The Abbey of Death by Steven A McKay

Author:Steven A McKay
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781503935051
Publisher: Kindle Singles
Published: 2017-09-26T04:00:00+00:00

The road to Wistow was a well-maintained one, allowing the travellers to make good time. They feared the outlaws might have sent spies to watch the abbey, so, when they reached Selby, Will waved an exaggerated farewell to Nicholas and headed off into the town to buy a meat pasty. The younger man continued on towards Wistow, his limping gait worrying Scaflock since it might mark Nicholas as an even easier target than he already was.

Will hung around in Selby for a short time, allowing a gap to open between them as he ate his pasty and ignored the dirty looks from the townsfolk. Eventually he hurried back to the main road, which he planned to flank at a safe distance until they reached the ransom drop-off point.

He was breathing heavily by the time he finally spotted his friend in the near distance, his limp plain even to Will, who had never had the best eyesight, and he blew a small sigh of relief that the monk hadn’t been waylaid while out of his view.

When discussing the plan with the abbot, it had been suggested Will go on an hour ahead of Nicholas, then, once nearer the drop-off place, conceal himself, but Scaflock had rejected the idea. There were numerous other outlaws living in the greenwood, and any of them might stumble upon Nicholas. Without the ransom goods he carried, this whole scheme would be ruined and the cantor as good as dead. No – the limping monk needed a guard of some sort and it had to be someone out of sight yet close enough to help should Nicholas be waylaid.

‘We’ll pray for your success,’ the abbot had promised, and Will had been grateful. He would take any help he could get.

The prayers earnestly rising up from Selby Abbey seemed to do their job, as Nicholas had only passed half a dozen other parties on the road, all of them innocent traders or similar, before the smoke that marked the location of a small village – Wistow – appeared on the horizon. Will could even make out the little bridge that crossed the shallow water of Black Fen Drain.

The River Ouse was somewhere to the east, although too far away to see, and now Nicholas stopped, looking in that direction, head swivelling left and right as his eyes searched for the great old oak the outlaws’ ransom note had mentioned. At last he spotted it and moved off in its direction as Will nodded in appreciation. The lad must have been nervous, frightened of attack by the cantor’s abductors now they were so close to the drop-off area, and yet Nicholas hadn’t glanced back even once to where he knew his protector must be concealed.

Instead, the young monk moved as fast as his crooked limb would allow, over the uneven, often marshy terrain, directly towards the solitary, venerable oak that must have stood guard over these fields for hundreds of years, as Will came along behind, using juniper bushes and bracken as cover.

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