Read Online The Chapel of Bones: (Knights Templar 18) by Michael Jecks - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Jecks
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Walter.
‘It is always bad when the weather changes,’ he said simply.
‘If you wish, I can arrange for a period of retreat. Perhaps you should go and build up your strength – visit one of our possessions and rest for a while? Colebrook has a pleasing church and there is a large Seyney House there.’
‘It is kind of you, Treasurer, but I shall be fine. My work keeps me occupied, and that is sufficient for me.’
He could feel the Treasurer’s eyes upon him, and heard the gentleness in Stephen’s voice as he said, ‘God bless you,Matthew. You must be cautious, though. You mustn’t ruin yourself in the cause.’
Matthew smiled. ‘But the cause is just: to build God’s greatest House here in Exeter – that is enough for any man, surely? I would be pleased if I could only see the work ended in my lifetime.’
Stephen nodded, but his face was marked with a little sadness. ‘Ah, I should like that too – but I fear we are too old to hope for it, Matthew. The building work was started more than forty years ago, and it’ll be another forty-odd before we are finished. You and I shall both be long in our graves by then.’
‘But at least we can go to our graves knowing what a legacy we have left,’ Matthew said.
‘That is true,’ Stephen said, but the clerk was surprised to see a furtive expression appear on his face.
Matthew left him soon afterwards, going out into the cloisters, then returning to the building site. He walked to the smudge of blood on the ground near the wall and stared down at it, shaking his head slowly from side to side. They must find a new mason to replace Saul, he told himself with a frown. There was another twinge in his shoulder, and he instinctively glanced back at the Charnel Chapel, the spot where he had gained the wound.
The sun passed behind a cloud, and as the Close plunged into greyness, Matthew’s attention was transfixed by the grim mausoleum and he felt a flood of revulsion at the sight. That place was terrible – a remembrance of an abomination. Thank God there had been no more serious rifts among the members of the Chapter since then. Pray to God there never would be.
In the High Street, Nicholas found himself standing near one of the larger gates to the Cathedral Close. He eased his roll andbag from his shoulder and glanced about him hopefully. When he had lived here before, it was the main entrance into the Cathedral’s precinct, because it was so wide and gave straight on to the western doors. A man could wander along this street unsuspecting, and then suddenly find himself in the main Cathedral yard, with that broad expanse of turf leading to the magnificent edifice.
Today, though, he wasn’t here to marvel, but to see whether he could win some alms. In the Cathedral there was a Clerk of Bread who supervised the production and distribution of the loaves for the canons, vicars, annuellars, choristers and workmen, but all his food would be long gone by now and the clerk probably dozing after his hectic morning. Up at midnight for Matins, then the other services, and as soon as they were done, he must rush to his ovens and begin breadmaking for the new day. As soon as the loaves were baked and had cooled a little, they’d be sent to all those who had a right to them; by lunchtime, most of them would already be consumed. He’d be dead on his feet by noon. If only Nicholas had arrived here earlier, he might have been able to plead a loaf, but not now.
At least here, though, in the Fissand Gate he would be able to beg a little from the passers-by. Perhaps someone would give him a coin.
There was a sour-looking old clerk at the gate chatting to a one-legged beggar with a twisted face. The beggar set his head to one side. ‘Friend friar, please join us here.’
Nicholas hobbled to their side, slumping on the stool offered by the clerk. ‘Thank you.’
‘Pleasure,’ the porter grunted unemotionally. He snorted, hawked and spat, then muttered about the
‘It is always bad when the weather changes,’ he said simply.
‘If you wish, I can arrange for a period of retreat. Perhaps you should go and build up your strength – visit one of our possessions and rest for a while? Colebrook has a pleasing church and there is a large Seyney House there.’
‘It is kind of you, Treasurer, but I shall be fine. My work keeps me occupied, and that is sufficient for me.’
He could feel the Treasurer’s eyes upon him, and heard the gentleness in Stephen’s voice as he said, ‘God bless you,Matthew. You must be cautious, though. You mustn’t ruin yourself in the cause.’
Matthew smiled. ‘But the cause is just: to build God’s greatest House here in Exeter – that is enough for any man, surely? I would be pleased if I could only see the work ended in my lifetime.’
Stephen nodded, but his face was marked with a little sadness. ‘Ah, I should like that too – but I fear we are too old to hope for it, Matthew. The building work was started more than forty years ago, and it’ll be another forty-odd before we are finished. You and I shall both be long in our graves by then.’
‘But at least we can go to our graves knowing what a legacy we have left,’ Matthew said.
‘That is true,’ Stephen said, but the clerk was surprised to see a furtive expression appear on his face.
Matthew left him soon afterwards, going out into the cloisters, then returning to the building site. He walked to the smudge of blood on the ground near the wall and stared down at it, shaking his head slowly from side to side. They must find a new mason to replace Saul, he told himself with a frown. There was another twinge in his shoulder, and he instinctively glanced back at the Charnel Chapel, the spot where he had gained the wound.
The sun passed behind a cloud, and as the Close plunged into greyness, Matthew’s attention was transfixed by the grim mausoleum and he felt a flood of revulsion at the sight. That place was terrible – a remembrance of an abomination. Thank God there had been no more serious rifts among the members of the Chapter since then. Pray to God there never would be.
In the High Street, Nicholas found himself standing near one of the larger gates to the Cathedral Close. He eased his roll andbag from his shoulder and glanced about him hopefully. When he had lived here before, it was the main entrance into the Cathedral’s precinct, because it was so wide and gave straight on to the western doors. A man could wander along this street unsuspecting, and then suddenly find himself in the main Cathedral yard, with that broad expanse of turf leading to the magnificent edifice.
Today, though, he wasn’t here to marvel, but to see whether he could win some alms. In the Cathedral there was a Clerk of Bread who supervised the production and distribution of the loaves for the canons, vicars, annuellars, choristers and workmen, but all his food would be long gone by now and the clerk probably dozing after his hectic morning. Up at midnight for Matins, then the other services, and as soon as they were done, he must rush to his ovens and begin breadmaking for the new day. As soon as the loaves were baked and had cooled a little, they’d be sent to all those who had a right to them; by lunchtime, most of them would already be consumed. He’d be dead on his feet by noon. If only Nicholas had arrived here earlier, he might have been able to plead a loaf, but not now.
At least here, though, in the Fissand Gate he would be able to beg a little from the passers-by. Perhaps someone would give him a coin.
There was a sour-looking old clerk at the gate chatting to a one-legged beggar with a twisted face. The beggar set his head to one side. ‘Friend friar, please join us here.’
Nicholas hobbled to their side, slumping on the stool offered by the clerk. ‘Thank you.’
‘Pleasure,’ the porter grunted unemotionally. He snorted, hawked and spat, then muttered about the
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