Ghostly Murders by Paul Doherty

Author:Paul Doherty [Doherty, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780755370412
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2012-11-27T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4

Philip felt a relief, the French incursors were a physical threat, something which could be dealt with. This pressing danger allayed some of his fears. He slept fitfully so he got up, put his cloak around him and went out into the high street. Sir Richard had posted guards, men who moved quietly as cats, grizzled veterans from the French wars. They were used to stealing food at night and dealing, so they told the priest, with French pickets. Philip gave them his blessing and went back to the house where he knelt and prayed. At last, peering through the window, he saw the first streaks of dawn. He heard a sound from below as people, anxious to be away from their homes and wishing to be together, began to arrive early for church. Mailed horsemen, the hooves of their mounts muffled by rags, also appeared. A party of Montalt’s retainers pushed carts, the wheels of which were covered in straw, down the high street. Philip shaved and washed. He put on his best robes, went down and broke his fast on some bread and ale. Edmund and Stephen, white-faced and anxious, were already waiting for him.

‘Keep out of the fighting,’ Philip warned. ‘None of us are soldiers: that’s not cowardice, it’s just common sense. If the French break through and enter the church, that will be different.’

Beneath his cloak, Philip wore his sword and a long Welsh stabbing dirk. Edmund carried a long arbalest he had found in one of the chambers upstairs. It was still workable and lashed to his belt was a leather quiver containing ugly, barbed bolts. Stephen wore his sword and said he would try and borrow a long bow and a quiver of arrows. They left the house and made their way across the cemetery to the church. Women and children were already flocking in. Sir Richard stood on the steps. He was dressed in half-armour, a conical steel helmet on his head, its broad nose-guard covering most of his face. He looked a fighting man born and bred. He gruffly greeted Philip. Beside him his son was similarly attired but more nervous, shuffling from foot to foot. Philip went into the church, moving round, talking to the women and children, encouraging the latter that here was some new game they had to play. Outside he could hear the preparations for battle. Sir Richard was shouting orders: there was the creak of harness and the rumble of cart wheels, the sheering clash of swords being sharpened. Sir Richard cursed, telling everyone to be as quiet as possible. Philip remembered the coffin woman. He went out and across the cemetery. She was already up, collecting sticks: Philip almost had to drag her into the church. She protested volubly and said she didn’t care but Philip heartily reminded her that freebooters were respecters of neither age nor sex. She was one of his parishioners and he would protect her. She seemed rather flattered and, before he left, she grasped his hand and kissed it.

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