Sweat ran down his backbone as he walked and each step was an effort. Halfway to Dronfield he’d rested in the shade for a few minutes, the two bailiffs complaining loudly at trudging through a summer’s day after a morning at the market. He ignored them, splashing his face with water from the stream until he was cooled again. In the village they followed the road uphill to the manor house. No Christian. Nobody had seen him since morning; no one knew where he’d gone or when he might return. A wasted journey. ‘Does he have any recent cuts on his hands or face?’ John asked the men who gave him the information. They shook their heads. ‘I saw him last night and he didn’t,’ one answered. ‘Why?’ ‘Just a question,’ he replied with a smile. They were going back with nothing. First, though, a small rest. The least he could do was buy the bailiffs a jug of ale after dragging them out this way. Inside it was cool, some of the shutters closed against the day to leave the place shaded.
What do You think about The Saltergate Psalter (2015)?
