfort—if anything, she quietly admired the priests’ sharp perception.

“Did you do something like that too?”
“What do you mean by ‘something like that’?”

Timeo replied curtly without even glancing back. It seemed a question asked in vain. Even if he had, what difference would it make… Phyllis hesitated, then loosened her shawl. She tried to maintain a devout appearance, constantly adjusting her disheveled hair. Yet, the more she tried to appear virtuous, the more conspicuous her presence became in the drab monastery.

To Phyllis, the other devotees seemed to want to become part of the monastery’s walls—dressed in dark, simple dresses with wide-brimmed hats concealing their faces. One could only guess their identities. Yet even from a distance, the quality of their clothing suggested wealth. Following Timeo quietly, Phyllis spoke softly.

“There seems to be a village nearby.”
“There’s only the monastery in the vicinity.”
“Well, at least there’s no need to worry about fees. Priests are quite skilled…”

A woman who had been standing quietly like a statue along one wall suddenly flung open a door and entered her room as Phyllis and Timeo passed. The sound of her laughter, full of delight, faintly reached Phyllis. Timeo, however, remained indifferent, as though encountering an unwelcome guest. Phyllis finally looked at the back of his head with a sense of resignation.

“If you’ve… also had such experiences, and that’s why you refuse marriage proposals…”

The mention of a marriage proposal was frightening, as if anyone might hear. Timeo, who had stopped in his tracks, silently waited as Phyllis closed the distance. When she reached his back, he finally inclined his head toward her.

“This is a monastery, and you’re Menezes’ daughter. Think a bit about exercising restraint.”
“Have you abandoned formal speech, priest?”
“Of course not.”

Timeo gazed at Phyllis’ furrowed brow with an unusually long sigh.

“…I haven’t done such things.”
“What things?”
“Unlike those who lose themselves at the sight of a woman and forget their status.”
“You don’t have to convince me. Either way, you’re an adult now…”
“Yes, though my coming-of-age ceremony was modest, it was still properly held.”

At the word “modest,” Phyllis shut her mouth like a clam. Since their reunion at the confessional, their conversations tended to follow this pattern, with him carefully selecting phrases that stirred her guilt. It was frustrating for Phyllis.

Timeo, leaning casually against a pillar, looked down at Phyllis’ small head. His expression was unreadable. The “fiancée of Marcel” seemed curiously interested in monastery life, and her appearance, coming to demand a proposal, was surprisingly peaceful.

In other words, this might be a fleeting trace of nostalgia. For a brief moment, the audacious childhood friend Phyllis’ bold request had shaken him. Yet Timeo maintained a resolute gaze, making it clear he would not comply with her wishes.

“You’ve shrunk, Phyllis.”
“You’ve grown foolishly tall. I suppose monastery food suited you?”
“Perhaps… If you’re curious, that man’s tombstone should be erected in Aljaz. The delicacies there are so excellent that you’ll want to taste them whenever you pass by.”
“I’d prefer you refrain from such crude jokes in front of my father. Marcel’s condition is serious.”
“Ah, no need for a tombstone then. If your distinguished fiancé passes, the merciless duke may well shove his former daughter-in-law into the monastery.”
“Timeo.”
“As a priest, my duties are too busy to offer a gentlemanly apology, my lady.”
“Of course.”
“So, return.”

Phyllis’ ashen eyes met Timeo’s without flinching. He did not avert his gaze. It was the last courtesy.

“I’ve made myself clear. This is a harmless proposal. How long will you remain trapped in the wallpaper, playing a priestly role that doesn’t suit you?”
“Doesn’t suit? Next month I’ll be a full-fledged priest.”
“Then it suits. You’ll also suit Belroivan Castle very well.”
“Lady Menezes.”
“Speak.”
“I liked you for a season. At that time, clever you saw through my heart, and now you, innocent as ever, likely assumed everything remained the same. So you came here with a childish demand, holding my fleeting affection hostage. But I’m sick of Belroivan—its bloodline, its lands, and even you, who are practically Belroivan property.”
“I belong to no one.”
“Well, would others agree?”
“What do you mean?”
“They say in this rotten monastery that Lady Menezes loves Prince Belroivan deeply and has been devoted to him for ten years, an unrivaled romance of the century… Whether it’s true love or foolishness…”
“Anyway, where’s the office?”

Phyllis remained unmoved, as if paying no heed to Timeo’s warning.

“I’ll stay here for a day. I must reveal my status and take a room.”

Timeo pinched his forehead. Unlike the desolate monastery grounds, this area was in peak season. Early summer was ideal for hunting, and many noblewomen aiming for priests or illicit lovers were lodging nearby. Even if a room were available, he could not leave this naïve young lady amid such rogues.

Phyllis followed silently to a room at the end of the corridor. When Timeo tried to enter with her, she blocked the way with her small frame.

“Were you planning to stay together?”
“This is my room. It has been since my first visit here.”
“In other words, you’re so attached that you won’t relinquish it.”
“Does it work that way? The monastery is modest. Unfortunately, guest rooms are always full.”
“Why?”
“Devotees never stop coming, for various impious reasons.”

Phyllis scanned the room from the doorway. From the iron bed to the bare plaster walls, it was a spartan novice priest’s quarters. As she gazed at the dark carpet, Timeo quietly closed the door behind her and moved into the corridor.

At the midday prayer, the other monks were astounded by Timeo. He never missed prayers, raising the monastery’s faith despite his many duties. Though free to drink alone in the empty dining hall, he always appeared devout.

At the entrance to the chapel, however, his ankles were unexpectedly grabbed by a few priests.

“Even here in the monastery… they’re fearless,” muttered two intimidated priests, apparently having witnessed some calamity. Timeo listened to their chatter with his arms crossed. In short, a young baron, using hunting as an excuse, was said to have been audaciously harassing a devoted lady in the courtyard. The foolish priests had apparently received a mild rebuke when trying to intervene. Hunting was merely the pretext; the real purpose was impious behavior. Timeo ignored the seemingly idle priests and laid his hand on the ancient door latch of the prayer room.

“Black hair… it must be her?”
“Check the entry records later…”

Timeo approached them gradually. The priests, expecting him to ignore them as usual, were caught off guard, staring at the unusually handsome and devout priest before them. Everyone in the monastery knew Timeo. Often called the “recitation center” rather than a novice, he had a reputation as a model priest. Naturally, they answered his questions smoothly.

Timeo practically ran down the arched stairs, turning his back on the corridor as he hurried through the courtyard. The centuries-old monastery, larger than its finances required, was poorly maintained, leaving unknown spaces and overgrown plants inside. Occasionally, he encountered entangled lovers during night walks, each time looking down with disgust, leading to rumors that he might be crippled.

Turning a corner, he spotted a foolish man’s hands on a lady’s shoulders. Timeo acted quickly, grabbing the man by the nape and throwing him to the ground. Only then did he realize the lady’s dress was not purple, but he continued with his plan. The lady’s expression shifted from embarrassment to rapture the moment her eyes met Timeo’s, as if she had seen God, ready to leap into his arms. Timeo stepped back.

He forced himself to remain calm. This was no harassment, merely an unofficial rendezvous. Cursing the clueless men, he reached for the man on the ground, lifting him effortlessly, even brushing off his shoulders as though the man had not fallen.

Only then did Timeo realize he might be late for the midday prayer. Just as he turned to leave, leaves rained down from above. With no wind, this was unusual. Reflexively, he looked up—and nearly fainted.

Phyllis Menezes was perched in the tree above, a large sack of grain scattered beneath. Timeo, passing under her, had shaken the branch so violently that she held a limp, broken twig in her hand.