The House of Shadows Read Online Free PDF Page B

Athelstan immediately called the meeting to order. Pike the ditcher brought out the stools and the priest’s chair from the sanctuary. Athelstan made the sign of the cross and the meeting began. Mugwort the bell clerk sat at his small desk taken from the bell tower, feather quill poised ready to take down what was decided. Athelstan showed them the ring; this was greeted with oohs and aahs. The Dominican despaired at the greed in some of their eyes and the twitch in their fingers.
    ‘We have to decide,’ he declared, ‘where such a precious relic should be kept.’
    ‘And?’ Ursula the pig woman asked.
    ‘Every altar,’ began Athelstan, kicking away the sow which came lumbering over to sniff at his sandals. Benedicta hid her smile behind her hand. ‘Every altar,’ he repeated, ‘has a relic stone. It can be taken out and cemented back in again. We’ll put the ring there. I’ll keep an imitation one to show any visitors.’
    Athelstan’s smooth, olive-skinned face grew serious. He raised himself up in his chair.
    ‘It would be a most hideous sacrilege to steal such a ring. I would refuse absolution to any such thief.’
    Most of the parish councillors stared down, shuffling their feet.
    ‘Anyway,’ Athelstan decided to move quickly to other matters, ‘Ranulf, I believe you are to be congratulated, your ferrets were victors of the game. Although I think it is a dreadful way for any of God’s creatures to die.’
    ‘I’ve seen rats attack babies in a house near Mary St Bethlehem,’ Ranulf retorted. ‘Four of them sucked the blood out of—’
    ‘Yes, yes,’ Athelstan agreed, ‘but your ferrets did well.’
    ‘Can they be baptised?’ Ranulf asked.
    ‘Father has already told you,’ Imelda screeched. ‘You can’t baptise animals.’
    ‘Ursula’s pig drank the holy water,’ Watkin pointed out.
    ‘There’ll be no baptisms of animals,’ Athelstan declared, ‘but I promise you, on the Feast of St Francis . . .’ Athelstan couldn’t stop himself, even though he recalled the confusion of last time, when one of Ranulf’s ferrets had attacked Ursula’s sow and sent it squealing around the church. He just hoped that Ranulf had kept the basket secure; the ferrets had smelt the sow and were becoming excited.
    ‘Yes, Father?’ Pernel asked.
    ‘On the Feast of St Francis I will bless all animals. Now, let’s move to other business.’
    Mugwort picked up his quill, dipping it ceremoniously into the inkhorn as Athelstan led his parish council through the various items of business. There was the cleaning of the cemetery, the digging of a ditch, Huddle wanted to paint a new scene from the life of St John the Baptist which provoked a fierce discussion about whether the saint was crucified or beheaded. Athelstan suspected this was a warning of what was to come. Cecily the courtesan, in a light blue robe, sat next to Benedicta, smiling flirtatiously at Pike while making obscene gestures with her fingers at the ditcher’s wife. Athelstan hurried on. There was the business of church ales, the levying of tithes, the possibility of a small market in the cemetery and the greening of the church for Advent.
    ‘Now,’ Athelstan closed his eyes and offered up a silent prayer, ‘we come to our pageant for Christmas, the birth of Christ.’
    He paused for breath.
    ‘Crispin,’ he pointed to the carpenter, ‘we have decided you will be Joseph, Watkin, you can be Herod . . .’ The roles were assigned; they even included Bonaventure the cat. Philomel would stand in for the donkey, whilst Athelstan ruefully conceded that Ursula’s sow could be the oxen.
    ‘Well,’ said Watkin, ‘who will be the Virgin Mary? I think it should be Benedicta.’
    ‘So do I,’ Imelda agreed, glaring at Cecily, who pushed her chest out and straightened herself up on the stool she was sitting on.
    ‘I disagree,’ Pike the ditcher responded, always ready to oppose Watkin.
    ‘We think it should be Cecily,’ Ranulf declared.
    A