"Fairly said." The dragon waddled up next to, the peasants around the ex-witch.
One of the women spoke to her neighbor, not too far from' Stegoman's side. "Do you not wonder that the priest failed to come, Joanna?"
"Aye," Joanna answered, "and more so since such a mission as this would be strengthened by a man o' the cloth. Why did he not come?"
"Oh, a deal of nonsense about leaving such affairs to the shire reeve and his men," the first said, with disgust. " 'Mere peasants should not take justice in their hands, quotha. As if there were doubt of her guilt!"
"Aye. He hides his true reason," Joanna said darkly. "Think, gossip - he left us for a week in fair May. Might he not ha'..." she glanced up and saw Matt was listening. "Hist!"
The first woman also looked up and saw Matt watching. She turned away, glaring at the ground in front of her.
It was only a couple of miles to the village, which was the usual ramshackle affair, a single street of thatched huts with a larger daub and wattle but at the end-but this but had a steeple. As the crowd marched up to the church steps, the big double doors slammed open before them, and a tonsured priest in a cassock stood on the threshold, fists on his hips. His hair was black and hadn't seen a comb for a day or two. His face was jowly, needing a shave, and his eyes were bloodshot. He was broad, muscular, and a little paunchy. He glared down at the crowd.
Finally, the spokesman stepped forward, clearing his throat.
The priest didn't give him a chance. "What means this, Arvide? How come you to march on my church in this fashion, like an outlaw band? You'll not pass this door till there's reverence in your hearts!"
"Reverence!" Arvide sneered. "Should you speak of reverence? You, who cannot bear the sound of the morning Mass bell, for that last night's wine still thuds in your head. You, with your whoring and brawling..."
"Mayhap," the priest growled, "but I've never come in to say Mass till I was sober and remorseful."
"Aye," jeered a voice from the back, "and how many mornings have we not had Mass?"
A chorus of catcalls supported him; but the priest stood, glaring them down, and they quieted. Then he called out, "Aye, there you have it! If I can't be reverent, I'll not come to the church, and I'll ask no less of you than I ask of myself!" His voice dropped to a dangerous growl. "And is there a man of you thinks he can march in here past me?"
A sheepish mutter ran through the crowd. The men shifted from foot to foot, but no one stepped forward.
"That's not what we've come for, Father!" Arvide protested.
The priest fought against a sneer. "What, then?"
"The witch!" Arvide shouted, and the whole crowd yammered behind him. The priest kept his scowl, but his eyes widened, and there was apprehension in his voice. "A witch? Among my flock?"
"Only as a wolf is brought in by the hunters, Father," Arvide said, preening himself. "Look upon her!"
The crowd parted, revealing Sayeesa.
The priest was braced for it, but his face showed a sudden softening - of recognition.
It passed quickly, but Sayeesa's eyes were wide, almost appalled. Then she seemed to relax; suddenly, without a line of her face changing, her eyes seemed to glow with an invitation. Matt found he was suddenly very conscious of the body hinted at by the drape of the rough homespun robe.
Then her shoulders straightened, her jaw tightened, and the aura of allure faded.
No one else seemed to have noticed, for Arvide was trumpeting triumph. "'Tis the vile witch Sayeesa, haled down from her throne of foul power, chastened and humble before you!"
The priest's eyes were riveted to Sayeesa. He muttered something under his breath, too softly to hear; but it might have been, "May the Lord forgive me."
He twisted his head, coming to himself with a start, and looked up at Arvide. "So. This is the witch?"
"She is, and I think that you know it," Arivde said somberly, eyes fixed on the priest. "Look to your soul, Father Brunel."
"I shall, be certain," the priest snapped. "Why do you bring her here?"
"I shall speak to that." Alisande rode forward, and the peasants cleared from her path.
Father Brunel looked up, frowning, then bobbed his head in salute. "Milady. Whom do I address?"
"A lady of high birth, and that is all you need know. As to the witch, she has repented and travels under my protection."
The priest stared, scandalized.
"She is shriven, Father," Alisande explained, "and travels to the convent of Saint Cynestria in the West."
Brunel's mouth tightened with some strong emotion; he swallowed heavily and turned pensive. "A fair tale, Milady - but hard to credit."
"So think your flock, and so have we come - to show that she may walk into God's church without shrinking, that she may gaze upon the blessed Sacrament, and that she may receive it in peace. Then will your villagers be content that she is indeed shriven and under God's wing again."
The priest lifted his head, unbelieving. Then he nodded slowly, turning away. "Come, then. The house of God is for those who seek Him: if she is in our Savior's favor, 'tis hers as much as any man's." He disappeared into the church, walking fast.
The peasants murmured to one another in surprise, almost outrage. Alisande turned to them, crying, "Come! This is what you wished, is it not?"
The crowd fell silent, staring up at her. Then Arvide spoke up reluctantly: "Aye. Bring the witch."
Dozens of hands reached for Sayeesa. She shrugged them off and walked into the church under no one's compulsion.
Alisande leaned down from her horse, caught the nearest peasant by the shoulder, and handed him her reins. "Tether this mare ere you enter." She dismounted and strode toward the church. Sir Guy followed suit, and Matt muttered to Stegoman, "Be ready for trouble. We might have to leave town a little suddenly."
"Have no fear," the dragon rumbled, and Matt swung down to follow Sir Guy into the chapel. The peasants pressed in after him.
Sayeesa was pacing slowly toward the altar, head bowed over clasped hands. The crowd fell silent, holding its collective breath, as she reached the communion rail and knelt, gazing at the tabernacle. After a few minutes, she bowed her head in prayer.
The crowd began to murmur, scandalized; but it cut off as Father Brunel stepped out of the sacristy. He'd taken the time for a quick shave and wore his stole. He walked slowly and, somehow, with dignity; and he gazed at Sayeesa with a pensive frown before he turned to the tabernacle and genuflected. If there was any emotion in him, it was saddened sympathy.
He knelt before the tabernacle in prayer, and the peasants began to mutter again. Arvide demanded, "Come, Father! The Sacrament!"
Father Brunel turned his head, frowning back over his shoulder; then he sighed and came to his feet. He stepped up to the altar, unlocked the tabernacle, and lifted out a ciborium. He removed the cover and turned to face the crowd, holding up the cup.
The peasants dropped to their knees, suddenly becoming a congregation, totally silent, every eye glued to the tiny white wafer as he lifted it from the ciborium; and there was only a warmth, an imploring earnestness, in his eyes as he held the Host out to his flock, murmuring, "Ecce Agnus Dei, ecce Qui tollis pecatta mundi." Behold the Lamb of God, behold Him Who taketh away the sins of the world.
"Domine," the people answered in a murmuring whisper, "non sum dignus ut intres sub tectum meam, sed tantum dic verbo, et sanabitur anima mea." Lord, I am not worthy that Thou shouldst come under my roof, but only say the word, and my soul shall be healed.
"Domine, non sum dignus," Sayeesa repeated in a whisper, raising her head; and Matt saw with a shock that her cheeks sheened with tears. Lord, these people really took this rule-and-rote seriously!