. . to these quicksilver is added after it has been put through the death-process. Father John has hung bunches of water mint, willowherb and fleabane in the windows, and below them set little dishes of milk laced with hare’s gall to stop the flies and gnats entering: now that the weather is growing warmer, they are swarming above the ditches and moats around the abbey. But even such precautions don’t deter the bluebottles, which have somehow found their way in through the herbs and are buzzing lazily around the dorter. The boys are easily distracted by them, and even Father John’s repeated threats cannot control their urge to swat at them. It is at such a moment of distraction when the door to the courtyard swings open. The boys raise their heads at the sudden flood of sunshine that washes into the room, all except one who is completely absorbed in stalking the fly that has alighted for the third time on his writing tablet, purely to taunt him. The instant the boys see who has entered, their gazes drop to the table as if not even the appearance of Beelzebub himself could tear them from their letters.
