On that August evening of the year 1217, however, the church was still a shell. Some rushes had been strewn on the flagstones, and candles had been lit on the altar. Elena and Dickon were already there, and the child, who was now asleep in Dickon’s arms. Col, the far-sighted swineherd, was also there with the dog nosing his heels; he was staying with them overnight, before he made his way back to his homestead, to see what could be salvaged. He had asked Kate to go with him, for her home had also lain thereabouts, but she preferred to stay with Joanna and keep an eye on Herkom, who she said, neglected himself.
A pedlar had come up the Travellers’ Way that afternoon, and the woman whom Amory had treated for an abscess was kneeling beside him in the church.
That made five people in the congregation. A goodly number, thought Father Ambrose. He hitched up his robe, and began to celebrate Mass.
THE END
My Lord, the Hermit Page 35