The Golden Crucifix_A Matthew Cordwainer Medieval Mystery by Joyce Lionarons

Author:Joyce Lionarons [Lionarons, Joyce]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-01-21T05:00:00+00:00

Sunday, January 14, 1273

The walls of Saint Mary’s Abbey had been designed to protect the cloistered monks from the sinful world and thus had no gate opening into the city, requiring those who wished to enter the monastery grounds to do so outside the city walls. Dark clouds were gathering once again to the north on Sunday morning as Cordwainer and Thomas walked to Bootham Bar, north of the Abbey, to join a small queue waiting to pass through the city gate out of York. Cordwainer stood and caught his breath, looking at the sky. There would be snow before the day was out, or worse, it could be sleet. As it was, walking was still treacherous; ice lingered between the cobblestones of the paved streets and in the muddy ruts of unpaved lanes. He grumbled in a low voice to Thomas about having to go such a long way around on his aching hip.

“Hush, Master,” said Thomas. “Tis not good to talk so before Mass. We should think on our sins and pray for forgiveness before entering God’s house.”

Cordwainer rubbed his hip and sighed.

His mood began to lift as they passed out of the city, continuing north and west. The snow on the hillsides was as white as the day it had fallen, and the smells of the city receded behind them. He took a deep breath of the cold, fresh air. They turned to the left at Marygate and followed the path back south along the high wall to the Abbey gate, which stood open in welcome on Sunday morning although it would be closed and guarded after the public Mass and throughout the week.

Standing in the great stone church for Mass, Cordwainer’s spirits lifted further, rising with the soaring voices of the monks and the high voices of the youngest novices. The sweet perfume of incense and candlewax permeated the air. He prayed that God might forgive him his sins and give him the patience to bear his pain without complaint. He asked God to show mercy to Molly and to Nelly and to guide him to their killers. When the Mass ended, he felt his spirit refreshed, and he set out towards the Abbot’s chambers with new resolve.

Abbot Simeon’s secretary, an elderly monk with eyes crabbed into a permanent squint, frowned when Cordwainer requested permission to speak with the Abbot, but reluctantly agreed to announce their presence. Thomas and Cordwainer waited in the cramped anteroom for what seemed an inordinate amount of time before the secretary returned to announce that the Abbot would see them, and Cordwainer felt his newly-resolved patience dissolving. Perhaps I should attend Mass every day, he thought ruefully, if I expect my resolutions to endure. He followed the old monk into Simeon’s reception chamber.

Abbot Simeon sat at a large writing table covered in scattered sheets of vellum. Two sharpened goose quills lay next to a horn inkpot and writing knife by his right hand. Simeon was a slender man with a thin face and prominent cheekbones.

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