The Anger of God

would happen to you, Pike, if they found out, eh? How does your secret society treat traitors?’
    Pike stood with hands hanging helplessly and Athelstan’s anger began to drain away at the sheer terror in the man’s face and posture. The priest pushed his face close to the ditcher’s.
    ‘For God’s sake, Pike, I baptized your children! I give you the sacrament. I admired you, working from dawn to dusk for a mere pittance to feed your family.’ Athelstan drew his breath. ‘You are not like me, Pike. I have no family to worry about. But you are a good worker, a good husband, a good father. For God’s sake, why play the Judas with a man who is not only a priest but your friend? Couldn’t you trust me?’
    Pike flailed his hands ineffectually as tears coursed down his dirty cheeks.
    ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Athelstan muttered. ‘Pike, I don’t mean to threaten you. Your secret’s safe with me. Not even Sir John knows.’
    The ditcher shuffled his feet. ‘It’s not like that, Father.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Three months ago,’ he replied, ‘I and a few others from Southwark were listening to that mad priest — you know, the one with the fiery cross, outside St James Garlickhythe. Then the soldiers came and we were arrested. I had a choice: pay a fine or become Gaunt’s spy. The fine would have crushed me and...’ His voice trailed off.
    ‘And what?’
    Pike looked up defiantly. ‘Don’t believe everything you hear, Father. I am not one of your zealots. Oh, at the beginning I was, but not now. Not when they talk of slaughter, of killing every priest, of burning the good with the bad.’ He laughed sourly. ‘It’s not difficult, Father, to betray something you don’t believe in any more. And as for my Lord of Gaunt, he had discovered I am not the most capable of spies. So, I tell him about a notice pinned on the door of the church. Or that a member of the Great Community of the Realm has visited Southwark, three days after the man has left. Don’t worry, Father, Gaunt never profits from what I tell him.’
    Athelstan looked at the great, burly ditcher standing there, hanging his head. You represent the common man, Athelstan reflected, caught between the demons who want to destroy everything and those who wish to keep everything. Athelstan walked forward, hands extended. ‘I am sorry. You are no traitor, no Judas!’
    Pike grasped his hand. ‘Can you help me, Father?’ Athelstan pursed his lips.
    ‘Yes, I think I can. But it will take time. Meanwhile don’t do anything rash, man. And...’
    ‘And what, Father?’
    ‘What do you know of Ira Dei?’
    Pike laughed. ‘Father, I am a very small leaf low down on a very tall tree. I don’t even know who the rebel leaders are. No one knows who Ira Dei is. ,He comes, shrouded in darkness, delivers his message, and just as mysteriously leaves. He could be anyone. The Lady Benedicta, Watkin, even Sir John Cranston!’ Pike grinned. ‘Though I think people would recognize him. Father, I know nothing. I swear on the life of my children!’
    ‘But could you get a message to him?’
    ‘I could tell certain people. Why?’ Pike’s face became concerned. ‘Father, take care. Have no dealings with such violent men, be they nobles or peasants. Do you know what I think? It’s a fight between the rats and the ferrets over who will rule the chicken run.’
    Athelstan smiled, touched by Pike’s concern.
    ‘The message is simple. Say Athelstan of St Erconwald’s would like to meet Ira Dei.’ He made Pike repeat the message, is that all, Father?’
    ‘Yes, it is. I have kept you long enough. I am sorry for my temper.’
    Pike shrugged. ‘You get what you deserve, Father. But you will help me?’
    ‘Of course!’
    ‘I’ll never forget, Father.’
    Pike disappeared. Athelstan thought of the ditcher’s gangling son, deeply in love with Watkin’s daughter, and stared at Bonaventure, who had been watching them with close attention.
    ‘Well, well, my cunning cat,’ he whispered. ‘Perhaps Sunday morning won’t be so terrible after all, eh?’ Athelstan stared round the church and remembered his promise to another parishioner. He locked St Erconwald’s and hurried through the streets to Ranulf the rat-catcher’s house, a small, two-storied tenement on the corner of an alleyway. The pale pinch-faced ratcatcher was waiting for him. His brood of children, all resembling him, gathered behind their father at the door to welcome the priest to