4th July 1103

Maire had heard the discontented mumble of the crowd from through the open window, one voice raised above the rest. She emerged from the gloom of the kitchen with its stuffy heat, stew bubbling over a fire that was constantly lit no matter how stifling the weather. Though it was a hot day, in contrast to the suffocating heat of the room with its stench of boiling lard and dried fish, the air outside was cool on Maire’s sweaty face. She blinked in the glaring light, her eyes trying to adjust after being holed up in the dark for so many hours.

In the castle courtyard a crowd had gathered, mostly farmhands but Maire recognised a few landowners amongst them. Poor Juzzine was huddled in the shadow of her towering husband, one of his arms tightly around her waist. Since she had been asked to help with the delivery of Morven’s baby, Maire had thought of the two of them as almost friends. Well… if not that, she felt that they had shared something, which made them closer than before. But Dale had been taken and Maire had not said a word to the grieving woman. She did not even know where to begin. And so, to her shame she had kept her distance, avoiding the grieving woman when she passed by at the marketplace.

Reynard Hynde, stood before the fidgeting crowd. Maire knew that he had lost his wife to the sickness, she knew of all the deaths. There were so few of them on Mhalwae that it was hard to keep a distance from these things. The island was mourning the loss, so that everyone felt it in their hearts as they went about their daily business.

She scanned the crowd, the expressions on the many faces. Some looked angry or disapproving, others mournful. Some appeared merely curious. She waited to hear what Reynard would say.

“My fellow townspeople,” he began, his voice clear, resonating through the courtyard, “I asked yew all to gather with me here today fer a reason. Before my lovely wife Adela was taken up to heaven she told me something that I feel is best I share with yew.”

The mob held its breath, waiting, unconsciously leaning forward to hear what this man had to say.

“She told me that our Father Harndall an’ the Countess were conducting a secret affair. Yes my friends, a man of God. A man we trusted with our sins has betrayed us all. The rumours yew all heard were true.”

There was a gasp from the back of the crowd, while others murmured angrily, shaking their heads in shock and dismay. Maire was shocked too. She had not expected the rumours to be true.

“I see yew are all shocked. As was I when my dear wife told me. She also told me that they had been seen in an intimate embrace in the church! In the very halls of our Lord. I ask yew friends, how can we allow such a thing to happen?”

Maire watched Reynard as he spoke. He was a rather plain looking man, with muddy, brown eyes and a wide nose that turned up at the end with a defiant tilt. Messy strands of hair fell around his face which was marred by an ugly scar that streaked across the bridge of his nose. His top lip all but disappeared into his patchy, rust-coloured beard.

But when he spoke his face came alive, his eyes glowing with fervour, his tone both commanding and beseeching.

“There are those among us who have suffered great losses, an’ I speak not only of myself,” he scanned the crowd, eyes flicking from face to face, “Why Goodwife Dryden, we were all sorry to hear of the loss of yer little boy Dale.”

Juzzine gave a wretched sob, her hands flying to her face. Her husband stared at her as though unsure what to do, awkwardly rubbing her arm.

“How old was he then?” Reynard asked gently.

“He was only a year an’ a half,” Juzzine whimpered, collapsing against her husband who slowly wrapped his arms around her.

“A year an’ a half,” Reynard shook his head, “we are all so sorry fer yer loss.”

“An’ we’re sorry fer yers,” Sermak rumbled over his wife’s sobbing form.

“Whose to blame fer this yew may all ask?” Reynard continued, his voice swelling over the gathered crowd, “Whose to blame fer our losses? Does it seem like chance that our priest would lie down with a woman, breakin’ his vows, in the very heart of the chapel no less, an’ then days later the people are struck down by sickness. I don’t think so.”

Some of the people in the crowd were nodding their heads, fire in their eyes, entranced by his every word. Others looked uncomfortable.

“In the hard ground of the graveyard there are being five tiny new graves. Five souls taken before their time. A punishment fer the sins of our priest. My wife lies cold an’ dead beneath the earth because of the sins of our priest an’ his harlot.”

He paused for a moment, his face a mask of grief as the crowd shuffled on their feet, some murmuring sympathetically. The mask dropped and he was all towering righteousness and rage.

“They must be punished fer their sins. Or God will go on punishing us over an’ over till we have to dig a mass grave fer all the tiny babes he will take from us. They must be punished fer their sins my friends.”

Maire felt her heart pounding as she realised where this was going. She understood that they were grieving. But surely it was nobody’s fault.

“Go now. Take up arms. Tell yer neighbours. We meet here at sunset to do God’s own work.”

She saw that many of the people around her were taken with his words, a fervent conviction in their eyes. They looked angry. And they looked afraid.

The people were talking amongst themselves, voices raising louder and louder as their rage echoed around the crowd increasing with every repetition.

She had to find the priest and warn him. This was not right.

With a jolt she realised Reynard was staring right at her. For a moment she was completely convinced he could read her thoughts, his molten eyes gazing at her with their liquid fire. A chill ran down the length of her spine and the fine hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She could not breathe as he gazed at her, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

He turned back to the crowd and Maire thought her knees would buckle. She slowly shook her head, to rid herself of that snakelike gaze and reminded herself that he could not know what she planned. She shuffled back to the kitchen to wait for the crowd to dissipate. Then she would run and find the priest.