The Way Between the Worlds by Alys Clare Read Free Book Online Page B

and only they were permitted to know the true nature of the god of us all and reserved the exclusive right to approach him. This, I guessed, was how they had been able to make themselves so very important to the people to whom they ministered. It had been shrewd, I reflected, to tell the people that their god was all-powerful and ever-present, but so mysterious that his word could only be read by those vowed to his service, who would pass on to their flock only as much as they felt the flock ought to know.
    God may well be powerful, I mused, but it seemed to me that the true power rested with his priests. And, for all that they said King William was irreligious, even pagan – although I do not understand what people mean by that term – it was all too apparent that the priesthood’s hold on the consciences of men was steadily tightening  . . .
    ‘A fanatic?’ I prompted Hrype, who was deep in thought and frowning.
    ‘Hmm? Yes. He is newly arrived at Chatteris. He was the confessor at Crowland, shut up out there with the monks on their lonely, muddy island, but the monastery was destroyed last year. They are rebuilding it, of course,’ he said with a faint sigh, ‘but for the time being, their priest has been moved to Chatteris. He is acting like the new broom of the old saying, sweeping vigorously into secret corners that it would be better to leave alone.’ Hrype paused. ‘I have been investigating him. I did once encounter him, for I had  . . . business at Crowland some time ago.’ He clearly did not want to elaborate, and I wasn’t going to ask. ‘I needed to find out more, however, so I spoke to some of the serving men at Crowland, and I have learned much about this priest. He is utterly single-minded in his faith, and he does not baulk at using the most rigorous methods to persuade others to obey his god.’ He gave a brief, rueful smile. ‘They said at Crowland he was as hard on himself as on any of those whose souls were entrusted to him, for he fasted regularly and burdened himself with a heavy wooden cross slung around his neck as a constant reminder of his Lord’s suffering. He is – a powerful man.’
    That, from Hrype, was praise indeed. When he uses the word power , he is usually referring to the sort of power possessed by men such as him: magic power. It seemed odd, at first, to hear him refer in this way to a Christian priest, but, thinking about it, I realized that the men of high position in all religions must have a certain amount of magic, if by that you meant the ability to communicate with beings invisible and generally undetectable to the rest of us. In the mass, the priest communes with his god on behalf of the flock, or so we are told.
    ‘His power is a threat to our kind?’ I whispered.
    Hrype glanced at me. ‘Yes, I believe so. This man does not like competition. He wants the hearts and souls of the people turning just one way, and he will not tolerate any suspicion of loyalty to a far older faith.’
    He spoke in general terms, but I sensed there was more. ‘I believe that you think there is a more personal danger,’ I said slowly. ‘Something closer to – to us? To your family and mine?’
    He nodded. ‘Yes, I fear there may be. I am not sure yet. It is why I am here.’
    ‘I thought you had come because the murdered nun may be – may be—’ I could not make myself say her name.
    He took my hand and held on to it. ‘We will find out soon, Lassair, I promise. But we must be very careful if we approach the abbey. I can’t explain yet, but as soon as I know the truth concerning what is happening, I will tell you more. That, too, is a promise.’
    I believed him. Hrype knows better than most men that a promise is binding. ‘Very well,’ I said. ‘Then, as I said some time ago, what do you suggest we do?’
    He grinned, a swift expression, there and gone in the blink of an eye. ‘We will go together down to the abbey gates and join all the other anxious friends and