The Temple Scroll: (The Temple - Book 2) by D.C. Macey

Author:D.C. Macey [Macey, D.C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Butcher & Cameron
Published: 2016-08-14T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17 - SATURDAY 24th AUGUST

It was past mid-afternoon when the doors of St Bartholomew’s swung open and Xavier emerged. He stopped on the top step and looked down at the crowd filling the narrow street below, and they greeted the appearance of their priest with a great cheer. The air was thick with cigarette smoke mixed with the smell of garlic and wine, and the sweat of happy jostling humans; it all warmed together in the still air to form the smell that, for Xavier, was forever St Bartholomew’s Day. His day, his church’s day.

Xavier smiled, raised his hand to the crowd, made the sign of the cross and blessed them all. The cheers rang out again, bouncing to and fro between the buildings that lined both sides of the old cobbled thoroughfare. The volume soared, the sound hemmed in between the plastered walls; some whitewashed, some faded yellow ochre, occasional creams. Quickly the noise rose above the crowd, and past first and second floor balconies where elderly ladies revelled in the spectacle and recalled days past when they had marched with the procession. Up the sound continued, funnelling out of the street’s shadows to spill over the terracotta-tiled roofs from where it dissipated into the sunlit sky.

The space on the step behind him was quickly occupied by several priests from neighbouring parishes, come to lend support on the big day. Angelo, never far from Xavier’s side, stood closest.

Xavier saw the district band mustered in the street a few paces to his left. Everything was as it should be. As the blessing ended, the bandleader signalled and the music struck up in a greeting for him. Then as the band began a slow march past, heading down towards the harbour, he led the clergy down the few broad steps from the church to the street below, pacing himself to arrive a moment after the band had passed. To his left the street ran a hundred paces up to the town square. The procession would end there in about half an hour. He turned right, heading down the hill, following the music.

The priests were followed from the church by four sturdy looking men, each supporting a corner of a litter on which perched a statue of St Bartholomew. Behind them, a crowd of parishioners streamed out of the church to join the procession. Those that lined the little street cheered and clapped. Xavier knew they too would join the end of the procession, which grew as it went. Camera flashes identified the tourists in the crowd and extended arms signed the presence of smartphone users intent on recording life as it happened.

Ahead, at the foot of the street, he could see the sea; still and glistening blue. He knew that the fishermen’s boats would be moored along the little quayside, cleaned and tided especially for the moment. The fishermen and their families would clap and cheer as he passed, then, in their turn, join the end of the procession. Eventually,

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