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Authors: Philip Reeve
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nettles.”
“You’ve seen him do that?”
“No, no. But I heard him tell my mother.”
I grinned. I’d already guessed, see, what kind of man this saint was. The Myrddin kind. Only difference was, he spun stories about himself, not Arthur.
“He has nothing,” said the girl. “He urges my mother to be like him, so that she can come to God. He had her give away all our fine things, all her gold and silver that was left from Father’s time, and all the best wine from our cellars.”
“Who’d she give them to?”
She frowned, as if she’d never thought about that. “I don’t know. Saint Porroc and his monks took them. He said they’d use them for the glory of God.”
I squinted along the side of the hall. Now that the hunters were gone, Saint Porroc’s monks were setting off to their work in the miserable straggle of fields below the rampart.
“Saint Porroc doesn’t go with them?”
“He’s too busy at his prayers.”
“Ever been inside that church of his?”
“Oh no! Saint Porroc would not permit it! He talks to God and angels there!”
I thought about the wine-jars I’d seen in the ditchbehind the chapel. I could guess what manner of angels Porroc chatted to, while his hangers-on were weeding their bean-rows.
“Let’s look,” I said.
“What?” The girl took a step backwards, so as not to be caught by the thunderbolt that must surely strike me down. Looked up nervously at the sky, but it stayed blue. I could see the wickedness of what I’d suggested excited her. Living the way she did, all holy and prim in this hard-scrat place, the thought of wickedness was as sweet to her as honey. But she said, “Oh, you mustn’t, no, no…”
I didn’t listen. My year as a boy had primed me for mischief. My time with Myrddin had taught me enough that I wasn’t scared of men like Porroc. If Myrddin won’t let me go to the hunt, I thought, I’ll have a hunt of my own, and flush out Porroc’s secrets. I took my new friend by her hand. “What’s your name?”
She hesitated a moment, and colour came to her cheeks, as if she was ashamed. “Peri,” she said.
“Well, Peri,” I promised, “we’re going to give the Blessed Saint Porroc an angel to talk to.”
XIII
Peri had to act the angel, I decided. Angels have long hair, don’t they? And they’re tall, like she was, and graceful. Anyway, I wasn’t stripping off in front of her. Like Saint Porroc, I had secrets to keep.
“But he’ll know me,” she said, when I explained what we were going to do.
“He’s half blind,” I told her, remembering the way Porroc had screwed up his eyes to peer at us the day before. “Anyway, he’ll not see your face. You’ll have the sun at your back. The glory of God will shine about you.”
“Don’t talk about God that way! Oh, we shouldn’t do this…”
She was as scared as I’d been the day Myrddin made me play the part of the lake-woman. Her fright made me feel braver. I snatched the dress she’d taken off and stuffed it into Myrddin’s bag before she could change her mind. Slung the bag across my shoulders. Under her dress Peri wore a long, sleeveless, white shift. Iuntied her plait so her hair tumbled down. Dark, springy hair, gingery where the sunlight touched its edges. Hair I’d have envied, if I’d been still a girl. There was nothing else girlish about her. Her chest, under that white shift, was flat as a slate. Her jaw had a boyish squareness to it, too. But that fitted our purpose. Angels aren’t girls.
They have wings, though. I fetched one of the gulls that hung along the rampart-fence and took its big white wings off with my knife. It didn’t take me long to lash them to my belt and loop it round under Peri’s arms, hiding it under her shift at the front. The wings were skewed, and at the back the belt and all the cordage showed, but from the front, with those white feathery points poking up over her shoulders, she looked… Well, angelic.
We went down to the
“You’ve seen him do that?”
“No, no. But I heard him tell my mother.”
I grinned. I’d already guessed, see, what kind of man this saint was. The Myrddin kind. Only difference was, he spun stories about himself, not Arthur.
“He has nothing,” said the girl. “He urges my mother to be like him, so that she can come to God. He had her give away all our fine things, all her gold and silver that was left from Father’s time, and all the best wine from our cellars.”
“Who’d she give them to?”
She frowned, as if she’d never thought about that. “I don’t know. Saint Porroc and his monks took them. He said they’d use them for the glory of God.”
I squinted along the side of the hall. Now that the hunters were gone, Saint Porroc’s monks were setting off to their work in the miserable straggle of fields below the rampart.
“Saint Porroc doesn’t go with them?”
“He’s too busy at his prayers.”
“Ever been inside that church of his?”
“Oh no! Saint Porroc would not permit it! He talks to God and angels there!”
I thought about the wine-jars I’d seen in the ditchbehind the chapel. I could guess what manner of angels Porroc chatted to, while his hangers-on were weeding their bean-rows.
“Let’s look,” I said.
“What?” The girl took a step backwards, so as not to be caught by the thunderbolt that must surely strike me down. Looked up nervously at the sky, but it stayed blue. I could see the wickedness of what I’d suggested excited her. Living the way she did, all holy and prim in this hard-scrat place, the thought of wickedness was as sweet to her as honey. But she said, “Oh, you mustn’t, no, no…”
I didn’t listen. My year as a boy had primed me for mischief. My time with Myrddin had taught me enough that I wasn’t scared of men like Porroc. If Myrddin won’t let me go to the hunt, I thought, I’ll have a hunt of my own, and flush out Porroc’s secrets. I took my new friend by her hand. “What’s your name?”
She hesitated a moment, and colour came to her cheeks, as if she was ashamed. “Peri,” she said.
“Well, Peri,” I promised, “we’re going to give the Blessed Saint Porroc an angel to talk to.”
XIII
Peri had to act the angel, I decided. Angels have long hair, don’t they? And they’re tall, like she was, and graceful. Anyway, I wasn’t stripping off in front of her. Like Saint Porroc, I had secrets to keep.
“But he’ll know me,” she said, when I explained what we were going to do.
“He’s half blind,” I told her, remembering the way Porroc had screwed up his eyes to peer at us the day before. “Anyway, he’ll not see your face. You’ll have the sun at your back. The glory of God will shine about you.”
“Don’t talk about God that way! Oh, we shouldn’t do this…”
She was as scared as I’d been the day Myrddin made me play the part of the lake-woman. Her fright made me feel braver. I snatched the dress she’d taken off and stuffed it into Myrddin’s bag before she could change her mind. Slung the bag across my shoulders. Under her dress Peri wore a long, sleeveless, white shift. Iuntied her plait so her hair tumbled down. Dark, springy hair, gingery where the sunlight touched its edges. Hair I’d have envied, if I’d been still a girl. There was nothing else girlish about her. Her chest, under that white shift, was flat as a slate. Her jaw had a boyish squareness to it, too. But that fitted our purpose. Angels aren’t girls.
They have wings, though. I fetched one of the gulls that hung along the rampart-fence and took its big white wings off with my knife. It didn’t take me long to lash them to my belt and loop it round under Peri’s arms, hiding it under her shift at the front. The wings were skewed, and at the back the belt and all the cordage showed, but from the front, with those white feathery points poking up over her shoulders, she looked… Well, angelic.
We went down to the
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