The coffer containing Shrewsbury’s gifts for the cause still stood on
the altar of the Lady Chapel, key in lock, ready to be handed over to the
steward Nicol for safe transport on the morrow. That altar stood high enough to
survive all but a flood of Biblical proportions. The Longner carters had
brought with them a third willing helper, a shepherd from the neighbouring
hamlet of Preston. But the three had barely begun transferring their load when
they were haled away agitatedly by Brother Richard to help carry out from the
church, or set at a safe height within, some of the abbey’s threatened
treasures. Brothers and guests were at the same somewhat confused task in near
darkness.
Within
an hour most of the necessary salvage had been done, and the guests began to
withdraw to higher and dryer pastures, before the rising water should reach
their knees. It grew quiet within the nave, only the light slapping of
disturbed water against pillars as some stalwart splashed back thankfully to
the upstairs comfort of the guesthall. Rémy’s man Bénezet was the last to go,
booted to the knee, and well cloaked against the drizzle.
The
Longner carters and their helper went back to stacking their timber; but a
small brother, cowled and agitated, reached a hand to detain the last of them,
the shepherd from Preston. “Friend, there’s one thing more here to go with the
cart to Ramsey. Give me a hand with it.”
All
but the altar lights had burned out by then. The shepherd let himself be led by
the hand, and felt his way to one end of a long, slender burden well swathed in
brychans. They lifted it between them, a weight easy for two. The single altar
lamp cast yellowish light within the Benedictine cowl as they straightened up,
stroked briefly over an earnest, smooth face, and guttered in the draught from
the sacristy door. Together they carried their burden out between the graves of
the abbots to where the abbey wagon stood drawn up outside the heavy double
gates. The two men from Longner were up on their own cart, shifting logs along
to the rear, to be the more easily lifted down between them for transfer to the
larger wagon, and the dusk lay over all, thick with the beginning of a moist
and clammy mist. The swathed burden was hoisted aboard, and aligned neatly
alongside the cordwood already loaded. By the time the young brother had
straightened his back, dusted his hands, and withdrawn briskly towards the open
gate, the two carters had hefted another load of timber aboard, and were off to
their cart again for the next. The last fold of the outer wrapping, a momentary
glitter of gilt embroidery now frayed and threadbare, vanished under the
gleanings of the Longner coppices.
Somewhere within
the graveyard, and retreating into the darkness of the church, a light voice
called thanks and blessings to them, and a hearty goodnight.
Chapter Three.
IN
THE MORNING, immediately after High Mass, the borrowed wagon set out for
Ramsey. The coffer from the altar was confided to Nicol for safekeeping, and
though one of his companions from Ramsey was to travel on with Herluin to
Worcester, the addition to the party for home of three craftsmen seeking work
offered a reassuringly stout guard for the valuables aboard. The timber was
well secured, the team of four horses had spent the night comfortably in the
stable at the Horse Fair, above the flood level, and was ready for the road.
Their
way lay eastward, out by Saint Giles, and once clear of the watermeadows and
over the bridge by Atcham they would be moving away from the river’s coils, and
out upon good roads, open and well used. Nearer to their destination,
considering how Geoffrey de Mandeville’s cutthroats must be scattering for
cover now, they might have occasion to be glad of three tough Shropshire lads,
all good men of their hands.
The
cart rattled away along the Foregate. They would be some days on the road, but
the altar of the Lady Chapel, key in lock, ready to be handed over to the
steward Nicol for safe transport on the morrow. That altar stood high enough to
survive all but a flood of Biblical proportions. The Longner carters had
brought with them a third willing helper, a shepherd from the neighbouring
hamlet of Preston. But the three had barely begun transferring their load when
they were haled away agitatedly by Brother Richard to help carry out from the
church, or set at a safe height within, some of the abbey’s threatened
treasures. Brothers and guests were at the same somewhat confused task in near
darkness.
Within
an hour most of the necessary salvage had been done, and the guests began to
withdraw to higher and dryer pastures, before the rising water should reach
their knees. It grew quiet within the nave, only the light slapping of
disturbed water against pillars as some stalwart splashed back thankfully to
the upstairs comfort of the guesthall. Rémy’s man Bénezet was the last to go,
booted to the knee, and well cloaked against the drizzle.
The
Longner carters and their helper went back to stacking their timber; but a
small brother, cowled and agitated, reached a hand to detain the last of them,
the shepherd from Preston. “Friend, there’s one thing more here to go with the
cart to Ramsey. Give me a hand with it.”
All
but the altar lights had burned out by then. The shepherd let himself be led by
the hand, and felt his way to one end of a long, slender burden well swathed in
brychans. They lifted it between them, a weight easy for two. The single altar
lamp cast yellowish light within the Benedictine cowl as they straightened up,
stroked briefly over an earnest, smooth face, and guttered in the draught from
the sacristy door. Together they carried their burden out between the graves of
the abbots to where the abbey wagon stood drawn up outside the heavy double
gates. The two men from Longner were up on their own cart, shifting logs along
to the rear, to be the more easily lifted down between them for transfer to the
larger wagon, and the dusk lay over all, thick with the beginning of a moist
and clammy mist. The swathed burden was hoisted aboard, and aligned neatly
alongside the cordwood already loaded. By the time the young brother had
straightened his back, dusted his hands, and withdrawn briskly towards the open
gate, the two carters had hefted another load of timber aboard, and were off to
their cart again for the next. The last fold of the outer wrapping, a momentary
glitter of gilt embroidery now frayed and threadbare, vanished under the
gleanings of the Longner coppices.
Somewhere within
the graveyard, and retreating into the darkness of the church, a light voice
called thanks and blessings to them, and a hearty goodnight.
Chapter Three.
IN
THE MORNING, immediately after High Mass, the borrowed wagon set out for
Ramsey. The coffer from the altar was confided to Nicol for safekeeping, and
though one of his companions from Ramsey was to travel on with Herluin to
Worcester, the addition to the party for home of three craftsmen seeking work
offered a reassuringly stout guard for the valuables aboard. The timber was
well secured, the team of four horses had spent the night comfortably in the
stable at the Horse Fair, above the flood level, and was ready for the road.
Their
way lay eastward, out by Saint Giles, and once clear of the watermeadows and
over the bridge by Atcham they would be moving away from the river’s coils, and
out upon good roads, open and well used. Nearer to their destination,
considering how Geoffrey de Mandeville’s cutthroats must be scattering for
cover now, they might have occasion to be glad of three tough Shropshire lads,
all good men of their hands.
The
cart rattled away along the Foregate. They would be some days on the road, but
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