The Nightingale Gallery

from his mind. He prayed for a sign. The good Lord would surely guide him. He opened his eyes, got up and noticed the candle, the one Benedicta always lit in front of the Madonna. Athelstan went across and stared down at it. Only then did he notice the rose, a small white one, placed at the foot of the statue. He had his answer.
    Athelstan was waiting for Father Prior when he and his party came up the lane and stopped outside the church. Athelstan took his superior's horse by the bridle and looked up into the prior's kindly face. He ignored Cranston's glare.
    'Do I have your answer, Brother Athelstan?'
    'Yes, Father Prior,' he replied. 'I would like to stay here until I am as good a coroner's clerk as I am a priest!'
    'You are sure, Brother?'
    'Yes, Father, I am sure.'
    The prior smiled.
    'So be it,' he murmured. He sketched the sign of the cross in the air above Athelstan's head, bade him adieu and urged his horse forward. Athelstan waited till the sound of the horses faded before staring at Cranston, who was surreptitiously wiping his eyes on the cuff of his jerkin.
    'God's bones, Athelstan!' he bellowed. 'I have never been so sober for so long in my life! Now I am so hot, even my eyes are sweating.'
    He looked at Athelstan mischievously. 'Perhaps a little refreshment?'
    'God save us all!' Athelstan muttered, and walked back up the steps of his church, leaving Cranston bellowing after him.