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Friar Lukas
Friar Lukas hitches his robe as he takes the stairs of the manor two at a time. God will provide. But will the bishop? He finds his older brother in his dressing room, a servant helping him don the heavy vestments. Lukas wishes Jan would dismiss the attendant, but the man stands back against the wardrobe, stiff as a poker, extending his pointed green slipper and allowing his gaze to slide to Lukas’s sandals, which poke out beneath his robe. The man tosses blond hair from his eyes and wrinkles his nose like he’s detected dog shit. Even the bishop’s servants feel they’re above the Franciscans.Dies irae, thinks Lukas. Come Day of Wrath, those fine Venetian shoes of yours will dance you straight through the gates of hell.
“Ah,” says the bishop, “it’s my brother with the begging bowl. You must need something. Let me guess what it is this time: You have the girl, and now you want me to buy her an abbey. First the hen, then the henhouse? Has she laid any eggs for you yet, this girl from Damme?”
“Jan, stop. We just need a small house with an enclosed yard.” He looks around the dressing room. He could sleep two brothers in each of these closets.
“I have enough convents. Put her in one of those.”
“We need a Franciscan sisterhood. It’s time. Brugge is thirsty for our message.”
“Hmm. And where are they, all these sisters of yours?”
“You know she’s our first.”
“You think more women will want to play at apostle? You know you’ll only attract the girls without dowries.”
Lukas refuses to take the bait. “She’ll inspire others.”
“And exactly how will she do this?”
“You haven’t met her.” Why must Jan question everything he says?
“It sounds like I should. You’ve put her in the begijnhof? All those unsupervised women.” Jan shudders. “Maybe she’ll win over some widows for your friars.”
“Brother, I tell you. She won’t just draw women from the begijnhof. She’ll bring in women from the town and the villages around.”
Jan laughs. “You think you have a Saint Clare, then? Oh my. I do need to meet her. Is she going to start performing miracles? Look at you, you’re blushing.”
“It was in our father’s lifetime that Clare came to Francis.”
“Oh ho—I see now! You fancy yourself a Francis! Is my little brother a saint-in-waiting?”
“It’s not like that, Jan.”
“No, no. It’s marvelous. We can use a saint in the family. Good for you, Brother. You’ll outstrip me yet.”
“Jan, I don’t covet your crown.”
Jan laughs. “That’s plain enough. You follow a man who preached to birds.”
“I seek only God.”
“So you say. But does God seek you?”
The manservant smirks.
Lukas sighs. “Just come see her. Judge for yourself.”
“I’m a busy man, Lukas.” Jan signals to his attendant, then bows his head to accept a heavy gold cross around his neck. He pats it as a man patting a full stomach. “I’m expecting an envoy from the pope.”
Lukas wonders if it would be easier if the bishop were not his brother. Jan enjoys needling him.Just help us out. Sell a few of these candlesticks and give us a house. I’ll train her, and she’ll bring more women to God. They only need a place of their own, separate from the world.
Jan studies his reflection in the glass. “Let’s see if your Sister Aleys can win over even one beguine. Show me two women in the brown robe”—he casts a glance up and down his brother, and Lukas feels his disdain like a lazy whip—“and I’ll consider it.”
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