done just right.’
‘That’s a recipe for a seizure.’
I laughed. ‘Come, or he’ll leave us behind.’
As we reached the church I saw that many of the stained-glass windows had been removed, while others were broken. A dark-haired, middle-aged man stood on a ladder some distance off, carefully
removing a pane. At the foot of the ladder an enormous black horse stood grazing beside a high-sided wagon.
‘The glass is all going, then,’ I observed to Craike. ‘It’ll make the church look bleak when the King comes.’
‘That glazier is trying to get as many windows as possible out before the Progress arrives, for the King will want to see it has been put beyond use.’
At the sound of our voices, the glazier stopped working and looked down. He had a thin, careworn face and sharp, watchful eyes.
Craike called up to him. ‘How goes it, Master Oldroyd?’
‘Well enough, maister, thank you.’
‘Will you have all the windows out before the King comes?’
‘Ay, sir. I’ll be here at first light every day till ’tis done.’
Craike led us up the worn steps of the church. The great door stood half open, a trail of muddy footprints leading in; evidently the church had become a thoroughfare.
It had been a magnificent place once. Great decorated arches and pillars rose to dizzying heights, richly painted in green and ochre; the floor was of decorated tiles in many designs. Lit with
candles, it would have been an awesome sight. Now, though, the many empty windows cast a cold dim light on side-chapels stripped of furniture and empty niches where statues had stood, some now
lying in pieces on the floor. A trail of mud and broken tiles marked a shortcut leading to another half-open door at the south end of the nave. As we walked down the gutted church, our footsteps
echoed eerily in a silence that contrasted strangely with the bustle outside. I shivered.
‘Ay, ’tis cold,’ Master Craike said. ‘We’re near the river here, ’tis a damp and foggy place.’
I saw that a considerable number of wooden stalls had been erected along the walls. Some horses already stood there though many were empty. Piles of straw spilled out on to the aisle.
Barak pointed at a stall. ‘There’s Sukey and Genesis.’
‘They’re using this place as a stable?’ I asked incredulously.
‘The horses of the courtiers and the senior servants will all be stabled here. ’Tis a sensible use of the space, though it seems sacrilegious, even if the church has been
deconsecrated.’
We stepped out of the south door into a second large courtyard, just as bustling. More buildings were set along the walls, and there was an imposing gatehouse and another smaller church. This
was still in one piece, the parish church perhaps. In the yard all manner of produce was being unloaded from carts: apples and pears by the sackful, heaps of charcoal and bundles of faggots,
armfuls of candles of every size, and bale after bale of hay. Servants were carrying the goods to the buildings and to a series of temporary huts. Rows of stockades had been erected, accommodating
a whole flock of sheep, numerous cows and even some deer. In one enclosure hundreds of fowls, jumbled together, were pecking the ground bare. I saw hens and ducks, turkeys and even a pair of great
bustard, their giant wings docked. Nearby a gang of men was laying pipes in a trench that ran down to the south wall of the monastery. There, through an open gate, I glimpsed mudflats and a wide
grey river. I shook my head. ‘I’ve never seen such labour.’
‘They’ll be feeding three thousand on Friday. But come, we go this way.’ Craike led us past the animal enclosures towards a large two-storey building. ‘This was the
monks’ hospital,’ he said apologetically. ‘We have partitioned it into rooms. It is the best we can do. Most of the law officers are here. The servants have only poor
tents.’
A little group of officials stood talking at the door, some holding the
‘That’s a recipe for a seizure.’
I laughed. ‘Come, or he’ll leave us behind.’
As we reached the church I saw that many of the stained-glass windows had been removed, while others were broken. A dark-haired, middle-aged man stood on a ladder some distance off, carefully
removing a pane. At the foot of the ladder an enormous black horse stood grazing beside a high-sided wagon.
‘The glass is all going, then,’ I observed to Craike. ‘It’ll make the church look bleak when the King comes.’
‘That glazier is trying to get as many windows as possible out before the Progress arrives, for the King will want to see it has been put beyond use.’
At the sound of our voices, the glazier stopped working and looked down. He had a thin, careworn face and sharp, watchful eyes.
Craike called up to him. ‘How goes it, Master Oldroyd?’
‘Well enough, maister, thank you.’
‘Will you have all the windows out before the King comes?’
‘Ay, sir. I’ll be here at first light every day till ’tis done.’
Craike led us up the worn steps of the church. The great door stood half open, a trail of muddy footprints leading in; evidently the church had become a thoroughfare.
It had been a magnificent place once. Great decorated arches and pillars rose to dizzying heights, richly painted in green and ochre; the floor was of decorated tiles in many designs. Lit with
candles, it would have been an awesome sight. Now, though, the many empty windows cast a cold dim light on side-chapels stripped of furniture and empty niches where statues had stood, some now
lying in pieces on the floor. A trail of mud and broken tiles marked a shortcut leading to another half-open door at the south end of the nave. As we walked down the gutted church, our footsteps
echoed eerily in a silence that contrasted strangely with the bustle outside. I shivered.
‘Ay, ’tis cold,’ Master Craike said. ‘We’re near the river here, ’tis a damp and foggy place.’
I saw that a considerable number of wooden stalls had been erected along the walls. Some horses already stood there though many were empty. Piles of straw spilled out on to the aisle.
Barak pointed at a stall. ‘There’s Sukey and Genesis.’
‘They’re using this place as a stable?’ I asked incredulously.
‘The horses of the courtiers and the senior servants will all be stabled here. ’Tis a sensible use of the space, though it seems sacrilegious, even if the church has been
deconsecrated.’
We stepped out of the south door into a second large courtyard, just as bustling. More buildings were set along the walls, and there was an imposing gatehouse and another smaller church. This
was still in one piece, the parish church perhaps. In the yard all manner of produce was being unloaded from carts: apples and pears by the sackful, heaps of charcoal and bundles of faggots,
armfuls of candles of every size, and bale after bale of hay. Servants were carrying the goods to the buildings and to a series of temporary huts. Rows of stockades had been erected, accommodating
a whole flock of sheep, numerous cows and even some deer. In one enclosure hundreds of fowls, jumbled together, were pecking the ground bare. I saw hens and ducks, turkeys and even a pair of great
bustard, their giant wings docked. Nearby a gang of men was laying pipes in a trench that ran down to the south wall of the monastery. There, through an open gate, I glimpsed mudflats and a wide
grey river. I shook my head. ‘I’ve never seen such labour.’
‘They’ll be feeding three thousand on Friday. But come, we go this way.’ Craike led us past the animal enclosures towards a large two-storey building. ‘This was the
monks’ hospital,’ he said apologetically. ‘We have partitioned it into rooms. It is the best we can do. Most of the law officers are here. The servants have only poor
tents.’
A little group of officials stood talking at the door, some holding the
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