his mind. He had been late for the office and hadn’t yet seen Garin. Eyes open a crack, he scanned the nave and breathed a sigh as his gaze fell on his friend. Garin was kneeling several rows in front, head bowed, hair hanging like a curtain across his face.
Will shuffled uncomfortably as the priest launched into a reading of the scriptures. He had sat through seven of these readings every day for two years, and that didn’t include Mass, which they heard once a day after the office of Sext, or the vespers and vigils said for the dead each afternoon. Still the readings didn’t seem to get any shorter. There were also special services for festivals: the Christ Mass; Epiphany; the Feast of the Annunciation; the Feast of the Assumption; the Feast of St. John the Baptist, to name but a few. At least with those, there was always a good meal to look forward to afterward.
A spider in a crack between the flagstones, disturbed by Will’s shuffling, scuttled toward the effigies of knights that were imprisoned in the floor of the nave, solemnity carved into their faces, granite swords at their chests. The nave was a lofty, circular chamber, ringed with the stone heads of sinners and demons that leered from the walls, faces contorted in various expressions of pain and malevolence. It opened out into a choir aisle that led to the altar. Pillars divided the aisle, rising to the vaulted ceiling, and the benches between were filled with knights.
Eventually, the priest raised his hands. “Arise, brothers. Humble servants of God, defenders of the true faith and upholders of the Divine Law. Arise as we say the Paternoster.”
Will rose, legs tingling, to recite the Lord’s Prayer. His voice joined with those of the other two hundred and sixty men in the chapel, their words colliding until they spoke as one in a voice that was as resonant as the surging of the sea.
“Pax vobiscum!”
There was a scuffle of feet as the priest shut the breviary, signaling the close of the office.
Will waited impatiently with the other sergeants for the knights to go. When it was the turn of his row to leave, he hastened out, jostling his fellows. After the chapel’s gloom the sun seemed overly bright and he shaded his eyes as he stepped through the archway. The sergeants were heading in a line behind the knights, making their way to the Great Hall to break their fast. The buildings around the main courtyard were golden in the autumn morning. The sky was a magnificent, hazy blue, and the smell of ripe apples and plums in the orchards was a sweet perfume masking the general odor of sweat and horse dung that permeated the preceptory. Something in the color of the morning light, the way it seemed to illuminate everything from within, reminded Will of the day he arrived at New Temple.
Saddle-sore and weary from the fortnight’s ride from Edinburgh, he and his father had ridden down out of the Middlesex Forest, through cornfields and vineyards to see London stretched out before them. It had been autumn then too, the leaves russet-red on the branches. They had stopped to water their horses at a stream and Will had stared down over the sprawling city in wonder. Outside the walls, to the right, he had glimpsed several impressive estates stretched along the sweeping riverbanks, one of which he had guessed must be the Temple. Everything had looked so large and grand and hallowed that Will had imagined angels, not men, dwelling within the buildings. He had turned to his father, exalted, and had been met with that same sad blankness in James’s face that he had been confronted with for months.
Will pushed the memory aside with effort. Once the shadow took hold it was difficult to shake and he refused to let that darkness in today. Catching sight of Garin in the line of sergeants filing out of the chapel grounds, he ran down the steps, forcing a smile.
Garin looked around as Will ran up beside him. “Are you coming to the armory?”
Will caught
Will shuffled uncomfortably as the priest launched into a reading of the scriptures. He had sat through seven of these readings every day for two years, and that didn’t include Mass, which they heard once a day after the office of Sext, or the vespers and vigils said for the dead each afternoon. Still the readings didn’t seem to get any shorter. There were also special services for festivals: the Christ Mass; Epiphany; the Feast of the Annunciation; the Feast of the Assumption; the Feast of St. John the Baptist, to name but a few. At least with those, there was always a good meal to look forward to afterward.
A spider in a crack between the flagstones, disturbed by Will’s shuffling, scuttled toward the effigies of knights that were imprisoned in the floor of the nave, solemnity carved into their faces, granite swords at their chests. The nave was a lofty, circular chamber, ringed with the stone heads of sinners and demons that leered from the walls, faces contorted in various expressions of pain and malevolence. It opened out into a choir aisle that led to the altar. Pillars divided the aisle, rising to the vaulted ceiling, and the benches between were filled with knights.
Eventually, the priest raised his hands. “Arise, brothers. Humble servants of God, defenders of the true faith and upholders of the Divine Law. Arise as we say the Paternoster.”
Will rose, legs tingling, to recite the Lord’s Prayer. His voice joined with those of the other two hundred and sixty men in the chapel, their words colliding until they spoke as one in a voice that was as resonant as the surging of the sea.
“Pax vobiscum!”
There was a scuffle of feet as the priest shut the breviary, signaling the close of the office.
Will waited impatiently with the other sergeants for the knights to go. When it was the turn of his row to leave, he hastened out, jostling his fellows. After the chapel’s gloom the sun seemed overly bright and he shaded his eyes as he stepped through the archway. The sergeants were heading in a line behind the knights, making their way to the Great Hall to break their fast. The buildings around the main courtyard were golden in the autumn morning. The sky was a magnificent, hazy blue, and the smell of ripe apples and plums in the orchards was a sweet perfume masking the general odor of sweat and horse dung that permeated the preceptory. Something in the color of the morning light, the way it seemed to illuminate everything from within, reminded Will of the day he arrived at New Temple.
Saddle-sore and weary from the fortnight’s ride from Edinburgh, he and his father had ridden down out of the Middlesex Forest, through cornfields and vineyards to see London stretched out before them. It had been autumn then too, the leaves russet-red on the branches. They had stopped to water their horses at a stream and Will had stared down over the sprawling city in wonder. Outside the walls, to the right, he had glimpsed several impressive estates stretched along the sweeping riverbanks, one of which he had guessed must be the Temple. Everything had looked so large and grand and hallowed that Will had imagined angels, not men, dwelling within the buildings. He had turned to his father, exalted, and had been met with that same sad blankness in James’s face that he had been confronted with for months.
Will pushed the memory aside with effort. Once the shadow took hold it was difficult to shake and he refused to let that darkness in today. Catching sight of Garin in the line of sergeants filing out of the chapel grounds, he ran down the steps, forcing a smile.
Garin looked around as Will ran up beside him. “Are you coming to the armory?”
Will caught
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