Pagan's Scribe Capa dura - 2005

"Father Pagan," he says, "a very disturbing rumor has reached my ears. I've been told that you wish to demolish our refectory. Surely this cannot be true?"

The Archdeacon has to think for a moment. He blinks, and bends his mind to the question with an effort that's written clearly on his brow.

"Yes," he replies. "Yes, it is true."

"Father, I must protest. This is going too far."

"I'm sorry, but there's no alternative. Lord Raymond needs the stone for his fortifications."

":And we need our refectory for our meals, Father! I find it incredible that you should disregard our rights in this way. You haven't even presented your request to the cathedral chapter for consideration — you've just gone ahead and ignored us completely! The Bishop would never have allowed this."

"The Bishop is in Montpellier! The Bishop has forfeited his authority by running away to hide, like a snake in the grass!"

"I hope you're not implying — "

"Shut up!" The Archdeacon jumps to his feet. "Just shut up! I've had it up to here with you people! Would you rather give up your refectory, or have your guts ripped out and trampled all over the church floor? Because that's what's happened to the canons at Béziers! That's what's happened to the Chancellor at Béziers! Is that what you want?"

Father Guibert takes a step backward, retreating before the blaze of the Archdeacon’s fury.

"At — at Béziers?" he quavers.

"They've slaughtered all the clergy there! They've hacked them to pieces on the steps of their own altar! They've killed the entire population! And you're talking to me about your miserable refectory? You make me sick!"

"Father — please — "

"Get out of here! Go on! Go and tell those bleating fools that they can either eat off their knees or have their limbs strewn all over the cathedral! And if I hear one more complaint, I'm going to sling you all out of this city, and let you take your chances with the northern knights! See how much they care about your refectory when they start slicing off your fingers!"

The Chancellor bolts. He stumbles out the door backward, and Father Pagan slams it shut behind him — slams it so hard that the floor shakes. An echoing silence, taut with emotion.

Lord Jordan releases my shoulder.

"Well," he says smoothly, "I knew I could rely on you to spread the news in a gentle, reassuring way. I mean, God forbid that anyone should panic."
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PAGAN'S SCRIBE by Catherine Jinks. Copyright (c) 2005 by Catherine Jinks. Published by Candlewick Press, Inc., Cambridge, MA.