27 March 1124

　　Godfrey fidgeted as his carriage trundled back to the palace after another long morning of menial tasks. His head thundered but he was relieved that the day`s obligations were behind him. It had been months since his consecration and life had settled into a comfortable but dull routine. The monks and clergy had reached a tentative truce, he had negotiated agreeable terms with the Jewish lenders, and cathedral construction required minimal intervention. The Bishop`s only failure had been his efforts to extract value from the ruined Book.

　　This still irked Godfrey. He had been sure that the Book contained precious secrets but after months of effort it had proven to be little more than a drain of both time and money. Despite great personal investment, he finally conceded that nothing more could be done. The Book sat gathering dust amongst more valuable tomes on his bookshelf, its tattered spine the only reminder that it was even there.

　　Godfrey had finally succeeded in breaking John`s spirit after the last escape attempt and moved him back into the seminary to fully focus on his training. The Bishop occasionally felt pangs of guilt at tearing the Novice away from his family. But then he remembered all the trouble the boy had caused and that John`s usefulness had proven underwhelming. Seminary training was more than he deserved.

　　Godfrey was relieved when the carriage finally reined in at his palace. He marched into the grand building and made for the solitude of his study, not even breaking stride as he informed the servants that he would take his lunch there and should be otherwise undisturbed.

　　He was dismayed to find a sealed envelope waiting on his sitting table. He sat down heavily and opened it. Another message from the Cardinals bearing bad news about the rebellion. The Bastard Earl had won several victories after the winter hiatus and Godfrey`s technical assistance remained unappreciated. The Bishop leant back in his chair and applied pressure to his temples. His headache raged from the busy morning and required several goblets of wine to take the edge off.

　　Godfrey was on his fourth cup when the servants finally arrived to deliver his midday meal. He silently smouldered as they clumsily set his table, banging dishes and clattering cutlery. The Bishop was pleased when they finally left him in peace. Godfrey`s mouth watered at the smell of the rich feast and he was carving a particularly plump mutton shank when there was a knock on the door.

　　Peter warily stuck his head into the study.

　　"I said no interruptions!" Godfrey scolded before his assistant could utter a word.

　　Peter looked reproachful but continued to enter nonetheless.

　　"Apologies Father, it`s just that&"

　　"I swear, if it`s that damned boy again, so help me God..."

　　"It`s not about John, Father. It`s something you`ll definitely want to hear for yourself."

　　Godfrey looked at him quizzically. Peter was intelligent enough to know that the mere disruption was enough to risk the Bishop`s wrath. And yet he stood his ground.

　　The Bishop stuffed a chunk of mutton into his mouth and lay down his fork. After some drawn out chews, he took a swig of wine for good measure.

　　"This had better be good," Godfrey warned. "Spit it out!"

　　Peter flinched but continued timidly. "You`d best come and see Your Eminence."

　　Godfrey`s blood boiled. "I finally have time to enjoy some basic sustenance and you tear me away? Dammit man, what is so important that it cannot wait?"

　　Godfrey watched the Assistant weigh his options.

　　"We have a visitor, Father. An elderly priest from a distant, inconsequential hamlet. He`s deaf, incredibly frail and shaking like a leaf. But he walked all the way from his tiny chapel as fast as he was able. He has a message for you. Only you. Concerning a red-haired woman. With a book."

　　Godfrey`s interest was instantly piqued but he refused to let himself get over excited. He had already received two enterprising visitors since putting out the call for information about the Book. Both had suffered his wrath.

　　"Very well," he said with a measured tone. "I will speak with this priest. Have the servants bring my meal down to the garden courtyard. Tell them to bring more food, the priest has travelled far. And more wine."

　　Feeling wobbly from his drink, Godfrey made his way downstairs and waited impatiently as his servants re-laid the generous platter of food. He sampled each item to take the edge off his appetite before calling for the priest to be let in.

　　The man was ancient. Peter didn`t jest about his frailty. A solid gust of wind would send him flying.

　　"Welcome brother," Godfrey greeted in his most regal voice. "You have travelled far. Please, join me for a bite to eat."

　　The Elderly Priest required a nudge from Peter but he shuffled into the room and gingerly took the seat Godfrey had gestured to.

　　"Some wine?" Godfrey asked, offering the decanter.

　　"No, thank you," the priest said, a little too loud. "Much too rich for me, it would upset my stomach. Just water will be fine."

　　The man sounded like an old tree. Gnarled and ancient. Painfully slow.

　　"My assistant tells me you`ve news from afar."

　　"Yes Your Eminence. Though would you prefer that we discussed it in private?"

　　The old man gestured at Peter with a gentle nod of his head.

　　"Not to worry, brother. Peter has my trust."

　　Godfrey`s assurances put the Elderly Priest at ease and Peter joined them at the dining table.

　　"Very well. Where to begin? My parish doesn`t get many visitors. It`s a backwater. Like a flea bite on the arse end of a mangy hound."The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

　　"Very...colourful," Godfrey said irritably. "It`s a poor village, I understand. Go on."

　　"A family arrived four nights ago. It was already getting dark and I was setting the altar for the evening prayer. They startled me half to death, barging into my little church without knocking. But Saint Peter says we should offer hospitality without grumbling and they looked desperate. So I let them stay."

　　"Naturally," Godfrey said impatiently.

　　"They were an uncouth bunch," the Elderly Priest continued, "using the chapel purely for its roof. The adults exuded an air of entitlement, though they displayed little reason to deserve any status. Their clothes were filthy and tattered, as though they`d been on the road for months. None of them showed the slightest respect and they promptly fell asleep after gorging on their meagre supplies. Except for the girl."

　　Godfrey leaned forward excitedly. "The red-headed foreigner!?"

　　"Oh no. Nothing that exotic."

　　Godfrey slumped back into his chair and gnawed on a chicken leg. Peter started fidgeting with a spare fork.

　　"Just a regular peasant girl. More grounded than her companions, comfortable in her welltravelled clothes. It was clear that she wasn`t part of the family."

　　The priest paused and shakily sipped his water.

　　"I only noticed her because she so differed from her brutish companions. She alone bowed her head in prayer before sleep. My hope in humanity lifted, temporarily. Because then she walked up to my bible at the lectern and started reading out loud."

　　"What?" Godfrey spluttered, tossing down his chicken. His interest reawakened.

　　"You have a bible?" Peter asked inquisitively.

　　"My thoughts precisely," the Elderly Priest answered Godfrey, ignoring Peter. "Where does a peasant learn to read? And a young woman, at that. I confess that I was initially bewildered and watched closely to be sure that my age wasn`t playing tricks. But there she was, sounding out words from somewhere in Psalms. Rather clunkily, but they were definitely the right words. She celebrated with a dainty little dance each time she recognised a new one.

　　"I`ll tell you, I wasn`t pleased that this young peasant woman had her filthy paws on my most precious possession. A gift from my years in London. It was just unnatural, a woman reading. I immediately sought to distract her, when I finally realised what was happening."

　　"Was she ashamed at being caught?" Peter asked.

　　"She was, like a teen caught singing when they think they`re alone. I ignored the reading altogether and steered the conversation back to proper Christian behaviour, asking instead what she had been praying about. That was when it got really interesting."

　　Peter stopped fidgeting. Godfrey was on the edge of his chair.

　　"She admitted that she didn`t belong with the family. That she`d made a horrible mistake. She had joined the family in exile, feeling partly to blame for their predicament. I pried for her to explain but she simply replied that she mocked her little brother too much."

　　"What older sister doesn`t?" Peter asked, his voice oddly raw.

　　"I said the same thing. She confessed that she and her sister taunted the boy, driving him to spend time in the woods, away from them. It meant more work for the girls but it was rare to get time alone to discuss inane things like attractive boys without their brother`s constant eye rolls. All had been fine, until the boy came home one evening with a stranger, around the feast of All Hallows."

　　"Who was the stranger?" Godfrey begged. "What did she say?"

　　"She was a foreigner," the Elderly Priest started, a twinkle in his eye. "With curly red hair."

　　"Yes!" the Bishop cried, bolting upright and knocking his chair back. Peter and the Elderly Priest stared at him, aghast at such behaviour unbecoming of senior clergy. Godfrey sheepishly sat down, clearing his throat and gesturing for the visitor to continue.

　　"I`d hoped you`d be interested. Well, the Foreigner`s arrival sent a shock through the girl`s small and respectable family. There would`ve been scandal if word escaped that her brother had come home with an unmarried woman. Let alone one that dressed inappropriately and spoke so strangely. The peasant girl was relieved when her father escorted the stranger away the next day. He took her to a town called Stowey under the pretences of delivering taxes but in reality he was under strict instructions from his wife to ensure that no ill would befall the family.

　　"The peasant girl was relieved to see the Foreigner gone. The Redhead was different. Too different. But she was gone, never to be seen again."

　　"But?" Godfrey asked with desperation. "Please tell me there`s more."

　　The Elderly Priest gave a fox-like smile. "The peasant girl couldn`t shake the feeling that that they hadn`t seen the last of the foreigner. Her elder sister was coy but said with absolute certainty that the woman had gotten what she deserved. The girl sensed there was more to the story but the Foreigner remained nowhere to be seen and life returned to endless harvesting and gossiping about boys."

　　"Quit playing with me priest," Godfrey warned. "That`s it?"

　　"It was, until the peasant girl`s father and grandmother took ill. It was dire. The grandmother was on her deathbed and the family stood no hope of surviving the winter without the father. Then the Foreigner reappeared.

　　"She was different to before. Reserved. Mournful and morose. But she did what she could to help the family. She provided remedies and joined them in the fields while the father recovered. Each day she emerged further from her shell and the family actually grew to like her, despite her eccentricities.

　　"The Foreigner cared nothing for convention and upturned the village`s entire life. She introduced new techniques to hasten the harvest and healed sick villagers with strange medicine. She possessed half of a book and taught women and children how to read." The priest didn`t mask his disapproval. "It was all too much for the girl`s grandmother, a proper Christian woman, who returned to be with the Lord. It was the Foreigner who eventually raised the village in rebellion against their miller, the boorish visitor who slept in my chapel.

　　"The peasant girl blamed herself. If she`d only been nicer to her brother, the Foreigner might never have come. Her grandmother might still be alive and the mill still run by its rightful owner. For all of its downsides, life in their village would`ve at least been normal."

　　Godfrey had heard enough and swooped in with his most burning question.

　　"Did the peasant girl say where she was from?"

　　"She did, my Bishop."

　　Godfrey leaned forward hungrily.

　　"Do you know the Quantock mountains my lord? An outstanding example of the Lord`s natural creation to be sure, though I haven`t been there for decades."

　　"I`ve heard of them," Godfrey said impatiently. "Go on."

　　"Well, in the eastern foothills there is a town called Nether Stowey. A small town but it has a modest castle with a stone keep and holds a full market once a month. The town where the peasant father took the Foreigner."

　　"Get to the point priest! Stowey is where I last encountered her. She`s not there."

　　"No, she wouldn`t be. Only a fool retouches a pot after being burned."

　　Godfrey didn`t care for the priest`s attitude. But they were so close.

　　"A short walk northwest of Stowey, nestled in the Quantocks themselves, lies a tiny village. With a mill. A new miller. And a redheaded foreigner. A village called Holford."

　　The room was silent as Godfrey digested the final piece of information. Holford. The name whipped around his head like a ship in a storm. Finally, a new lead. And she had the other half of the Book! The smouldering ashes of his passion project reignited into a raging inferno.

　　Godfrey returned to his senses.

　　"You`ve done well, priest. More than well. This is truly the Lord`s work and He will no doubt bestow His greatest blessings upon you. But please, name yourself a more earthly reward. A horse for your journey home? A transfer to my new cathedral to live out your days in peace and prayer? What would you like? Name it."

　　The priest gave a gentle smile.

　　"None of that will be necessary my Bishop. I ask only that you keep our little end of the world in your prayers and do what you can to quash this Foreigner`s unseemly ways. And perhaps a new goat, ours died during the winter."

　　"It will be done," Godfrey promised with absolute sincerity, thinking the man a fool for not requesting more.

　　Peter escorted the Elderly Priest out of the room, leaving Godfrey to his thoughts. His mind raced. The possibilities of the complete tome were tantalising but to capture the woman and extract information directly was even better. He wondered where John was.

　　Peter returned to the room.

　　"That went well," he said with a grin.

　　"Better than well," Godfrey agreed. "I want to know what that woman is doing. Where she eats, shits and sleeps. Get one of your men there. To Holford. Now!"