21 September 1124

　　John sat amongst his fellow novices in the choir of the Bishop`s half-built cathedral. Although still early into his training, he`d already committed all of the songs to memory and the monotonous routine of clergy life made him want to scream.. It didn`t help that his superiors were all daft, regularly contradicting each other or talking in circles during their lessons.

　　The remainder of Bath`s population stood on the opposite side of the altar in the cathedral`s nave. The more fervent parishioners sang along with the clergy but most were engaged in other business. Mass provided a venue where social run-ins were guaranteed, perfect for cornering slimy debtors or jilted lovers.

　　John longed to be among the crowd and watched them with envy, though his view was increasingly impeded as construction on the cathedral progressed. While being a member of the clergy meant he never needed to worry where his next meal would come from, at least every day in their world was different. Not just an endless repetition of the same boring mass.

　　The hymn finished and John sat back on his pew. The parishioners remained standing, their dealings uninterrupted but slightly more hushed. Broken by endless beatings, John had learned to conform. Obedience continued to rile the rebellious part of him that remained deep within. It pined for freedom as he peered through the cathedral`s incomplete walls and out into the streets of Bath. No, those thoughts only led to more pain.

　　Instead, John tried to focus on the morning sermon, which was delivered by ancient Brother Cuthbert rather than the Bishop. Even Godfrey`s assistant was absent, despite scolding the novices only moments before the service began. Their absence piqued John`s interest. Something different. Other priests had also noticed and highlighted the irregularity using their subtle system of coughs and shuffles in the pews.

　　The priests` restlessness reached its barely audible fever pitch when they spotted Godfrey`s assistant striding down the side of the cathedral towards the choir. Peter ignored the sermon and rudely strode straight past the altar. Even the parish noticed something strange about that.

　　John was still pondering the possible reason for Peter`s unorthodox interruption when the Assistant strode directly to John`s pew and quickly sat beside him. Peter had the decency to allow the crowd to refocus on the sermon before talking to John in a hushed voice.

　　"His Excellency requires you in his chambers. Now."

　　John was surprised. Godfrey had unceremoniously dismissed him months ago, without a word of explanation. "But, the mass?" was all John managed.

　　"Godfrey`s chambers," Peter repeated firmly. "Right now."

　　He stood abruptly and waited by the end of the pew. John dragged himself up, already missing the boring monotony of moments before. He felt the eyes of the entire congregation upon him as he followed Peter towards the cathedral`s incomplete entrance. Even the businesspeople and socialites paused as John passed.

　　John`s stomach churned as he wondered why he had been summoned so urgently. Would he be punished? He wracked his brain trying to think what he might`ve done. He shot questions at the Assistant as soon as they emerged from the skeletal cathedral.

　　"What does Godfrey want? Did I do something wrong? I`ve done everything asked of me, I swear. Is it about the Book?"

　　Peter ignored him and marched towards the Bishop`s palace, though John`s final question caused him to break stride.

　　So it was something to do with the Book. That was a start.

　　The pair rounded the final corner to the Bishop`s palace and John was surprised to see a small herd of horses gathered out front. An army of attendants were saddling them while another exchanged a peasant`s shabby pony for a fresh mount. The beast had been ridden hard.

　　Peter and John were climbing the steps when Godfrey emerged. He beamed upon seeing John.

　　"John my boy!" the Bishop cried out excitedly, bundling John into a tight embrace as though they were dear friends. "We`ve found her!"

　　John was dumbfounded by the Bishop`s sudden camaraderie.

　　"The girl," Godfrey continued. "Matilda. The author of our Book! She lives!"

　　"I`ve sent riders ahead of us to organise a raiding party," Peter said. "They`ll be waiting when we arrive."

　　The horses suddenly made a lot more sense.

　　Godfrey thanked Peter and led John to a horse near the ragged peasant.

　　"As you can see, we`re going to catch her before she can disappear again. And more importantly, before she desecrates the corpse of a fellow Christian."

　　John was only further puzzled but Godfrey introduced the peasant.

　　"John, this is Warren. He hails from just outside Bath but has been reporting on Matilda`s activities for some months now. He saw the earth swallow his fellow workers as they strove to meet Matilda`s unquenchable thirst for metal. Like me, he witnessed the woman`s barbaric attempts at medicine."

　　Godfrey`s spy nodded eagerly, "Chopped `em right up, she did. To be fair, a couple survived but ovvers weren`t so lucky."

　　"Bah, disgusting!" Godfrey spat. "Warren tells me that she is now teaching her barbarism to others, by carving up her deceased neighbour no less. Sacrilege! I won`t stand for it, she must be stopped! And you`re coming with us."

　　John blanched but stood rooted in place.

　　"Me, Your Excellence? Why me?"The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

　　Godfrey looked at John impatiently.

　　"I considered Adelard but I don`t trust the self-righteous monk. Warren here has also reported all manner of bizarre developments in the village, some nothing short of magic." Godfrey dropped his voice "The sort of thing only found in a very rare Book. You will identify any useful knowledge or equipment that might reinvigorate our own investigations. I`ll be busy securing the woman so I want a complete update when we return. Go on then, up you get."

　　Godfrey shepherded John onto a horse before vaulting atop his own. John was still trying to find a comfortable position in the saddle when they set off at a quick pace. Godfrey and Peter rode ahead with the Spy while John rode behind, flanked by a pair of Godfrey`s guards.

　　The Bishop continued to interrogate the Spy as they rode. They made an incredibly odd pair, the Spy wearing his ragged travelstained cloak and talking coarsely while the Bishop rode a fine steed and wore the magnificent robes of his Office.

　　They travelled hard throughout the day and reached a secluded camp in the woods at sunset. Peter`s contact waited for them with a dozen mercenaries gathered around a wagon, all armed with spears and clubs. Peter greeted them with a pouch of coins and the group quickly planned their raid. The Spy told them of Matilda`s hideout, a ruined mill she`d rebuilt after a deliberate fire. He told them of the villagers, estimating how many would attend the dissection and which were likely to resist the Bishop`s ambush.

　　With a plan agreed, the party set off into the twilight on foot. They left Peter and two of the mercenaries behind to guard the horses and the wagon. Godfrey ordered them to be ready for a quick escape.

　　The Spy looped them around the village, eager to avoid any prior warning of the impending raid. They completed the last of their journey by moonlight, traipsing through the forested hills that surrounded the woman`s mill. The group stumbled through the undergrowth before coming to a stop at the clearing surrounding the mill.

　　It was much grander than Godfrey`s spy had described. John had imagined a fire-damaged building with some patchy repairs but instead, the mill looked practically new. Even in the moonlight John saw new tiles mounted on the roof and fresh plaster applied to the building`s exterior. The smell of sawdust filled the air and the echo of water rushing over the waterwheel filled the clearing.

　　But most shocking of all was the light. Night had long since fallen but sunlight streamed from the building`s windows, bathing the entire clearing in an otherworldly glow. It had the same warmth as sunlight but its unsettling pulse suggested something supernatural. The men whispered amongst themselves, unsettled by the unnatural sight.

　　The Bishop took in the spectacle before signalling for the group to advance towards the building. As they drew closer, John marvelled at the wealth displayed by the building and its surroundings. Each glass window had external shutters and heavy curtains hung inside. The party passed through the perfectly manicured garden that surrounded the building, carelessly trampling over strangesmelling herbs. The group divided to stand on either side of the building`s tall glazed windows.

　　The first mercenary to peer inside let out a sound of disgust, earning sharp rebukes from his companions. The reason became clear as they each reached their window.

　　John threw himself against the wall and peered into the room. His eyes were first drawn up to the ceiling where a multitude of glowing spheres radiated warm light down upon the unphased crowd. John`s jaw dropped in disbelief.

　　Villagers were crowded in the hall, seated on long wooden benches that made the gathering look like a church service. Many wrote in paper notebooks, each worth a small fortune back at the seminary. John was amazed that so many people could write but also saw some sketching surprisingly lifelike forms.

　　It was as his gaze shifted to the front of the room that John`s blood ran cold. A woman stood before the crowd on a raised platform, her vibrant red hair tied back into a bushy ponytail. She stood at a long table, upon which lay the naked body of an elderly man. As if that wasn`t perverse enough, the man had been sliced open from throat to stomach and the red-haired woman had her entire arm inside the poor man`s chest.

　　John watched the scene for several heartbeats before throwing up violently at his feet. He leaned against the wall, hands shaking. Some of the mercenaries had similarly visceral reactions but the Bishop was unfazed as he stared into the room, barely blinking as he took in the woman`s every movement.

　　Godfrey stood transfixed until one of the men gave a muffled cough that jerked the Bishop back to the present.

　　"Ok men," he called out in a whisper. "We`re too late to prevent this abomination but let`s end this heresy before her corruption can spread any further. Break in at my signal."

　　The mercenaries gathered and lit the torches they`d carried from the wagon. It was too bright inside for the villagers to notice. Godfrey ordered four men to the windows on either side of the building and led the rest to the entrance at the far end of the hall. John and the Spy cautiously followed.

　　Godfrey paused at the door to give the men time to loop around the building and then tested to see that it was open. He took a deep breath.

　　With a sudden burst of energy he threw the doors open and marched into the hall with his chest thrust out.

　　"Stop!" Godfrey cried. "Cease this heresy immediately!"

　　The crowds` heads whipped around and the woman stopped what she was doing, entrails still in her hand.

　　"This is the work of Satan," Godfrey boomed. "How dare you desecrate the body of your fellow man? By the power of the Church, I order you to stop!"

　　At the sound of the Bishop`s voice, the mercenaries started to break the glass windows and tossed their burning torches into the heavy curtains before leaping in themselves.

　　The reaction from the crowd was instant. Seeing the armed men breaking into the mill, they leapt from their seats and fled, streaming past the corpse and out the one remaining door.

　　"You escaped me once, hag," the Bishop called as he casually strolled towards the front of the room. "But not this time."

　　"Bishop Godfrey!? No!" the Redhead cried out in horror as she recognised Godfrey and placed down the entrails.

　　"Yes!" he cried greedily. "Seize her!"

　　His men swept forward, driving the straggling villagers out of the room. The room filled with smoke as the curtains caught alight but a handful of villagers gathered around the woman and prepared to fight back with improvised weapons.

　　The mercenaries leapt into action, working together to beat back their poorly armed opposition. John marvelled at the villagers` tenacity. Despite being outnumbered and outmatched, they fought like demons to protect the Redhead. John saw a large man go down as a spear pierced his leg. Another fled clutching a gash in his arm while a boy, about John`s age, went down as a spear shaft glanced off his head.

　　"Stop!" the woman screamed.

　　Such was the power of her voice that everyone in the room obeyed, some of them in mid-swing. Even Godfrey stopped in his tracks.

　　"I yield. No more death. End this madness."

　　The villagers reluctantly backed away and the mercenaries advanced on the woman. Godfrey marched toward her, his eyes blazing with victory.

　　"There will be no more of your filth," he gloated. "Take her away!"

　　One of the mercenaries struck the woman over the head with his spear and she collapsed to the floor. Another man crouched over her limp body and bound her before tossing her over his shoulder. The Bishop`s party rushed from the burning building without a backward glance.

　　Outside, villagers milled around unsure what to do. Several aided injured fighters while others were already coordinating efforts to extinguish the fires. None dared to approach the raiding party who ignored them altogether and followed the Spy straight through the village, no longer bothering with stealth.

　　As the party disappeared into the darkness, John realised with a bolt of dread that he`d forgotten to collect any artefacts of interest in the excitement of the ambush. He cringed at the thought of Godfrey`s reaction when he found out but feared that the unconscious woman`s fate would be even worse.

　　(C) Jay Pelchen 2023. All rights reserved.