Read Online The Law of Angels by Cassandra Clark - Free Book Online
Authors: Cassandra Clark
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the feast?”
“That’s been mooted, but the church isn’t happy either. Nor are we. That’s when the guilds hold a vigil in their own churches. It brings the members together. Good for our sense of fellowship. Good for the candle trade as well!”
“I expect the church feels as you do about moving?”
“The truth is we’ll just have to jog along in the old way, procession and pageant all ram-bang together. It shouldn’t be a problem with a bit of goodwill on both sides.”
“I’m sorry I shan’t be here to see it. I never have seen the pageant. It was not much of an event when I was a child.”
“It’s all the thing now and quite a sight, what with the lighted torches just before dawn, the first wagon setting up outside Holy Trinity for the Creation, and all the rest coming down to the twelve stations round the town. Near on fifty guild wagons are taking part this time. Each with their own play to perform. Finishing at midnight with the greatest spectacle of all, the Last Judgement. Magnificent. And to set the seal on it the Host under its golden canopy emerges out of the minster in a blaze of light and processes round the streets. You can imagine what state the actors are in by the time it all comes to an end!”
“And the audience as well, I should imagine. Do they follow the wagons round or stay in one place to watch?”
“Some follow their own guilds. The wealthier merchants usually stay put in their stands. They don’t want to be pushed about in all the hurly-burly, obviously. The mayor and his aldermen are having a stand erected near Common Hall up past Ouse Bridge.” He leaned forward. “There was talk of young King Richard putting in an appearance this year. We’ve heard nothing to confirm it, though.” He pulled a face. “It might be all that trouble in April with the plot against his life that’s put him off travelling up here. I heard he sobbed his heart out when he heard what they’d done to that Carmelite who tried to warn him of Gaunt’s plotting.”
“Yes, I heard about that. It was a mysterious and terrible business all round. Quite heinous whoever the perpetrators were.”
“Rumour has it that it was Gaunt’s way of warning the king to do as he’s told.” He sat back and gave an odd smile. “Maybe it’ll be Gaunt himself to grace us with his presence—if he dare show his face!” He broke off and rumbled somewhat in his throat. “Well, no disrespect to the duke, of course.” A worried look crossed his face as if suddenly aware that his words might have fallen on the wrong ears.
Hildegard hastened to reassure him. “They’re trying to say that Duke John put down the rebellion in the north less brutally than Justice Tresillian in the south.” There was a raised inflection in her tone to show that she understood this to be a mere rumour.
“That’s what they tell us,” he agreed neutrally. He threw back the last of his wine. “But this isn’t what you’re here for, sister, and I’m keeping you from the rest of your business. As far as I’m concerned the pageant is an excuse to enjoy ourselves and celebrate the sharing of bread and wine.” He gave a jovial if forced smile and refilled their cups. “Now, to the matter of a price for your beeswax.”
* * *
Hildegard was unsurprised by the views the chandler had carelessly revealed. After the Rising three years ago the rebels had been brutally punished, here in Yorkshire as well as in the south. It wasn’t just Chief Justice Tresillian who had presided over the bloody retribution—hanging and quartering the rebels when they were dragged before him—the Justiciars in the north had put down the rebels with equal brutality, although individual killings had not been so assiduously recorded. Many people had simply disappeared.
As for the unfortunate Carmelite friar who, this April past, had warned King Richard of a plot against his life allegedly being hatched by the Duke of Lancaster—the king’s
“That’s been mooted, but the church isn’t happy either. Nor are we. That’s when the guilds hold a vigil in their own churches. It brings the members together. Good for our sense of fellowship. Good for the candle trade as well!”
“I expect the church feels as you do about moving?”
“The truth is we’ll just have to jog along in the old way, procession and pageant all ram-bang together. It shouldn’t be a problem with a bit of goodwill on both sides.”
“I’m sorry I shan’t be here to see it. I never have seen the pageant. It was not much of an event when I was a child.”
“It’s all the thing now and quite a sight, what with the lighted torches just before dawn, the first wagon setting up outside Holy Trinity for the Creation, and all the rest coming down to the twelve stations round the town. Near on fifty guild wagons are taking part this time. Each with their own play to perform. Finishing at midnight with the greatest spectacle of all, the Last Judgement. Magnificent. And to set the seal on it the Host under its golden canopy emerges out of the minster in a blaze of light and processes round the streets. You can imagine what state the actors are in by the time it all comes to an end!”
“And the audience as well, I should imagine. Do they follow the wagons round or stay in one place to watch?”
“Some follow their own guilds. The wealthier merchants usually stay put in their stands. They don’t want to be pushed about in all the hurly-burly, obviously. The mayor and his aldermen are having a stand erected near Common Hall up past Ouse Bridge.” He leaned forward. “There was talk of young King Richard putting in an appearance this year. We’ve heard nothing to confirm it, though.” He pulled a face. “It might be all that trouble in April with the plot against his life that’s put him off travelling up here. I heard he sobbed his heart out when he heard what they’d done to that Carmelite who tried to warn him of Gaunt’s plotting.”
“Yes, I heard about that. It was a mysterious and terrible business all round. Quite heinous whoever the perpetrators were.”
“Rumour has it that it was Gaunt’s way of warning the king to do as he’s told.” He sat back and gave an odd smile. “Maybe it’ll be Gaunt himself to grace us with his presence—if he dare show his face!” He broke off and rumbled somewhat in his throat. “Well, no disrespect to the duke, of course.” A worried look crossed his face as if suddenly aware that his words might have fallen on the wrong ears.
Hildegard hastened to reassure him. “They’re trying to say that Duke John put down the rebellion in the north less brutally than Justice Tresillian in the south.” There was a raised inflection in her tone to show that she understood this to be a mere rumour.
“That’s what they tell us,” he agreed neutrally. He threw back the last of his wine. “But this isn’t what you’re here for, sister, and I’m keeping you from the rest of your business. As far as I’m concerned the pageant is an excuse to enjoy ourselves and celebrate the sharing of bread and wine.” He gave a jovial if forced smile and refilled their cups. “Now, to the matter of a price for your beeswax.”
* * *
Hildegard was unsurprised by the views the chandler had carelessly revealed. After the Rising three years ago the rebels had been brutally punished, here in Yorkshire as well as in the south. It wasn’t just Chief Justice Tresillian who had presided over the bloody retribution—hanging and quartering the rebels when they were dragged before him—the Justiciars in the north had put down the rebels with equal brutality, although individual killings had not been so assiduously recorded. Many people had simply disappeared.
As for the unfortunate Carmelite friar who, this April past, had warned King Richard of a plot against his life allegedly being hatched by the Duke of Lancaster—the king’s
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