The Sorcerer of Sainte Felice by Ann Finnin

Author:Ann Finnin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: young adult, teen fiction, fiction, teen, teen fiction, teenager, fantasy, urban fantasy, historical fiction, illuminati
Publisher: Llewellyn Worldwide, LTD.
Published: 2010-06-01T00:00:00+00:00

“I fear that we will have to postpone the remainder of our tour until tomorrow,” Abbot Francis mentioned at Prime the next morning. “Since this is Sunday, and I seem to be the only priest between here and Orleans, I must offer services for the villagers.”

“Do you do this every Sunday?” De Joinville asked.

“And feast days as well,” the abbot replied. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must prepare.”

De Joinville moved his huge bulk between the abbot and the door. “I will say the Mass this morning.”

The abbot froze for several heartbeats, a startled look on his face. “Eminence?”

“You heard me.” De Joinville peered at him from beneath low-hanging brows. “There isn’t a problem, my Lord Abbot, is there?”

Abbot Francis recovered his composure. “No, indeed. It would be an honor, Eminence.” The shadow which had crossed his features clearly indicated that it would be nothing of the sort. “The sacristy door is behind the altar.”

“Good.”

De Joinville lumbered towards the church while the two boys brought his vestments from the carriage. Instead of the abbot’s simple white cope and mantle, he allowed the boys to array him in heavy velvet that was lined with silk and embroidered in gilded thread and gold bullion. He reached for his equally gilded miter and placed it on his head. “The entire village attends, does it not?”

“As a rule,” the abbot replied, his nonchalance betrayed by a tightness around his mouth.

“Then we will show them how a proper Mass is performed.” De Joinville picked up his crosier. “Even in such rude surroundings.”

I watched the abbot’s blue eyes flash in sudden anger at the insult, but he could do nothing but stand back while De Joinville, followed by his clerk, took their places at the head of the procession. The two pages, dressed in their own copes and surplices, came next, one holding the crosier, the other waving a thurible that put out a cloud of incense smoke.

We silently lined up behind them and followed them through the south transept into the sanctuary. “Introibo ad altare Dei,” we chanted. “I go to the altar of God.”

Everyone glanced up as we entered. I heard several gasps and whispered comments as a ripple of confusion worked its way through the crowd in the pews. Nobody recited the opening prayers. They were too busy watching De Joinville and his entourage with suspicion.

He ascended to the altar, followed by his boys, as we peeled off into the choir. The whispering grew perceptibly louder, and did not abate even when De Joinville chanted the first psalm.

“Sancti, Sancti, Sancti …” he intoned solemnly.

Abbot Francis sat fuming in the choir stall. “That should be ‘Sanctus,’ you imbecile,” he hissed under his breath. Fernando shot him a reproving look and leaned back in the pew with a sigh, shutting his eyes with a pained expression.

I watched the abbot with growing concern. I could well understand that it must be difficult for him to sit back and watch while De Joinville mangled the Mass at his altar in his church.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.