the purification of the holy place with a celebratory Mass.
Then they began to carry back from their higher sanctuaries the furnishings of
the altars, the chests of vestments and plate, the candlesticks, newly
polished, the frontals and hangings, the minor reliquaries. It was accepted
without question that all must be restored and immaculate before the chief
grace and adornment of the abbey of Saint Peter and Saint Paul was brought back
with all due ceremony to her rightful place, newly swept and garnished to
receive her.
“Now,”
said Prior Robert, straightening joyfully to his full majestic height, “let us
bring back Saint Winifred to her altar. She was carried, as all here know, into
the upper room over the north porch.” The little outer door there at the corner
of the porch, and the spiral staircase within, very difficult for the transport
of even a small coffin, had remained accessible until the highest point of the
flood, and she had been well padded against any damage in transit. “Let us go,”
declaimed Robert, “in devotion and joy, and bring her back to her mission and
benediction among us.”
He
had always, thought Cadfael, resignedly following through the narrow, retired
door and up the tricky stair, this conviction that he owns the girl, because he
believes, no, God be good to him, poor soul, he mistakenly but surely knows!
that he brought her here. God forbid he should ever find out the truth, that
she is far away in her own chosen place, and her connivance with his pride in
her is only a kindhearted girl’s mercy to an idiot child.
Cynric,
Father Boniface’s parish verger, had surrendered his small dwelling above the
porch to the housing of the church treasures while the flood lasted. He would
be back in possession soon; a tall, gaunt, quiet man, lantern-faced, a figure
of awe to ordinary mortals, but totally accepted by the innocents, for the
children of the Foregate, and their inseparable camp-followers, the dogs, came
confidently to his hand, and sat and meditated contentedly on the steps with
him in summer weather. His narrow room was bare now of all but the last and
most precious resident. The swathed and roped coffin was taken up with all
reverence, and carefully manipulated down the tight confines of the spiral
stair.
In
the nave they had set up trestles on which to lay her, while they unwound the
sheath of brychans they had used to keep her reliquary from injury. The
wrappings unrolled one after another and were laid aside, and it seemed to
Cadfael, watching, that with the removal of each one the swaddled shape,
dwindling, assumed a form too rigid and rectangular to match with what he
carried devoutly in his mind. But the final padding was thick enough to shroud
the delicacies of fashioning he knew so well. Prior Robert reached a hand with
ceremonious reverence to take hold of the last fold, and drew it back to
uncover what lay within.
He
uttered a muted shriek that emerged with startling effect from so august a
throat, though it was not loud. He fell back a long, unsteady pace in shock,
and then as abruptly started forward again and dragged the rug away, to expose
to general view the inexplicable and offensive reality they had manipulated so
carefully down from its place of safety. Not the silver-chased reliquary of
Saint Winifred, but a log of wood, smaller and shorter than the coffin it had been
used to represent, light enough, probably, for one man to handle; and not new,
for it had dried and weathered to seasoned ripeness.
All
that care and reverence had been wasted. Wherever Saint Winifred was, she was
certainly not here.
After
the stunned and idiot silence, babble and turmoil broke out on all sides,
drawing to the spot others who had heard the strangled cry of dismay, and left
their own tasks to come and stare and wonder. Prior Robert stood frozen into an
outraged statue, the rug clutched in both hands, glaring at the
Then they began to carry back from their higher sanctuaries the furnishings of
the altars, the chests of vestments and plate, the candlesticks, newly
polished, the frontals and hangings, the minor reliquaries. It was accepted
without question that all must be restored and immaculate before the chief
grace and adornment of the abbey of Saint Peter and Saint Paul was brought back
with all due ceremony to her rightful place, newly swept and garnished to
receive her.
“Now,”
said Prior Robert, straightening joyfully to his full majestic height, “let us
bring back Saint Winifred to her altar. She was carried, as all here know, into
the upper room over the north porch.” The little outer door there at the corner
of the porch, and the spiral staircase within, very difficult for the transport
of even a small coffin, had remained accessible until the highest point of the
flood, and she had been well padded against any damage in transit. “Let us go,”
declaimed Robert, “in devotion and joy, and bring her back to her mission and
benediction among us.”
He
had always, thought Cadfael, resignedly following through the narrow, retired
door and up the tricky stair, this conviction that he owns the girl, because he
believes, no, God be good to him, poor soul, he mistakenly but surely knows!
that he brought her here. God forbid he should ever find out the truth, that
she is far away in her own chosen place, and her connivance with his pride in
her is only a kindhearted girl’s mercy to an idiot child.
Cynric,
Father Boniface’s parish verger, had surrendered his small dwelling above the
porch to the housing of the church treasures while the flood lasted. He would
be back in possession soon; a tall, gaunt, quiet man, lantern-faced, a figure
of awe to ordinary mortals, but totally accepted by the innocents, for the
children of the Foregate, and their inseparable camp-followers, the dogs, came
confidently to his hand, and sat and meditated contentedly on the steps with
him in summer weather. His narrow room was bare now of all but the last and
most precious resident. The swathed and roped coffin was taken up with all
reverence, and carefully manipulated down the tight confines of the spiral
stair.
In
the nave they had set up trestles on which to lay her, while they unwound the
sheath of brychans they had used to keep her reliquary from injury. The
wrappings unrolled one after another and were laid aside, and it seemed to
Cadfael, watching, that with the removal of each one the swaddled shape,
dwindling, assumed a form too rigid and rectangular to match with what he
carried devoutly in his mind. But the final padding was thick enough to shroud
the delicacies of fashioning he knew so well. Prior Robert reached a hand with
ceremonious reverence to take hold of the last fold, and drew it back to
uncover what lay within.
He
uttered a muted shriek that emerged with startling effect from so august a
throat, though it was not loud. He fell back a long, unsteady pace in shock,
and then as abruptly started forward again and dragged the rug away, to expose
to general view the inexplicable and offensive reality they had manipulated so
carefully down from its place of safety. Not the silver-chased reliquary of
Saint Winifred, but a log of wood, smaller and shorter than the coffin it had been
used to represent, light enough, probably, for one man to handle; and not new,
for it had dried and weathered to seasoned ripeness.
All
that care and reverence had been wasted. Wherever Saint Winifred was, she was
certainly not here.
After
the stunned and idiot silence, babble and turmoil broke out on all sides,
drawing to the spot others who had heard the strangled cry of dismay, and left
their own tasks to come and stare and wonder. Prior Robert stood frozen into an
outraged statue, the rug clutched in both hands, glaring at the
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