The Devil's Domain

Erconwald’s was truly packed, not just for the Guild Mass for the Rat-Catchers, but also by those eager to listen to the chatter and the gossip. Watkin and Pike looked woebegone. They stood on the sanctuary steps shuffling their feet. Athelstan, vesting in the sacristy, closed his eyes and quietly thanked God that things had gone well. Sir John had worked like a true soldier: the arrows had been removed, loaded on to carts and taken across London Bridge . Watkin and Pike had slunk away in the darkness while Margoyle had written a full confession, surrendered his arms and fled like a shadow in the night. Sir Maurice was beside himself. Godbless had danced like an elf shouting: ’I told you so! I told you I saw shapes in the cemetery!’
    It had been long after midnight before Athelstan had quietened things down and snatched a few hours’ sleep.
    ’Ah well,’ he said, crossed himself and went into the sanctuary.
    The Mass was a great success. The rat-catchers with their ferrets, cats, small dogs, cages, traps, mallets and spikes, nets and leather sacks were all piled together in the sanctuary. The ceremony was one of the liveliest Athelstan had ever conducted. One dog howled throughout the entire ceremony as if singing its own divine chant. Bonaventure slunk in and, if Crim hadn’t intervened, the most horrendous fight would have broken out as this prince of the alleyways’ one good eye alighted upon a rival. Two ferrets escaped and were pursued by a dog into the cemetery. One was caught but Ranulf came back, just as Athelstan finished the consecration, shaking his head and announcing in a loud whisper that ’the little bastard had gone for good’.
    At the end of the Mass Athelstan preached a homily on all God’s creatures being a delight in His sight. Ranulf stuck his hand up.
    ’Does that include rats, Brother?’
    ’Rats have their purposes, Ranulf,’ Athelstan replied. ’But God knows why.’
    ’They clear away rubbish,’ Ricauld, a rat-catcher from the priory of St Mary’s, announced.
    ’You’ve got the makings of a theologian,’ Athelstan told him. ’But, truly, you all do a great service for the community. I appeal to you to do it honestly and as kindly as possible.’ His eyes caught Ranulf’s. ’And not charge too much.’
    After the homily Athelstan had blessed the different animals. On reflection this was very dangerous. Some of the ferrets lunged for his fingers. Bonaventure’s rival curled its lip in protest. If it had not been for a well-aimed kick from Crim’s boot, one of the dogs would have cocked its leg against Athelstan. The friar moved among the different pets, sprinkling them with water and afterwards blessing them with incense. The dog, which had been thankfully quiet during his sermon, now decided to renew his chant. Athelstan just thanked God Sir John wasn’t there.
    At the end of the Mass all the rat-catchers, together with the parishioners, thronged into the porch of the church and the open area in front. Stalls and booths had been set up to sell ales and cakes. Benedicta had cooked pies. Watkin’s wife had brought fruit. Everyone announced it was a success and Huddle, ecstatic that the Rat-Catchers’ Guild had hired him, loudly announced that soon he would be putting a fresco on the wall to honour the new confraternity.
    Boso, a one-eyed cleric with a slit nose and one ear missing, who Athelstan secretly thought was a defrocked priest, set up a small table and unrolled the Articles of the Rat-Catchers’ Guild. Each member signed their name or made their mark. A cat, a rat, a trap or a cage. Ranulf solemnly took out from his pouch the new seal of the Guild and Boso poured hot wax on the parchment. Ranulf sealed this and Athelstan did the same with the parish insignia. Fresh copies were produced and the same process repeated. Athelstan, feeling rather bemused by the whole affair, quickly conceded that a copy should be placed in a case and stored in the parish archives in one of the tower chambers of the church. He tried to catch Benedicta’s eye but she just smiled, busy in making sure the revelry went smoothly. Watkin, Pike, Hig the pigman, Mugwort the bell clerk and others stood in a comer, heads together, whispering darkly among themselves . Athelstan was about to join them when he heard his name called. Sir Maurice, who had excused himself from the Mass, was standing in the doorway of the church holding a piece of parchment in his hand.
    Athelstan, it’s