Read Online Holy Thief by Ellis Peters - Free Book Online

at least in regions further removed from the mountains of Wales, which had
launched such a weight of thaw-water down into the lowlands after the heavy
winter snows.
    An
hour or so later Sub-Prior Herluin also set forth, attended by Tutilo and the
third lay servant, to turn southeastward at Saint Giles. Possibly it had not
yet dawned on Herluin that the floods he was thankfully leaving behind here
might keep pace with him downstream and overtake him triumphantly at Worcester.
The speed at which the flood-water travelled could be erratic in some winters;
it might even be ahead of him when he reached the level meadows below the city.
    Rémy
of Pertuis made no move to depart. Even the lower living floor of the guesthall
remained dry and snug enough, being raised upon a deep undercroft and
approached by a flight of stone steps, so he was left to nurse his sore throat
in comparative warmth and comfort. His best horse, his own riding horse, was
still lame, according to his man Bénezet, who had the charge of the horses, and
daily plashed impassively through the shallows of the court to tend them in the
stable at the Horse Fair. The stable-yard within the enclave lay almost
knee-deep in water, and might remain so for several days yet. Bénezet
recommended a longer wait here, and his master, it seemed, thinking of possible
inconveniences on the way north to Chester, what with the upstream Severn and
the incalculable Dee to cope with, had no objection to make. He was dry and fed
and safe where he was. And the rain seemed to be moving away. Westward the
cloud was clearing, only a desultory shower or two punctuated the featureless
calm of the day’s routine.
    The
horarium proceeded stubbornly in spite of difficulties. The choir remained just
above the level of the waters, and could be reached dryshod by the night stairs
from the dortoir, and the floor of the chapterhouse was barely covered on the
first and second day, and on the third was seen to be retaining only the dark,
moist lines between the flags. That was the first sign that the river had
reasserted its powers, and was again carrying away its great weight of waters.
Two more days passed before the change was perceptible by the fast flow of the
brook, and the withdrawal of the overflow into its bed, sinking gradually
through the saturated grass and leaving a rim of debris to mark the decline.
The mill pond sank slowly, clawing turf and leaves down from the lower reaches
of the gardens it had invaded. Even along Severnside under the town walls the
level sank day by day, relinquishing the fringe of little houses and
fishermen’s huts and boat-sheds stained by mud and littered with the jetsam of
branches and bushes.
    Within
the week brook and river and pond were back in their confines, full but still
gradually subsiding. The tide-mark left in the nave had after all reached no
higher than the top of the second step of Saint Winifred’s altar.
    “We
need never have moved her,” said Prior Robert, viewing the proof of it and
shaking his head. “We should have had more faith. Surely she is well able to
take care of herself and her flock. She had but to command, and the waters
would have abated.”
    Nevertheless,
an abode damp, clammy and cold, and filthy with mud and rubbish, was no fit
place to bring a saint. They fell to work without complaint, sweeping and
polishing and mopping up the puddles left in every irregularity in the floor
tiles. They brought the cresset stones, all three, into the nave, filled all
their cups with oil, and lit them to dry out the lingering dampness and warm
the air. Floral essences added to the oil fought valiantly against the stink of
the river. Undercrofts, storehouses, barns and stables would also need
attention, but the church was the first priority. When it was again fit to
receive and house them, all the treasures could be restored to their places
here within the fold.
    Abbot
Radulfus marked