Read Online Prince of Darkness by Paul C. Doherty - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Paul C. Doherty
Ads: Link
chancel screen The peasants from the nunnery farm were now filing in. According to custom they would not be allowed any further than the nave, so they squatted in their dusty green, brown or russet smocks upon the flagstoned floor.
Corbett studied them, travelling back in time, as if they were ghosts from his own past His father and mother had once sat like that no more than peasants and so, by King's law and divine decree, not worthy to sit beyond the chancel screen Instead they could look at the priest from afar, listen to his sermon, and study the paintings put there for their spiritual improvement
A bell tinkled and Father Reynard, dressed in fiery red and gold vestments, swept out of the sacristy and up to the altar. He stood at the foot of the steps, making the sign of the cross, his great voice intoning the introductory psalm:
I will go unto the altar of God, to God who gives glory to my youth!'
Corbett studied the nuns on either side, watching each face intently. In the main they were fat, well fed and smug, Dame Elizabeth being a notable exception in her austerity. Lady Amelia in her silk habit and lace-edged wimple, gazed round with all the hauteur of a noblewoman; Dame Agatha's face looked serene and composed in prayer, though Corbett watched her dark sloe eyes glance quickly across at him. He caught the hint of mischief in her face. Now Father Reynard had gone up the altar steps, standing beneath the blue and gold canopy which swung on velvet cords from the costly hammerbeam roof. The spiritual magic was being worked, Christ called down under the likeness of bread and wine, but Corbett stirred at the end of the Mass as Father Reynard mounted the wooden pulpit to give the sermon, his hands resting on the great eagle with its carved, outstretched wings.
'Woe to you!' the Franciscan began. 'You rich and pampered ones who ignore the needy, the poor folk, prisoners in dungeons created by your wealth. What they scrimp by spinning, they pay out to you in rents and times so they have only watered porridge to satisfy their young ones who groan aloud for food.' He drew back the sleeves of his gown, exposing his strong brown wrists. Eyes half-closed, he rocked to and fro. 'Woe to you rich, you pampered ones who ignore the peasants, too ashamed to beg, who wake at night to rock the cradle, to patch and wash!'
Corbett looked along the line of nuns. Even the most somnolent had now stirred themselves.
'Woe to you, the pampered ones with your secret lusts, who do not revere the Madonna but pine after the secret mysteries of Queen Mab and the harlotries offered by hobgoblins, be they human or demoniac. Can you not read the signs? Satan walks and has already made his mark!'
Corbett now sat up, seeing the fury in Lady Amelia's face so apparent, he thought the Lady Prioress would rise and walk out of the church whilst Father Reynard's litany of woes only grew stronger. The priest's eyes now gleamed with fanaticism; his tongue lashed the rich, a veil for his warnings against the Priory of Godstowe. Behind him Corbett heard the peasants stir and murmur their approval. Ranulf was openly grinning. A self-confessed sinner from the gutters of Southwark, he had one virtue: he was totally devoid of hypocrisy. Corbett hoped the sermon would benefit him as well, something to take back to London with him.
At last Father Reynard finished, gave his final benediction and swept into the sanctuary. Lady Amelia rose, genuflected before the altar step and led her sisters out, their hauteur and arrogance now dimmed. None dared raise her eyes as they filed down the nave. Only Dame Agatha, with an impish wink to Ranulf, indicated her approval of what the Franciscan had said Corbett remained seated. The friar's words had affected him also. Was he, so eager for royal justice, ready to show the same to his tenants or had he forgotten his own roots? He remembered the words of his old comrade, de Couville, who now worked in the royal records office at
Corbett studied them, travelling back in time, as if they were ghosts from his own past His father and mother had once sat like that no more than peasants and so, by King's law and divine decree, not worthy to sit beyond the chancel screen Instead they could look at the priest from afar, listen to his sermon, and study the paintings put there for their spiritual improvement
A bell tinkled and Father Reynard, dressed in fiery red and gold vestments, swept out of the sacristy and up to the altar. He stood at the foot of the steps, making the sign of the cross, his great voice intoning the introductory psalm:
I will go unto the altar of God, to God who gives glory to my youth!'
Corbett studied the nuns on either side, watching each face intently. In the main they were fat, well fed and smug, Dame Elizabeth being a notable exception in her austerity. Lady Amelia in her silk habit and lace-edged wimple, gazed round with all the hauteur of a noblewoman; Dame Agatha's face looked serene and composed in prayer, though Corbett watched her dark sloe eyes glance quickly across at him. He caught the hint of mischief in her face. Now Father Reynard had gone up the altar steps, standing beneath the blue and gold canopy which swung on velvet cords from the costly hammerbeam roof. The spiritual magic was being worked, Christ called down under the likeness of bread and wine, but Corbett stirred at the end of the Mass as Father Reynard mounted the wooden pulpit to give the sermon, his hands resting on the great eagle with its carved, outstretched wings.
'Woe to you!' the Franciscan began. 'You rich and pampered ones who ignore the needy, the poor folk, prisoners in dungeons created by your wealth. What they scrimp by spinning, they pay out to you in rents and times so they have only watered porridge to satisfy their young ones who groan aloud for food.' He drew back the sleeves of his gown, exposing his strong brown wrists. Eyes half-closed, he rocked to and fro. 'Woe to you rich, you pampered ones who ignore the peasants, too ashamed to beg, who wake at night to rock the cradle, to patch and wash!'
Corbett looked along the line of nuns. Even the most somnolent had now stirred themselves.
'Woe to you, the pampered ones with your secret lusts, who do not revere the Madonna but pine after the secret mysteries of Queen Mab and the harlotries offered by hobgoblins, be they human or demoniac. Can you not read the signs? Satan walks and has already made his mark!'
Corbett now sat up, seeing the fury in Lady Amelia's face so apparent, he thought the Lady Prioress would rise and walk out of the church whilst Father Reynard's litany of woes only grew stronger. The priest's eyes now gleamed with fanaticism; his tongue lashed the rich, a veil for his warnings against the Priory of Godstowe. Behind him Corbett heard the peasants stir and murmur their approval. Ranulf was openly grinning. A self-confessed sinner from the gutters of Southwark, he had one virtue: he was totally devoid of hypocrisy. Corbett hoped the sermon would benefit him as well, something to take back to London with him.
At last Father Reynard finished, gave his final benediction and swept into the sanctuary. Lady Amelia rose, genuflected before the altar step and led her sisters out, their hauteur and arrogance now dimmed. None dared raise her eyes as they filed down the nave. Only Dame Agatha, with an impish wink to Ranulf, indicated her approval of what the Franciscan had said Corbett remained seated. The friar's words had affected him also. Was he, so eager for royal justice, ready to show the same to his tenants or had he forgotten his own roots? He remembered the words of his old comrade, de Couville, who now worked in the royal records office at
Similar Books
