Its rich colors glowed, making the tiny drawings almost come alive.Very carefully, he dipped his goose-quill pen into the pot of ink and drew a long curve that turned into a thorny stem. It twisted around the red roses that spilled from the topmost corners of the page, curling around the giant initial A.Despite his care, Leo had spilled a whole pot of ink over his desk last week, and the Prior had made him scrub the stone floors of the scriptorium for a whole week as a punishment. Brother Leo was young and fit, and his knees didn’t creak when he knelt for prayers, unlike those of the other monks, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed scrubbing floors.Next to the roses, he traced the outlines of an angel’s face with his pen. It would be a noble angel, firm of chin, with strong features and a sensual mouth.Brother Leo liked drawing angels. Most of the other scribes weren’t good at faces; they sometimes asked Brother Leo to take over, but then they complained that he was drawing the angels too masculine.Angels weren’t supposed to look male; they were supposed to be sexless.So was Brother Leo.
