That Time May Cease by Ann Swinfen

Author:Ann Swinfen [Swinfen, Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780993237270
Google: foQZMQAACAAJ
Amazon: B01MZ079GZ
Publisher: Shakenoak Press
Published: 2016-12-14T00:00:00+00:00

The next day was something of a repeat of the previous one, save that I was stiff, having been little in the saddle for weeks past. I had bought a leather jack of ale from the inn to carry with me, so that I need not find another inn or an ale house for a midday meal, for I still had the food I had carried with me. The weather continued fine and the ride along the grass verges was easy for both Hector, and for Rikki running alongside. On either side of Watling Street there were fields of stubble, and, in a few, the last of the harvest was being brought in.

A short while before the sun reached its zenith, I found a pleasant small meadow near the road, with a clear stream running about its edge in a gentle curve, so I decided that we would have our dinner here. I let Hector drink, then left him to graze while Rikki and I shared the cold mutton collops and the last of the eggs. I lay back on the grass for a time, but did not sleep, for I did not want those riding muscles to stiffen any further, and besides I was anxious to reach Canterbury and find the players.

After less than an hour, judging by the sun, we were on our way again. From London to Rochester the road had been quite busy, much of the traffic going to and from the docks on the Medway. On this stretch of the road, between Rochester and Canterbury, it was quieter, although as I neared that most holy of cities I was aware of more people on the road, many on foot, some on horseback. There were the usual farm carts carrying produce to the town markets, but I noticed a few carts which carried not barrels and bales, but people, some lying down, some leaning against the supporting arms of friends.

Pilgrimages had been banned ever since the great iconoclasm in King Henry’s time, when the relics of saints were looted not only from the abbeys and monasteries as they were pulled down, but also from the great churches and cathedrals which were allowed by the king and his commissioners to survive. Even Canterbury Cathedral, where Christianity was brought to Kent by St Augustine, even Canterbury was plundered. I have heard that the shrine of St Thomas à Becket was formerly a most wondrous sight, a thing of gold and precious jewels, but all was robbed to fill the king’s coffers, in order to finance his disastrous wars in France. Though, of course, one may not speak of such things.

For centuries the halt, the lame, the blind, the barren, the incurably sick had walked, limped, or been carried to beg the saint’s help in their need. But no longer. Or at any rate, not legally. Yet here I could see about me the very signs of such pilgrims. When I was living in the Lopez house, after returning

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