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disrespect, Father.’

      ‘I can sing too!’ I smiled, and took a deep breath.

      ‘Jesus Christ, my darling Lord, That died for us upon the tree. With all my might I do beseech, You send your love to me.’

      They coughed and stamped, and said, That is a good song, Father, and I was warmed.

      ‘We will be safe this year, Father,’ said Joan.

      ‘We are always safe in the Lord.’

      ‘But here, in special.’ She dropped her voice. ‘Against the pestilence. Is it not true?’

      ‘Our Saint protects us.’

      I made the sign of the Cross over the victuals, and they fell to, picking at their teeth with their knives and spitting on the floor. The hours swam by in eating and drinking, and I began to wonder if they might stay the entire night. I could not leave them to go to the church, for it would show them less holy than myself. As I thought it, Joan left off gossiping and clapped her hands. The talking and laughter tumbled into silence.

      ‘Good people,’ she said, and I thought how loud her voice was, for a woman.

      I had not yet heard Anne speak and I hoped her voice was milder than her mother’s. Someone cheered to hear himself called good, and there was jostling until Joan lifted the spade of her hand and dug it into the air. The noise was struck down.

      ‘Yes, good we are indeed,’ she continued. ‘And as such, we must be gone to our homes.’

      The man roared again, wild enough to shout about anything. He stood up to assert his goodness, but his feet were unwilling to follow and he slipped to the floor. His companions hauled him upright and I saw his face made dark with ale.

      ‘I am sorry, Father,’ he said, the drink gone from him straightway.

      The eyes of the room screwed themselves into me.

      ‘It is nothing; you are merry.’

      ‘Yes, Father.’

      ‘It is a fine day to be merry, is it not?’

      ‘Yes, Father.’

      He rubbed his face. Someone slammed me on the back. I was pleased at my cleverness not to chide him, for the word would be about that I was a forgiving man. Joan smacked her hands together, and the room was hers.

      ‘Let us say a good night to our priest. Our fine and right reverend Thomas.’

      The people cheered and I burned with happiness. If I could pick out one instant in my life when I was entirely happy, it was then. A warm room; the company of innocents stuffed with food and smiling for me alone. But it was built of shadows. I did not know what was to follow, and when I look back, I cringe that I was so much a fool.

      ‘Let me bless you before you go,’ I cried.

      ‘Yes. It would be a fitting farewell, Father,’ said Joan.

      There was a clearing of beery throats, the rustling of feet in straw. I must bid Anne sweep it out, for it was sticky with spilt victuals. It would wait until morning. Every chin dropped onto every breast.

      ‘Oh God, who created the earth and everything in it, look upon our simple feast. Bless us in our humility. Grant us health on earth as it is in Heaven. Comfort our bodies.’

       Ah yes, comfort us.

      The room rumbled its thanks. Joan began to shoo the company out of the door, encouraging them to bear away what food was left. Anne’s father grasped my wrist and gazed at me with a wandering eye.

      ‘Father Thomas, you are a good man,’ he hiccoughed. ‘She is a fine girl, Father.’

      ‘I do not doubt it.’

      ‘Clean.’

      ‘Yes,’ I nodded.

      ‘Willing.’

      ‘Yes, good.’

      ‘She could be meeker.’

      ‘I am sure of it.’

      ‘But bright in humour.’

      ‘I wonder you can spare her; she is such a jewel.’

      ‘My Joan fetches and carries well enough,’ he beamed. ‘I would rather lose a pig than send my Anne to a bad house.’

      ‘She will be honoured under my roof, Stephen. Have no fear of that.’

      ‘It is a good thing, Father.’ His eyes shone. ‘You are a better man than we thought.’

      My heart leapt and thrust water into my eyes: at last they accepted me. I sheltered the thought in the soft nest of my soul.

      Aline directed the steadier of the men to carry away the ale-pots: women wrapped roasted lamb in their aprons and men stuffed half-loaves down their shirts. I wondered how much would survive the crossing of the ford. I pressed them to take more, so they would also carry away the tale of my generosity. In the end it was Joan who stopped them, smacking the greediest of hands, and declaring that some must be left for the two who remained. She was the last to go, nodding a brisk farewell to her daughter.

      The cloth on the table was stained with gravy and splashes of ale, the floor crunching with bread crusts and mutton bones. A bowl of pottage had been tipped into the fire: I noticed the smell of burnt peas only now. I held the door open to clear away the breathed-out air. The rain was now coming down steadily, but it seemed nothing could dampen my guests. I could hear them singing in the darkness, as though the heat of their happiness might dry up the downpour. I sucked in the clean breath of the night.

      There was a small cough at my back. Of course, Anne was here. We faced each other, listening to the laughter grow fainter. When it was quiet enough to hear my own thoughts, Anne took her skirt in each hand and lowered herself to the floor in such a deep curtsey that her knees brushed the straw.

      ‘No, mistress; there is no need to kneel before me.’

      I grasped at her elbow to pull her upright, but she toppled sideways and I staggered with her: I would have fallen if I had not wrenched the both of us upright. Her giggle snapped off in a yelp.

      ‘I am sorry, mistress. Are you hurt?’

      ‘No, sir,’ she said between her teeth. Her eyes wrinkled as she rubbed her shoulder.

      ‘I am a gentle man, mistress.’

      ‘Yes, sir. I stumbled. It is my fault.’ She yawned, and a yeasty belch escaped.

      ‘Are you tired?’

      Her eyes sprang open. ‘Oh no, sir. I have eaten well, that is all.’ She looked about, as though seeing each thing for the first time: the hearth, the benches, the table still dressed with trenchers and dribbled ale. ‘Shall I clear it, sir?’

      ‘Yes, mistress. That would be a good thing.’

      She looked surprised, and it came to me at last what she expected and feared. That I was a beast like other men; a corrupt priest who wanted her only to slave beneath me in my bed. I could have wept at her innocence; thinking herself trussed up and sacrificed to me. I started to undo the gaudy ribbons binding her waist; plucked out the wilting blossoms tucked into her looped hair. She panted a little.

      ‘Do not be afraid, mistress.’

      ‘I am not, sir. My name is Anne.’

      ‘I know it.’ I folded the ribbons neatly, for I understood and forgave the hunger of common girls for pretty things. ‘There: you are free now.’

      ‘Free, sir?’

      ‘You owe me no debt, Anne.’ I folded my hands together. ‘You know I am a priest?’

      ‘I do, sir.’ Her breath furred the air between us.

      ‘You

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