The Stone Rose Read Online Free PDF

shoulder. ‘The way to get noticed is by proving yourself indispensable, not by threatening to withdraw your services. My lord has seen through your bluff.’
    Ned choked, ‘B...b–’
    Alan’s hand bit into his cousin’s neck. Ned subsided, scowling. ‘Let me advise you,’ Alan went on. ‘There are surer routes to promotion, and if that’s your aim, I’m willing to instruct you. I could use a good sergeant.’
    ‘B...but–’
    ‘Take heed of le Bret, lad,’ Captain Malait intervened, unexpectedly. Then, as though ashamed that he had broken out of his usual mould by speaking on another’s behalf, the Viking flushed and beat a hasty retreat behind the flagon of cider.
    Alan blinked, he had not expected assistance from that quarter. He hoped it did not mean what he thought it meant. He shot his cousin a startled glance, but Ned’s innocence had in this instance kept him from noticing the Norseman’s interest. Ned was not even looking at Malait.
    Just then, the cathedral bells began to peal and the chamber was flooded with sound. It was a welcome diversion. ‘The sermon’s about to start,’ Alan said.
    De Roncier shot to his feet ‘Aye. No time for this now. Deal with your half-wit cousin later, le Bret. And keep an eye on him, will you? I want a report on his conduct. I’ll support no slackers in your troop. The men are ready? They know what to do?’
    ‘Aye,
mon seigneur
.’
    ‘Very well. Get on with it. Go and mingle with the crowd in the cathedral.’

Chapter Three
    T he nave of St Peter’s was a dim and draughty place even when crammed to capacity. As was the custom, the congregation stood on the bare earth floor. There were no pews or benches.
    A bony elbow dug Gwenn in the ribs. A pair of unfriendly black eyes leered out of an unshaven face, and a pungent, sweaty odour wrinkled her nostrils. There were some rough characters in the church today, with cold, hard faces. Belatedly remembering her modesty, Gwenn pulled her veil close about her as her grandmother had taught her, and shuffled towards Irene Brasher. She shivered. If only she had been more sensible about her choice of clothing. She should have worn a woollen dress instead of the flimsy blue silk. A series of frosts and thaws during the winter had caused the wooden walls of the ancient church to warp; draughts whipped through the cracks and whistled over the heads of the townsfolk.
    High in the shadows of the roof, sparrows hopped along crossbeams with twigs and straw fast in their beaks, like tiny tumblers carrying balancing poles. The sparrows’ nests were clustered among cobwebs that hung thick and black with the dust of ages. The sparrows, like the martins, were rebuilding for spring with a single-minded determination that no Lady Day sermon would stop. A spatter of bird dropping plummeted earthwards and landed slap in the centre of a merchant’s cap.
    Gwenn nudged Irene’s foot. ‘A hit,’ she hissed. Irene giggled. Giggles in church were invariably infectious, and Gwenn felt laughter rise within her for all that she bit her lips to contain it.
    ‘Hush!’ Jammed next to Gwenn was an elderly woman swathed in widow’s garb from head to toe. She lived near the Close, but was not on speaking terms with Gwenn’s family. The woman was wagging a censorious finger under Gwenn’s nose, and it seemed to Gwenn that the woman recognised her, for all at once she looked startled. The widow’s words confirmed this, ‘I didn’t expect to see
you
here today, girl. Get out, if you’ve sense.’
    ‘Shhh! Shhh!’ Someone quieted the woman and a coarse, male voice barked out a word Gwenn had never encountered before, not even from her brother Raymond, but instinctively she knew it was more suited to a tavern than a holy place. The widow went the colour of ripe strawberries and her snowy wimple shook with fury. She gave Gwenn one final warning look and sealed her lips.
    Gwenn was wondering if the woman’s agitation at her presence was due