Fewer Visions, More Malt: A Letter from Brother Cadfael

~ Brother Cadfael writes from Shrewsbury Abbey, bewildered, and ecclesiastically exasperated by yet another of Brother Percival’s brews. ~

another tale from the cloister

Shrewsbury Abbey Feast of St. Benedict, in the Year of Our Lord 1264

Brother Percival,

Peace and (tentative) good health be upon you.

Your most recent delivery — a curious flagon bearing no seal but reeking faintly of yarrow and unconfessed sin — arrived two nights past. It was found by Brother Jerome outside the apothecary, nestled inexplicably in a wheelbarrow of turnips.

He drank it in error.

He has since reported a variety of afflictions: a renewed sense of purpose, three separate visions (one featuring Saint Eustace, inexplicably riding a hedgehog), and an intense conviction that Brother Rufus is a reincarnated goat. He also claims he can now "smell sins." As an herbalist and a man of science, I find this unlikely — though I concede he is more accurate than usual when identifying the gluttons at supper.

Brother Subprior William has attempted to confiscate the remaining contents, but each time he approaches the barrel, his candle extinguishes and the air begins to hum in E minor.

For your part, dear Percival, I must ask — purely as a fellow practitioner of botany and divine curiosity — was wormwood entirely necessary?

Also, what in God’s mercy is "spontaneous prayer fermentation"?

You remain, as ever, a danger to ecclesiastical stability. But by Heaven, your brew possesses finer character than anything brewed in this cloister since the Honey Incident of ’61.

Please write back, preferably without sending additional liquids.

Yours in faith and moderate bewilderment, Brother Cadfael

P.S. Brother Rufus now eats his oats from a pail. Make of that what you will.