Doomsday Book

There was no one on the green. The dying bonfire flickered palely in the gray light, and the snow that had melted around it was refreezing in icy puddles. The villagers must have gone to bed, and she wondered if Father Roche had, too, but there was no smoke from his house and no answer to her knock on the door. She went along the path and in the side door of the church. It was still dark inside, and colder than it had been at midnight.

"Father Roche," Kivrin called softly, groping her way to the statue of St. Katherine.

He didn't answer, but she could hear the murmur of his voice. He was behind the rood screen, kneeling in front of the altar.

"Guide those who have travelled far this night safely home and protect them from danger and illness along the way," he said, and his soft voice reminded her of the night in the sickroom when she had been so ill, steady and comforting through the flames. And of Mr. Dunworthy. She didn't call to him again, but stayed where she was, leaning against the icy statue and listening to his voice in the darkness.

"Sir Bloet and his family came from Courcy to the mass, and all their servants," he said, "and Theodulf Freeman from Henefelde. The snow stopped yestereve, and the skies showed clear for the night of Christ's holy birth," he went on in that matter-of-fact voice that sounded just like she did, praying into the corder. The attendance tally for the mass and the weather report.

Light was begi

"This blessed night as the mass ended a messenger from the bishop came and with him two priests, all three of great learning and goodness," Roche prayed.

Don't be fooled by the gold and fancy clothes, Kivrin thought. You're worth ten of them. "The bishop's envoy will say the Christmas mass," Imeyne had said and didn't seem to be troubled at all by the fact that he hadn't fasted or bothered to come to the church to prepare for the mass himself. You're worth fifty of them, Kivrin thought. A hundred.

"There is word from Oxenford of illness. Tord the Cottar fares better, though I bade him not come so far to the mass. Uctreda was too weak to come to the mass. I took her soup, but she ate it not. Walthef fell vomiting after the dancing from too much ale. Gytha burned her hand upon the bonfire in plucking a brand from it. I shall not fear, though the last days come, the days of wrath and the final judgment, for You have sent much help."

Much help. He wouldn't have any help if she stood here listening much longer. The sun was up now and in the rose and gold light from the windows she could see the drippings down the sides of the candlesticks, the tarnish on their bases, a big blot of wax on the altarcloth. The day of wrath and the final judgment would be the right words for what would happen if the church looked like this when Imeyne marched in to mass.

"Father Roche," she said.

Roche turned immediately and then tried to stand up, his legs obviously stiff with the cold. He looked startled, even frightened, and Kivrin said quickly, "It's Katherine," and moved forward into the light of one of the windows so he could see her.

He crossed himself, still looking frightened, and she wondered if he had been half-dozing at his prayers and was still not awake.

"Lady Imeyne sent me with candles," she said, coming around the rood screen to him. "She bade me tell you to set them in the silver candlesticks on either side of the altar. She bade me tell you — " She stopped, ashamed to be delivering Imeyne's edicts. "I have come to help you prepare the church for mass. What would you have me do? Shall I polish the candlesticks?" She held out the candles to him.

He didn't take the candles or say anything, and she frowned, wondering if in her eagerness to protect him from Imeyne's wrath she had broken some rule. Women were not allowed to touch the elements or the vessels of the mass. Perhaps they weren't allowed to handle the candlesticks either.

"Am I not allowed to help?" she asked. "Should I not have come into the chancel?"

Roche seemed suddenly to come to himself. "There is nowhere God's servants may not go," he said. He took the candles from her and laid them on the altar. "But such a one as you should not do such humble work."

"It is God's work," she said briskly. She took the half- burned candles out of the heavy branched candlestick. Wax had dripped down the sides. "We'll need some sand," she said, "and a knife to scrape the wax off."

He went to get them immediately, and while he was gone, she hastily took the candles down from the rood screen and replaced them with tallow ones.

He came in with the sand, a fistful of filthy rags, and a poor excuse for a knife. But it cut through wax, and Kivrin started in on the altarcloth, scraping at the spot of wax, worried that they might not have much time. The bishop's envoy hadn't looked in any hurry to heave himself out of the high seat and prepare for the mass, but who knew how long he could hold out against Imeyne.

I don't have any time either, she thought, starting on the candlesticks. She had told herself there was plenty of time, but she had spent the entire night actively pursuing Gawyn and hadn't even got close to him. And tomorrow he might decide to go hunting or Rescuing Fair Maidens, or the bishop's envoy and his flunkies might drink up all the wine and set off in search of more, dragging her with them.

"There is nowhere God's servants may not go," Roche had said. Except to the drop, she thought. Except home.

She scrubbed viciously with the wet sand at some wax imbedded in the rim of the candlestick, and a piece flew off and hit the candle Roche was scraping. "I'm sorry," she said, "Lady Imeyne — " and then stopped.

There was no point in telling him she was being sent away. If he tried to intercede for her with Lady Imeyne it would only make it worse, and she didn't want him shipped off to Osney or worse for trying to help her.

He was waiting for her to finish her sentence. "Lady Imeyne bade me tell you the bishop's envoy will say the Christmas mass," she said.

"It will be a blessing to hear such holiness on the birthday of Christ Jesus," he said, setting down the polished chalice.

The birthday of Christ Jesus. She tried to envision St. Mary the Virgin's as it would look this morning, the music and the warmth, the laser candles glittering in the stainless steel candlesticks, but it was like something she had only imagined, dim and unreal.

She stood the candlesticks on either side of the altar. They shone dully in the multicolored light of the windows. She set three of Imeyne's candles in them and moved the left on a little closer to the altar so they were even.

There was nothing she could do about Roche's robe, which Imeyne knew full well was the only one he had. He had got wet sand on his sleeve, and she wiped it off with her hand.

"I must go wake Agnes and Rosemund for the mass," she said, brushing at the front of his robe, and then went on almost without meaning to, "Lady Imeyne has asked the bishop's envoy to take me with them to the nu

"God has sent you to this place to help us," he said. "He will not let you be taken from it."

I wish I could believe you, Kivrin thought, going back across the green. There was still no sign of life, though smoke was coming from a couple of the roofs, and the cow had been turned out. It was nibbling the grass near the bonfire where the snow had melted. Perhaps they're all asleep, and I can wake Gawyn and ask him where the drop is, she thought, and saw Rosemund and Agnes coming toward her. They looked considerably the worse for wear. Rosemund's leaf-green velvet dress was covered with wisps of straw and hay dust, and Agnes had it in her hair. She broke free of Rosemund as soon as she saw Kivrin and ran up to her.