The former prior stared at his friend,
“What are we doing here, Kenrick?”
The mason again rested his muscular arm around the monk’s slight shoulders,
“Isn’t it clear? I’m giving you a parting gift. I’m not having you tramp up to Scotland. It’s not fitting for a bishop.”
“But you love your horse. I can’t possibly take her.”
“Oh, you can, and you will. I’ve no time to ride her any more, anyway, yon bloo—blessed cathedral takes my every waking moment…”
His voice trailed away as the stablemaster came leading the dappled grey mare by its reins.
Thurgot passed through many emotions as his friend consigned the horse to him. He could scarcely see his friend as his eyes welled with tears of… what? Gratitude, love, or sorrow? All three most likely. There were no adequate words, so he mounted
