feet. There was no anger in him now, only a kind of dull resignation. ‘I’ll decide what I’m to do. In the meantime, if Udo Germeyne decides to sue me, I’ll sue you in return. I won’t be left damaged by your shoddy work.’
Joel followed him out to the door. ‘Friend, be easy. I’ll return your money for that frame.’
‘You’ll do more than that, Joel Lytell – you’ll take back
all
the frames you’ve sold me, and you’ll compensate me for the damage done to my business by this fiasco.’
Henry glared at Joel as he pulled the latch and threw open the door to the High Street, then stumped away in a semi-drunken state of misery.
It was as he was approaching Carfoix, past the Fissand Gate in this busiest street in Exeter, when one man’s features suddenly stood out: the cold visage of a man he had thought dead many years ago – a man with a livid scar that slashed through the whole left side of his face from temple to jaw. That eye was clouded, the other was brown and intense, glittering with the fervour of the religious fanatic.
‘Sweet Jesus! Nicholas!’ Henry swore, a hand rising to his throat, but in that moment the figure was gone.
He felt entirely alone in the middle of the crowds, like a foreigner with no knowledge of the language or customs. The past was vivid before him, and his throat closed up in dread.
Chapter Four
The Clerk of the Works was relieved to enter the Cathedral and take part in the service after the shocks of that morning.
The way that the rock had moved had brought home to Matthew just how immense was the weight of stone used to build this great place. He glanced up nervously at the walls and ceiling as he knelt, thinking how easy it would be for one of the massive blocks to tumble down and leave him as a splash of crimson on the tiled floor. It was a sickening thought. God could do it with a snap of His fingers, if He so wished, and there was nothing that a man could do to prevent Him.
He offered up a prayer of his own for the spirit of Saul. Matthew was a conscientious canon, and it was his task to pray for the souls of all those living or dead.
Service over, he walked through to the frater and sat with his bowl of pottage and hunk of bread. While the voice of the reader droned over all, he stared down at his food.
The rock had gone so quickly, he had hardly registered its progress. He’d noticed Thomas’s distraction, of course, and had tried to see what the mason was staring at so intently, but he’d had to lean over to peer around Thomas, and couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. And then the rock fell, and it didn’t seem so important any more.
That noise would forever reverberate in his ears, like the machines of hell preparing for the final battle between goodand evil; and he was sure he’d heard a short scream, like that of a petrified quarry before the fox’s jaws clamped and life was extinguished. Only a few moments before, Matthew had seen Saul hard at work below, happily shaping a block and gauging whether it would slot into its neighbour. The next moment, he was dead.
Matthew sighed. There was a slight twinge in his shoulder, but that was normal. Whenever the weather began to change, that old pain came back to pester him.
‘Matthew?’
‘Treasurer. Please, take a seat.’
Stephen nodded and took his place beside Matthew on the bench. ‘Is it your shoulder?’
Matthew nodded. He had gained this wound on the night that the Chaunter, Walter de Lecchelade, had been assassinated. Matthew was a member of his
familia
, living under Walter’s roof, and he had been struck down by the murderous devils who killed his master. Fortunately, he was unconscious from early on in the fight. Others hadn’t been so lucky. In fact, only he and one other survived the defence of their master: Matthew with a broken head that took months to mend, and Nicholas, a man marked with hideous wounds to remind him of the honourable attempt to protect Chaunter
Joel followed him out to the door. ‘Friend, be easy. I’ll return your money for that frame.’
‘You’ll do more than that, Joel Lytell – you’ll take back
all
the frames you’ve sold me, and you’ll compensate me for the damage done to my business by this fiasco.’
Henry glared at Joel as he pulled the latch and threw open the door to the High Street, then stumped away in a semi-drunken state of misery.
It was as he was approaching Carfoix, past the Fissand Gate in this busiest street in Exeter, when one man’s features suddenly stood out: the cold visage of a man he had thought dead many years ago – a man with a livid scar that slashed through the whole left side of his face from temple to jaw. That eye was clouded, the other was brown and intense, glittering with the fervour of the religious fanatic.
‘Sweet Jesus! Nicholas!’ Henry swore, a hand rising to his throat, but in that moment the figure was gone.
He felt entirely alone in the middle of the crowds, like a foreigner with no knowledge of the language or customs. The past was vivid before him, and his throat closed up in dread.
Chapter Four
The Clerk of the Works was relieved to enter the Cathedral and take part in the service after the shocks of that morning.
The way that the rock had moved had brought home to Matthew just how immense was the weight of stone used to build this great place. He glanced up nervously at the walls and ceiling as he knelt, thinking how easy it would be for one of the massive blocks to tumble down and leave him as a splash of crimson on the tiled floor. It was a sickening thought. God could do it with a snap of His fingers, if He so wished, and there was nothing that a man could do to prevent Him.
He offered up a prayer of his own for the spirit of Saul. Matthew was a conscientious canon, and it was his task to pray for the souls of all those living or dead.
Service over, he walked through to the frater and sat with his bowl of pottage and hunk of bread. While the voice of the reader droned over all, he stared down at his food.
The rock had gone so quickly, he had hardly registered its progress. He’d noticed Thomas’s distraction, of course, and had tried to see what the mason was staring at so intently, but he’d had to lean over to peer around Thomas, and couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. And then the rock fell, and it didn’t seem so important any more.
That noise would forever reverberate in his ears, like the machines of hell preparing for the final battle between goodand evil; and he was sure he’d heard a short scream, like that of a petrified quarry before the fox’s jaws clamped and life was extinguished. Only a few moments before, Matthew had seen Saul hard at work below, happily shaping a block and gauging whether it would slot into its neighbour. The next moment, he was dead.
Matthew sighed. There was a slight twinge in his shoulder, but that was normal. Whenever the weather began to change, that old pain came back to pester him.
‘Matthew?’
‘Treasurer. Please, take a seat.’
Stephen nodded and took his place beside Matthew on the bench. ‘Is it your shoulder?’
Matthew nodded. He had gained this wound on the night that the Chaunter, Walter de Lecchelade, had been assassinated. Matthew was a member of his
familia
, living under Walter’s roof, and he had been struck down by the murderous devils who killed his master. Fortunately, he was unconscious from early on in the fight. Others hadn’t been so lucky. In fact, only he and one other survived the defence of their master: Matthew with a broken head that took months to mend, and Nicholas, a man marked with hideous wounds to remind him of the honourable attempt to protect Chaunter
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