quieted on seeing me. I had not thought how I must look, stained with other men's blood, drenched with it.
'Let God provide,’ I think I said. 'I will have no death upon my head. If they want me, here I am.'
And even as I spoke, I felt another thrust of pain, like to a spearpoint thrusting through. It weakened and tore. I felt myself bow to it, unknowingly. 'Let God provide,' I think I said. 'Here is your church behind our backs. I claim the right of sanctuary in the name of your saint, who is patron to all things lost and found. Let those who built your church and those who worship there honor its pledge.'
And a second wave, a new gush of blood, forced me to my knees, no weapon this to cause such pain, save only that which God uses against all womenkind when their time is come. Except I knew it untimely come, too soon, and fear gripped my vitals in a vice.
God, I think, put the thought and words into my brain, as he has done before, to save us. The right of sanctuary is as old as men, and few are so impious as to disdain its claim. Certainly not the townsfolk of Saint Purnace. As Walter had pointed out, they were no less superstitious than other men and they were proud of their saint and his miracles. To invoke his name was to touch upon their honor, too. And then, to condemn men to certain death was one thing; they might have watched Raoul and his men hacked down without remorse. To condemn a woman, great with child, is grievous sin, to cut off an unborn soul from grace is an offence to God; but to kill a woman at her birthing is an affront to God and man. When they realized what was happening to me, there, before their eyes, they might think again. All these ideas then, although perhaps without form, without name, made them hesitate. But there was one thing else that made them pause. As for its worth, count it more or less than these other reasons as your own tastes dictate. For, since in townspeople's affairs there are always factions, sides, old enmities waiting a chance, old quarrels rising afresh, a town quarrel was to rescue us.
A second group of men burst through the first, as resolute, as armed as the others were. 'Stand-back, masters,' their spokesman cried. A tall, broad-shouldered man he was, with calm face, short-cropped black beard, small, sharp eyes. His voice had an air of authority. He spoke out words as if they were made of stone, to be hewn in shape and made to last. 'You do yourselves harm,' he said, turning to face the mob, 'and those who urge you on are fools.'
The effect was like cold water flung. Those who before had cried the loudest now began to shout his name. 'Master Edward,’ they cried, 'Master Edward, our guild master. Hear him.' But others shouted, 'He and his stone workers have most to gain. Pay no heed but thrust Count Raoul out.' He held up his hand, imposing in his short fur-lined gown, not as long as a knight's, better made than a serf's, silver-belted about his broad waist. His men stood their ground behind him. I have seen Raoul's men stand thus to back their lord; these men would be as hard to budge.
'My lord Count,' he turned now to face Lord Raoul, 'my lord, although I think you have greater English titles that come not now to mind, many have been the prayers said in our church for your safe return. Saint Purnace is a free town; we are not part of your lord's domain, yet your forefathers since time began have been benefactors of our church and town. Disgrace it would be for us to betray you and your lady wife. The greater disgrace since we have had nothing but good from you.'
He swung back to face the townsfolk who listened to him, open-mouthed. 'And greater disgrace,' he roared at them, 'if we deny our patron saint. This church was of my father's make. I know every stone that houses the holy relics beneath the high altar. I helped cut and shape its tower. Now, by Saint Purnace, whom we all love and revere, shall we deny
'Let God provide,’ I think I said. 'I will have no death upon my head. If they want me, here I am.'
And even as I spoke, I felt another thrust of pain, like to a spearpoint thrusting through. It weakened and tore. I felt myself bow to it, unknowingly. 'Let God provide,' I think I said. 'Here is your church behind our backs. I claim the right of sanctuary in the name of your saint, who is patron to all things lost and found. Let those who built your church and those who worship there honor its pledge.'
And a second wave, a new gush of blood, forced me to my knees, no weapon this to cause such pain, save only that which God uses against all womenkind when their time is come. Except I knew it untimely come, too soon, and fear gripped my vitals in a vice.
God, I think, put the thought and words into my brain, as he has done before, to save us. The right of sanctuary is as old as men, and few are so impious as to disdain its claim. Certainly not the townsfolk of Saint Purnace. As Walter had pointed out, they were no less superstitious than other men and they were proud of their saint and his miracles. To invoke his name was to touch upon their honor, too. And then, to condemn men to certain death was one thing; they might have watched Raoul and his men hacked down without remorse. To condemn a woman, great with child, is grievous sin, to cut off an unborn soul from grace is an offence to God; but to kill a woman at her birthing is an affront to God and man. When they realized what was happening to me, there, before their eyes, they might think again. All these ideas then, although perhaps without form, without name, made them hesitate. But there was one thing else that made them pause. As for its worth, count it more or less than these other reasons as your own tastes dictate. For, since in townspeople's affairs there are always factions, sides, old enmities waiting a chance, old quarrels rising afresh, a town quarrel was to rescue us.
A second group of men burst through the first, as resolute, as armed as the others were. 'Stand-back, masters,' their spokesman cried. A tall, broad-shouldered man he was, with calm face, short-cropped black beard, small, sharp eyes. His voice had an air of authority. He spoke out words as if they were made of stone, to be hewn in shape and made to last. 'You do yourselves harm,' he said, turning to face the mob, 'and those who urge you on are fools.'
The effect was like cold water flung. Those who before had cried the loudest now began to shout his name. 'Master Edward,’ they cried, 'Master Edward, our guild master. Hear him.' But others shouted, 'He and his stone workers have most to gain. Pay no heed but thrust Count Raoul out.' He held up his hand, imposing in his short fur-lined gown, not as long as a knight's, better made than a serf's, silver-belted about his broad waist. His men stood their ground behind him. I have seen Raoul's men stand thus to back their lord; these men would be as hard to budge.
'My lord Count,' he turned now to face Lord Raoul, 'my lord, although I think you have greater English titles that come not now to mind, many have been the prayers said in our church for your safe return. Saint Purnace is a free town; we are not part of your lord's domain, yet your forefathers since time began have been benefactors of our church and town. Disgrace it would be for us to betray you and your lady wife. The greater disgrace since we have had nothing but good from you.'
He swung back to face the townsfolk who listened to him, open-mouthed. 'And greater disgrace,' he roared at them, 'if we deny our patron saint. This church was of my father's make. I know every stone that houses the holy relics beneath the high altar. I helped cut and shape its tower. Now, by Saint Purnace, whom we all love and revere, shall we deny
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