The Devil's Acolyte (2002) by Michael Jecks Read Free Book Online Page B

his face. She wasn’t really his sort, he told himself, but even so the feeling of
her breath upon his skin had sent his entire face tingling, and he wished that he was married to someone as impulsive. Wally touched his lips with a feeling almost of awe, unaware of the dark and
bitterly resentful eyes of Ellis, the barber, who spied on him from a short distance away.
    Ellis had witnessed Wally’s brief conversation with Sara, and from where he stood, slightly behind Wally, it had looked as though she had leaned up to kiss him. In public! Full of
misgivings, Ellis pushed his way through the crowds after his sister.
    He had never married. There hadn’t been an opportunity. His trade was his life, apart from his sister, and although he had never known the joy of fatherhood, of watching a wife of his own
grow great with a baby, seeing her face alter, glowing with that inner warmth as she became aware of the life within her, he had seen other women in the first flush of pregnancy. Sara had been like
that when she was married, bearing her children. And now she looked that way again.
    It was not until she had reached the far side of the market square that he caught up with her. ‘Sara, what are you playing at?’
    ‘Nothing! What’s the matter with you?’
    ‘I saw you out there, looking up at him, all moon-eyed. Have you been bloody stupid?’
    ‘Let go of my arm,’ she said, snatching her forearm from his grasp. ‘Leave me alone, Ellis.’
    ‘You haven’t been foolish, have you?’
    ‘No. I have been very sensible,’ she said with a flash of fire in her eyes. ‘I have found a man to love, and who loves me.’
    ‘And have you slept with him?’
    She stiffened, then smacked a hand across his cheek. ‘That is
my
business, and none of yours, Brother!’
    ‘You have, haven’t you?’ he said dully. ‘And now you’re pregnant.’
    ‘Just go away, Ellis.’
    ‘I know who it is.’
    ‘I don’t care! He’ll marry me.’
    ‘
He’ll
never marry you, you fool.’
    It was the first time in days that the agony of Hamelin’s ruined tooth had faded to a dull ache, and now, after the abundant stream of strong ale that Hal had bought him,
he felt as though his mouth was almost normal. If only his tongue would keep away from his teeth. He seemed to keep biting it accidentally.
    He moved somewhat precariously from the tavern’s door to go and watch the coining, grabbing at a rail here, a fence there, breathing loudly, but with a happy smile on his face.
‘Where’s the coining, friend?’ he asked of a man near the market.
    ‘Right in front of you! Christ, you’re as drunk as a monk!’
    There were other men all about, and some began to laugh at the sight of Hamelin’s state.
    ‘Look out, he’ll spew over us all.’
    ‘Not Hamelin, eh, fellow? Hamelin could always handle a few pints.’
    ‘So can many – but they all fall over just as heavily!’
    ‘Even bloody monks. The Abbot’s Steward and his friend Mark were here last weekend, and pissed as rats in cider! Jesu, it was hard to get them out the door, they were swaying so
much.’
    Hamelin frowned. He could hear voices, but he was finding it hard to focus. Perhaps he ought to go and find his wife. Her rooms weren’t far from the market. He could go and talk to her.
Apologise for his failure. She might soothe him a little. If only he hadn’t drunk quite so much . . .
    ‘The Steward was almost unable to talk, he was so far gone. Mark had to help him through the door, and you could hear the two of them roaring and laughing up the road.’
    ‘Aye, well, the Abbot’s away, isn’t he? It’s rare enough that the monks get a chance to have a drink. Poor bastards! I’d go mad, locked away in that place like
them.’
    ‘Doesn’t sound like they’re too securely locked up, does it?’
    ‘Yeah, well, every once in a while they get let out.’
    Hamelin tried to speak, but phlegm in his throat threatened to choke him. When he had coughed a little, he