The Law of Angels by Cassandra Clark Read Free Book Online Page A

these days was the abbot’s miller at Low Mill.
    “An example of sharp practice if you ask me. I’m glad it wasn’t one of our abbots who ruined his trade.” Agnetha cast a glance over her shoulder as they left the derelict mill behind.
    Soon a pleasant and well-ordered domain came into view farther on. It was a prosperous-looking sunlit mill house with seven geese in the yard, a thatch-haired child playing with a stick among a brood of contented hens and, from somewhere within the house, the sound of a woman singing. The regular clack-clack of the wheel as it creaked round and the pleasant and continuous splashing of water falling from the turning paddles added to the sweet harmony of the scene. For a moment Hildegard felt a twinge of longing for a life that could never be hers before quickly reminding herself that the longing to have what other’s have is a sin for good reason.
    A short time after this they emerged from the woods, and at last, on the far side of a stretch of common land, they saw the great stone walls of York.

 
    Chapter Five
    The common was on a flood plain where the grass was still long despite the drought. Buttercups and cowslips grew in profusion. Weeping willows sprouted along the riverside. Clustered right up against the city walls were the countless small encampments set up by the travellers arriving from different parts of the country to celebrate the Feast of Corpus Christi and watch the mystery plays that would take place at the same time.
    The group from Deepdale followed a well-worn track across this stretch of common land towards the town gate, but they were no more than halfway across when they noticed a small procession heading towards them. Every now and then the heads of the participants were visible between the reeds.
    It was a band of children. They were singing a strange dirge in some made-up language and wore odd, flowing garments, bright patches of colour against the green of grass and tree. A boy of eleven or so led the way. Drawing closer they could see that his headgear was a makeshift crown of leaves and he carried a crook or sceptre of hazel tied with blue ribbons. One hand was held out before him displaying a dock leaf like a salver with something resting on it.
    The children following were giving all their attention to this strange ceremony and they were almost level before they noticed Hildegard and the rest of them on the same path. The boy stopped and signalled to his followers to halt. The dirge dwindled into silence.
    In an artificially deep voice the boy declaimed, “Sisters, I am your lord archbishop. Bow down before the Host. In my hand I bear the body of Christ and this holy servant”—he poked the child behind him with his crook—“bears a monstrance containing a drop of the blood of our dear Lord Jesus.”
    With a solemn expression the second child held up a beaker full of a brackish liquid.
    “I suppose you’re asking for alms?” asked Petronilla.
    He shook his head. “Only bow down.”
    Hildegard bit her lip. Either she should chide the boy for sacrilege or she should play the role allotted. She couldn’t bring herself to criticise such innocent piety. Nor could she bow before a leaf with what looked like a crust from yesterday’s supper on it.
    The dilemma was resolved when the boy-bishop bestowed a stately blessing on them all then processed off followed by his little retinue. The children resumed their singing and disappeared into the long grass, the stalks closing behind them, leaving only a darkening to show where they had trodden them down.
    Hildegard gazed after them. No doubts for them about the possibility of the magical transformation of bread into flesh or pond water into the blood of Christ. The faith of little children was itself magical.
    *   *   *
    There was a trailing queue of people trying to get through Bootham Bar when they arrived at the north entrance in the city walls. Three or four severed heads stuck on pikes above the