By Murder's bright Light

naughty boy.
    ‘Mistress Benedicta!’ He shuffled his great, muddy boots. ‘I didn’t mean you.’
    The widow smiled, glanced at Athelstan’s pale and unshaven face then took a key off the hook near the door.
    ‘Watkin, open the church and continue your work, getting the stage ready for the play. Tell them Brother Athelstan will be across soon. Go on!’
    The dung-collector slipped by her. Once he was outside, he grandly announced that he was in charge of the church, that he would keep Father Athelstan’s secrets and that they were to do what he told them. Pike the ditcher immediately objected. Athelstan smiled as the usual row broke out, their voices fading in the distance. Benedicta came and crouched before him.
    ‘You don’t look so bad for a hero,’ she whispered.
    ‘I’m not a hero, Benedicta. I was frightened. All I did was slip on the deck. A Frenchman was going to kill me but then he smiled and turned away.’ Athelstan stared at the dying flames of the fire. ‘I hope he got away. I hope he returns to his loved ones. I shall remember him at Mass. ’
    ‘And Sir John?’
    Athelstan shook his head. ‘That man is a mountain of legends. He belches like a pig and drinks as if there’s no tomorrow but he’s got the heart of a lion.’
    Athelstan quickly described Cranston ’s exploits to Benedicta.
    ‘Oh, Lord!’ Benedicta said when he had finished. ‘Sir John will be full of himself.’
    ‘He deserves to be,’ Athelstan replied. ‘And remind me to remind him, Benedicta, that Moleskin must be rewarded. If it hadn’t been for him the French would have taken us unawares.’
    ‘What will you do now, Father?’
    ‘I am going to go upstairs. I am going to wash, shave, change and then say Mass. Oh, by the way, where’s Bonaventure?’
    ‘He’s with Ashby,’ Benedicta replied. ‘Lady Aveline has brought her swain all the comforts of life, including a pitcher of cold milk. Bonaventure can’t believe his luck.’
    ‘ Cranston ’s right,’ Athelstan muttered, ‘that cat’s a bloody little mercenary!’ He stared into Benedicta’s face. ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he said. ‘People will talk.’
    ‘About you?’ Benedicta smiled.
    ‘I couldn’t give a damn!’ Athelstan rephed. ‘It’s you I’m thinking about.’
    Benedicta laughed, turned and went to crouch by the fire. She sprinkled some kindling, put a fresh log on and grinned over her shoulder at him.
    ‘They can say what they like, but they’ll believe nothing ill about you, Father. As Pike the ditcher so aptly put it, you could put Brother Athelstan in a room full of whores and he wouldn’t know what to do!’ Athelstan blushed and went upstairs. Benedicta, still laughing to herself , went into the buttery to prepare some breakfast.
    An hour later Athelstan, shaved and much more refreshed, went into the church, where he celebrated Mass. His parishioners, drawn in by the rumours of their priest’s heroic exploits, thronged into the sanctuary. Athelstan, however, had vowed to say nothing. He was about to raise his hand to dismiss them when he glimpsed the hurt on Watkin’s face. He lowered his hand and smiled.
    ‘I am sorry I overslept,’ he said. ‘I was at the battle on the river last night. I wasn’t a hero, though.’
    ‘Nonsense!’ Tab the tinker shouted.
    ‘But Sir John was,’ Athelstan continued.
    ‘Good old Fat Arse!’ someone shouted.
    ‘Well done, Horsecruncher!’ Crim piped up.
    Athelstan glowered at them.
    ‘You are in God’s house. Sir John is a very brave man and so is Moleskin. He may well get a letter from the mayor, not to mention a suitable reward.’
    Athelstan glanced over to where Ashby sat on the ledge of the sanctuary. The young man was shaved and wearing clean robes and he was surrounded by bolsters and blankets. Athelstan glimpsed a book, a bowl of fruit and a large jug which Bonaventure, crouching in the corner, watched attentively. Aveline was also there, kneeling piously, her hands in her lap, head down.
    ‘I also thank you,’ Athelstan continued, trying to keep the humour out of his voice, ‘for looking after Brother Ashby, whose troubles may soon disappear. Now’ — he peered through the rood screen, towards the makeshift stage and raised his hand — ‘Mass is over, we have got work to do.’
    The friar went into the sacristy and took off his vestments. He helped Crim and Ashby clear the candlesticks and cloths from the altar, hung a new sanctuary lamp above the