John Saturnall's Feast Read Online Free PDF Page A

dully in their straw-lined panniers.
    ‘They don't dare show their faces,’ the priest had growled as he limped up the green from the smoke-stained church. A long rip in his cassock had been stitched with wool. A scar above his eye pulsed an angry red. They walked up the back lane where the priest called a wild-eyed man out of a white-painted cottage. Jake Starling led the priest, the driver and the mule up to the roofless hut. There the boy squatted in a sea of mud and filth.
    Jake waded in then tied him to the mule. The blue coat was draped over his back. Father Hole had given his instructions then pulled a thin packet from his tattered robe and handed it to Josh.
    ‘The priest wrote a letter,’ the driver told Ben Martin now. ‘Left it open too. Not that it'd do the likes of me any good.’
    Ben Martin looked at the letter. He thought of the dark village with its deserted green, the silence in the Flitwick inn when he had mentioned Buckland. His world was the back room of the Dog at Night. Not this Vale of Buckland. Not the village, or a boy tied to the back of a mule. None of this was his business. He was a fool.
    ‘I can read,’ he told Joshua Palewick.
‘ Annunciation Day, the Year of Our Lord Sixteen Hundred and Thirty-two
‘ To Sir William Fremantle, Lord of the Vale of Buckland, from his Servant the Reverend Christopher Hole, Vicar of the Church of Saint Clodock in the Village of Buckland
’My lord, the Wicked spring up like Grass and the Virtuous man stands like a Palm Tree. Just so have we in the Village of Buckland served as a Garrison of the Faithful since Saint Clodock swore his Oath and marched on the Witch with his Torch and Axe. Now I write to beg your lordship to stand Guard over one of our own, a Boy christened here John Sandall.‘
    The firelight flickered. The letter was written in a loose running hand and it had been some time since Benjamin Martin had read so many words in a row. Josh listened and nodded from time to time but the boy only stared into the flames. The letter might have described people who were unknown to him, or a distant country that he had quit long ago.
’Sire, I beg your lordship to take in this Boy. None here will care for him and the People here shun him, being fearful of their own past Acts. For an evil Presence moved among us here at Buckland this Summer past. Then many young Souls were struck down, enduring great Sufferings before the Lord would receive them. Neither did that Evil neglect their Elders, who descended into Division, nor their Priest who committed two Sins of Omission. For he did not see the wicked Blades of Grass spring up, nor did he recognise the Viper which slithered in Disguise through the Garden and infected all here with its Poison. Now the people will not look upon the Boy's Face for his very Features do reproach them for their Viciousness. Therefore I do consign him to your lordship's Care . . .’
    Ben's voice sounded unfamiliar to him in the dark barn. The animals shifted and snorted. Josh nodded to himself at Father Hole's account as if the boy's expulsion confirmed some long-held suspicion. The boy himself hugged his knees and watched the fire, his face betraying no expression. But as Ben settled himself on his blanket, he thought on Father Hole's words, wondering at the ‘Viper’ and the ‘wicked Blades of Grass’ and listening to the rain drip through the rotted thatch. At last he fell asleep.
    The bang of the door awoke him. Josh was up. Outside the sun shone down and the wet grass steamed. The packhorses ambled out of the croft and picked their way over the waterlogged turf. The limping mule followed. The boy emerged on shaky legs, his damp coat hanging from his shoulders. As Ben hauled his heavy pack across the ground, Josh looked over.
    ‘You can put your gear on the horses,’ the driver said gruffly. ‘Bit here. Bit there. Won't hurt none.’
    A surprised Ben pulled the bedroll out of his pack.
    ‘And maybe you can do something