Conspiracies of Rome a-1
Page 37
The robe he wore when killed is on display in Canterbury. I’ve never been able to bring myself to look at this. But I’m told it still works the occasional miracle.
I went into the chapel last night, here in Jarrow. I lit a candle and thought to pray to the Holy Saint Maximin. Perhaps I did pray. In the darkness lit only by that single flickering light, I felt for just a moment so close to him that I could almost reach out and touch him and hear his loud and cheerful voice.
But the moment passed. And I was just an old man, alone in the gloom, waiting for the final darkness.
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