The Devil's Domain

rat-catcher. Once Mass was over Ranulf came shambling into the sacristy. He waited patiently until Athelstan had divested.
    ’Brother, we are all ready.’
    Athelstan remembered just in time. ’Oh, of course, the Mass for your Guild.’
    ’Can it be Wednesday morning, Brother? About ten o’clock?’
    Athelstan swallowed hard but Ranulf looked beseechingly at him, a gaze which reminded Athelstan that he had promised this on many an occasion.
    ’What will it entail, Ranulf?’
    ’Well, Wednesday is good for rat-catchers, Brother. We’ll have Mass and bring our animals.’
    ’Which are?’
    ’Ferrets, cats, dogs, our traps and cages.’
    ’And how many will there be? I mean, rat-catchers?’ Athelstan added quickly.
    He glanced at Sir Maurice who was staring nonplussed at this strange parishioner in his black tarred jacket and hood. The shiny belt round Ranulf’s waist carried hooks, small traps and coils of wire, all the implements of a rat-catcher’s trade.
    ’There’ll be sixteen or eighteen. Afterwards we’ll break our fast on a table in the porch. We will supply the food and ales. We’d like you to bless us and give a special blessing to our animals.’
    ’Agreed!’ Athelstan said. ’But have a word with Benedicta. Now, clear the church, Ranulf, and lock the door! I’ve sent Crim the altar boy across to Sir John. When he returns would you help him with Philomel, just clean the stable. Afterwards, you may finish the oatmeal in the kitchen.’
    Ranulf quickly agreed and sped out of the sacristy.
    ’A Guild of Rat-Catchers?’ Sir Maurice asked.
    Athelstan smiled. ’It’s a wonderful life, Brother Norbert. Yes, it’s time you changed. Put on the garb I gave you but wrap your cloak firmly around you.’
    The knight hastened out and Athelstan walked back into the church. He knelt on the sanctuary steps to say a short prayer of thanksgiving followed by an invocation to the Holy Spirit asking for his help and guidance that day.
    Sir Maurice had spent most of the night reading the tracts by St Bonaventure; Athelstan had woken to the young knight seated before the hearth, reciting to an owl-eyed Godbless and a rather feisty Thaddeus certain love poems he had learned. Athelstan, eager to begin his Mass, had simply cautioned the young knight on not being too impetuous.
    He finished his prayer, crossed himself and walked down the nave. Huddle the painter was in the porch, a piece of charcoal in his hand. The artist was smiling at a bare expanse of freshly washed white plaster.
    ’I could do a lovely painting, Brother.’ Huddle turned, his long, horse-like face wreathed in a smile. ’What about Christ in Judgement?’
    Athelstan stepped back. The wall of one transept was now covered in Huddle’s paintings, crude and vivid, full of colour, a constant source of wonderment to the parishioners. Athelstan often used them in his sermons, leaving the sanctuary to go down and stand before Huddle’s depiction of scenes from the Gospel.
    ’It will cost you money, Brother. We’ll need red and gold, vermilion, some black of course, and a nice scarlet.’
    Athelstan was about to refuse when he remembered the silver John of Gaunt had given him.
    ’Do a sketch with the charcoal,’ Athelstan agreed. ’One of your line drawings and then make an estimate for the paints.’
    Huddle’s smile disappeared. ’Oh, not the parish council, Brother! You know Watkin!’
    ’Watkin really admires your work,’ Athelstan replied. ’But it must be agreed by the council.’
    ’But you’ll support it? You’ll see Christ in Judgement, the sheep to the right, the goats to the left. I remember your sermon from last Advent.’
    ’Very well, Huddle, but none of your jokes!’
    Athelstan’s eyes wandered up the transept. The artist had depicted the scene of Christ’s birth, a brilliant lifelike scene just near the Lady Altar. Everyone had admired it except Watkin: Huddle, out of revenge, had painted the ox with Watkin’s face.
    ’I’ll support it.’ Athelstan patted the artist’s bony shoulder. Huddle fairly skipped with joy. The Dominican left him and went out on to the porch. Godbless sat with his arm around Thaddeus. ’I’ll clear the cemetery today, Brother. Weed some of the graves.’
    ’Good man, Godbless.’
    ’But they were back last night.’ *
    Athelstan turned. ’The ghosts?’
    ’Yes, Brother, I saw them in the air, dark shapes against the night sky. I took Thaddeus into the death house and locked the