The Brothers of Glastonbury Read Free Page A

nudging me along the path He wished me to take. He had need of my skills again; of that strange ability He had given me to unravel the tangled threads of wrongdoing and evil. I began my usual counter-strategy – even though past experience had taught me that it rarely availed me anything; you can’t outwit the Almighty, but I always felt duty bound to try – and stood at the back of the congregation, bending my knees slightly in order to reduce my height and fixing my eyes on a wall-painting of Saint George slaying the dragon in an effort not to meet anyone’s gaze. And it seemed as if I might have been successful when, the Mass over, everyone filed out of the chapel, the Duke and Bishop arm-in-arm leading the way, without my having been accosted.
    I again hoisted up my pack, which I had left outside the door, and walked the few yards to the east gate. A young girl was just ahead of me, half running, half stumbling in her anxiety to reach the porter, who had that minute emerged from his lodge. I heard her call out him, ‘Has he come yet, Burl?’ And when the man shook his head she stopped in her tracks, biting her lower lip and looking worried. Some little drama was being enacted here, but it was nothing to do with me. I gave the porter a friendly nod before crossing the drawbridge and turning in the direction of Bath.
    God, after all, had had no need of my services, and I was free to go home. Perversely, I felt bitterly disappointed. My pace slowed and my pack began to weigh heavily on my shoulders. I crested the rise and started on the long, dragging descent to Bath, nestling some five or six miles off, deep in its valley.
    It was growing hotter by the minute and I was beginning to sweat. Such people as I encountered appeared to be as surly and as out of sorts as I was myself. The roads were dry and rutted, and passing carts threw up clouds of dust which made me sneeze and irritated my eyes. By the time I neared the Charterhouse at Hinton, I was feeling extremely sorry for myself.
    I heard the pounding of hooves behind me and turned to look over my shoulder. A man wearing the livery of the Duke of Clarence reined in his mount beside me and slid to the ground.
    ‘Roger the Chapman?’ he demanded, and when I nodded he continued: ‘You’re to come back with me to Farleigh. His Grace so orders!’ Then he added, unable to keep the note of incredulity from his voice, ‘My lord says he has need of you.’

Chapter Two
    I rode pillion behind the messenger back to Farleigh and we arrived just after ten o’clock, in time for dinner. Not that I could think about food just then, being led at once towards an upper room to await the Duke.
    In both the outer and inner wards of the castle, carts were were being loaded and horses saddled ready for the ducal couple’s midday departure. As one who carried most of his worldly goods upon his back, I never ceased to marvel at the amount of clothes and possessions deemed necessary by our lords and masters for even the shortest stay. As my guide and I passed within view of the south-west tower, its conical roof gleaming in the morning sun, two young pages dragged out a large, iron-bound, leather chest which I presumed belonged to the Duchess, judging by the fine gauze sleeve that trailed from beneath its lid. Behind them a tiring-woman stumbled beneath the weight of a red, velvet-covered jewel box.
    It seemed that the Bishop, together with his retinue, had long since gone; as soon as breakfast was over, according to my companion. What business he had had with the Duke had evidently been completed the previous night, and His Grace must by now have been several miles along the road to Wells. I reflected how fortuitous it was that Stillington should have been visiting his diocese just as my lord of Clarence was spending twenty-four hours at Farleigh. There was a whiff of collusion in the air, and I wondered what mischief they had been hatching together. But whatever it was, it would not