‘Why?’ Cranston asked himself loudly. ‘No, I don’t expect you to answer that but what actually happened at your tavern, Master Thorne, during those dark hours of the night?’
oOoOo
Brother Athelstan was wondering about the same problem as he took his seat in the sanctuary chair, moved specially through the rood screen so he could meet and converse with his parish council, who were now sitting on three long benches before him. They had all turned up for the Jesus Mass. Athelstan had been waiting for them; the candles had been lit and the braziers fired so St Erconwald’s lost some of its misty chill. Athelstan glanced at Mauger the bell clerk, who sat hunched over his small chancery table taking notes. Athelstan was pleased they had covered a great deal of business including the collapse of the recent Love Day, so carefully prepared by Athelstan. Relationships amongst some of the parishioners had soured and Athelstan had hoped that a Love Day would soothe all these problems. There had been a Mass followed by a solemn exchange of singing bread and the kiss of peace with revelry planned in the nave. At first everything had gone smoothly, until Pike’s game of Hodman’s Bluff descended into Hot Cockles: a lewd, bawdy ritual where participants blindfolded each other then tried to slap their opponent’s buttocks. Of course, Pike had cheated. He immediately spied on Cecily the courtesan’s beautiful round bottom and, drunkenly lecherous, led the rest in hot pursuit, provoking the dire wrath of their wives, Pike’s Imelda in particular.
This morning’s parish council meeting had restored peace and harmony, and Athelstan and his little flock were moving swiftly down a list of outstanding business. They had agreed to the creation of new paintings on the south side of the church. The Hangman of Rochester, now smiling beatifically to himself, had described in great detail the story of Elijah and the Prophets of Hell. The Hangman also solemnly vowed that no one from the parish would recognize themselves in the painting. A new lid for the baptismal font had been decided. Purple candles had been ordered for Lent. The time and liturgy for the distribution of ashes on Ash Wednesday were fixed, whilst the cleansing of the mort-pall used to cover the parish funeral bier was also agreed. Judith, once a mummer, a former player in the Straw Men acting troupe, had been studying Athelstan’s precious book of plays. She had announced how the mystery play at Easter would centre around the betrayal of Christ. Judith had asked for volunteers for the difficult roles: Pilate, Herod, the two high priests, Judas, Pilate’s wife and Pilate’s daughter. Athelstan had never heard of the latter but he thought it more prudent not to comment. Judith’s announcement had distracted everyone and of course stirred the latent rivalry amongst the parishioners. Once Judith had finished, Athelstan revealed his cherished plan. On Good Friday, during the celebration of Christ’s Passion, he hoped to arrange a three-voice choir to sing the ‘Ecce Lignum Crucis’ and the ‘Christus factus est’ – ‘Behold the wood of the Cross’ and ‘Christ made himself obedient’. Athelstan was determined on this. He would personally teach them the Latin phrases, easy to memorize as well as recite. This, as planned, had deeply flattered his flock, who would be very eager to show off their newfound learning – Latin no less, in all the taverns of Southwark. The parishioners discussed this heatedly amongst themselves before falling strangely quiet. Athelstan’s heart sank. The council sat staring at him. All remained silent, even Ranulf the rat-catcher’s two ferrets, Ferox and Audax, who crouched placidly in the cage between their master’s feet, whilst Ursula the pig woman’s massive sow sprawled docilely on the floor. Athelstan recalled Pedro the Cruel at The Candle-Flame. Perhaps, Athelstan smiled to himself, the two pigs should be introduced to one another! Only Thaddeus the goat moved, trying as usual to chew his master’s ragged cloak. Athelstan glanced at the lovely face of Benedicta but she seemed totally distracted by her hood, lined with squirrel hair. Athelstan waited patiently. The council members were now turning on their benches to peer at Watkin and Pike. The friar suspected what was about to happen.
‘Father?’ Pike shot to his feet. ‘Father?’
‘Yes, Pike.’
‘Father we heard about what happened at The Candle-Flame.’
‘I am sure you have, as you would about the attack by the Earthworms in Cheapside.’ Athelstan paused, the winter light pouring through the lancet windows seemed to dim, the shadows creeping closer.
‘Father,’ Pike blurted out, ‘we are worried about you. I mean, when the time comes …’
‘When God’s time comes, Pike, when my time comes …’ Athelstan rose to his feet, fighting back tears of sheer frustration as he studied the faces of these men and women whom he truly loved and cared for. They could infuriate him beyond belief, and heaven knows they did, but they were funny, kind and generous with a deep mocking humour, a love of the ridiculous, even if they themselves were often the brunt of such comedy. He baptized their children. He schooled, whenever he could, the older ones in their horn-book. He visited them in their homes and celebrated the much-loved rhythms of both the year and the Church’s liturgy. These poor people shuffled through life; now they were all stumbling towards disaster. Athelstan felt his temper break. ‘I have preached on this before,’ he thundered, ‘and I will do so again. The Lord Jesus sees all men and women equal in the sight of God. Christ, I assure you, weeps bitter tears at the greed and power of the great ones of the soil. God does interfere through the grace he sends to change the way things are to the way things should be. The only obstacle to God’s grace is the stubborn, obdurate and evil self-centeredness of those who block God’s plan. Nevertheless, God will achieve what he wants. The community of this realm is growing stronger. The good will flower. The seed, however, lies deep, the soil is hard yet still the seed grows. Bondage to the master is being broken. The Commons sit to question the Crown and its lackies-’
‘And still we starve.’ Pike had, as he could so often do, dropped his usual foolish antics, showing that sharp leadership which had made him so favoured amongst the Upright Men.
‘Yes Pike, sometimes we starve but violence will not put food on your children’s platters. The revolt will come, I know that. I pray against the day because Sion will not come to Southwark. The new Jerusalem will not rise in Cheapside. The great ones will mass their armed men to the north, south, east and west. It will be a time of great slaughter …’
‘When even the strongholds fall.’
Athelstan whirled round at the voice behind him. Brother Marcel appeared through the door of the rood screen and walked quietly into the nave. He held out his arms to his fellow Dominican.
‘Frater,’ he whispered. ‘Pax et Bonum. I did not mean to startle you. I wanted to visit your church. I walked its precincts and saw the sacristy door open, so I came in.’ Athelstan embraced the Inquisitor, exchanging the kiss of peace on each cheek. For all his surprise Athelstan was amused by his colleague. Marcel, as he had been in the novitiate, was extremely fastidious: his face was smoothly shaven and smelt fragrantly of perfumed oil, his hands were gloved in soft deerskin, whilst his black-and-white robe was of the purest lambswool and fresh as the day.
‘You are most welcome, Brother.’ Athelstan stood back and gestured at his parishioners. ‘We were discussing matters close to our hearts.’
‘So I heard, so I heard.’ Marcel turned to the council, who immediately fell to their knees as the Inquisitor raised his hand to deliver a solemn blessing. Once finished, the council resumed their seats, whilst Marcel took the stool next to Athelstan.