Hilary bent his head; his soft lips brushed my ear.

“Forget about that arsehole of a village and their poxy silver. Come away with me, Ulfrido, now, tonight. We could go to London. I’ve always wanted to go there. There’d be just us together. I’ll never fuck another man, I swear. I only want you. In London no one would know you were a priest-”

“Hilary, don’t you think I would have already done that if I could? I may be walking around freely without chains, but Ulewic is my prison. The Bishop gave me a choice: Come to this place or stand trial for what you and I have done. You know the penalties for our crime-mutilation at the very least, most likely death. I had no option but to agree to come here. And the only way out of this village is if the Bishop himself releases me from it. If I try to run away, I’ll be arrested. And this time there will be no way of escaping punishment.”

“If you won’t come with me then you don’t love me.” Hilary pushed me away petulantly. “You’re just like the rest, take what you want, then-”

I seized Hilary’s shoulders and shook him violently. “Look, can’t you understand, you spoilt selfish little whore, that the Bishop’s Commissarius was against me being spared from the start? He’s only waiting for me to make one more mistake and then he’ll force the Bishop to have me arrested. Do you think this is some sort of game, something that doesn’t concern you? Make no mistake, you bitch, that if what I’ve done is made public, I’ll name you too. So you’d better help me, unless you want to find yourself on the gallows with your own bollocks stuffed in your mouth.”

Fear and hatred flooded Hilary’s face and I knew I’d made a fatal mistake.

“Hilary… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean that, you know I didn’t. It’s just that I’ve been so worried… not sleeping. I lose my temper, but you know I don’t mean it…”

His dark eyes stared back at me, cold and contemptuous.

I tried to put my arm around him, but he pulled away from me. “Hilary, please forgive me. I swear on my life, on my immortal soul, I’d never name you. I will always protect you. Haven’t I already done so? I refused to name you even when my Lord the Bishop commanded me to. He had me flogged for that. You’ve seen the scars. They bloodied my back with the whip and still I refused to name you. I’d suffer anything for you. I couldn’t bear to see them mar your face or body.”

I knelt down on the sodden leaves, clutching the hem of his cloak. “You are my angel, my beautiful dark angel. I’ve given up everything for you. But… just this once I need your help. I will never ask you again, but I’m begging you now, help me, Hilary.”

“Get up. You look ridiculous and pathetic!”

I struggled to my feet, my face burning with shame and humiliation.

“I’ll get your money,” Hilary said coldly. “But you’ll have to give me time. A month, six weeks. I’ll have to get small amounts from different people, otherwise they’ll ask too many questions about why I want it. Let me go now.”

“But you will come back as soon as you can… with the money?”

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

But his smile was too bright, too brittle, and I knew, deep down, I’d never see him again. I had overplayed my hand and we both knew it. Anyone with any sense would take what I’d said as a warning and get as far away from Norwich as they could before the inevitable happened.

He kissed me before he walked away. One last kiss. It is always the last kiss that betrays.

What had I expected? That Hilary would do what I begged him because he loved me? Angels cannot love. They have no pity, no compassion. They were created to be adored by mortal men and they scorn those that worship them. They exist only to punish us for our desire of them. They are our temptation and our chastisement. And we kiss the rod they wield, because we are… ridiculous and pathetic. We deserve no mercy from them and we receive none.

I had learnt one thing that night. I’d had it branded onto my soul. Only the weak show compassion, and that is what destroys them. The Commissarius had no mercy for anyone and God had rewarded his ruthlessness by making him one of the most powerful men in the See of Norwich, and doubtless he would climb higher still, even as far as the Vatican or the King’s Court. But look where compassion had got me-a priest of some piss-poor village in the most godforsaken corner of England.

It was my compassion that had left the tithe barn half filled and the church half empty. It was my charity that made me defend those arrogant hags in the house of women from the Owl Masters and the villagers. It was my pity that made me forgive that filthy little whore, Hilary, and take him to my bed again and again. All that I had once believed were Christian virtues, I now saw, were nothing more than my contemptible weakness. I would not make those mistakes again. I would learn ruthlessness from the angels, the favoured ones of God. From now on, I would become as merciless as them.

A relic, Hilary said. But I didn’t need money to buy a relic; there was one in the village ready for the taking. A holy relic in a hags’ kitchen. Those women had no right to it. That Host had been consecrated by the Church. It belonged to the Church. It belonged to me as Christ’s minister in this stinking midden.

If I’d had such a thing in my possession on All Hallows’ night, I would have been able to fight that demon. Even now if it was in my hands I could send that monster back into the depths of Hell from whence it had come. The villagers wouldn’t be laughing at me then. They’d be hammering on the church door begging to be allowed back, pleading for my protection. The house of women would have to surrender it to me. I had the authority to demand it. And I would demand it. I would make those whores give it to me.

november

welsh virgin who refused the suit of prince caradoc. in his rage, he cut off her head and where her head struck the ground a miraculous well appeared. her uncle, saint beuno, replaced her head on her shoulders and she was restored to life.

tHE DOOR OF THE REFECTORY OPENED, sending the tallow candles guttering wildly and scattering the rushes with fallen leaves. Gate Martha hurried down the long length of the table towards me. At once all the women ceased their chattering and watched her expectantly.

“That pinch-mouthed priest is outside, Servant Martha. He’s demanding to see you, but he says he’ll not set foot across our threshold.”

“Then that suits both of us,” I said tartly, “since I would never allow him to enter.”

I sighed, pushed aside a steaming bowl of pork pottage which I had not even had the chance to taste, and rose. Healing Martha also heaved herself up.

“Stay here and finish your supper, Healing Martha. I don’t need a chaperone. I doubt that my virtue is in danger.”

“I have no doubt that you would be quite capable of defending your virtue against an entire crew of shipwrecked sailors, but I don’t think it is desire for your body that brings the priest to our door,” she murmured, but not quietly enough to prevent Shepherd Martha and Dairy Martha from overhearing, judging by the grins they were struggling unsuccessfully to suppress.

I glared at Healing Martha, but she merely answered me with a serene smile and followed me out of the refectory and across the courtyard to the gate. On my instructions Gate Martha bolted the gate behind us, though I had no doubt she’d have her ear pressed to the wood. It was dusk and the icy wind was whipping the treetops. Neither of us had stopped to fetch our cloaks and both of us shivered in the wind. The priest was marching up and down the track, his hands clasped behind his back. He came to a halt at a little distance from us as if he was afraid we had some contagion.