a_t_rain

For

angevin2, who gave me the idea in a comment some time back.

Father Gerard’s first day in Canterbury was not going well.

The way Father Martin had explained it, his duties had sounded simple enough: keep the pilgrims in line, make sure they bought their relics of St. Thomas from the cathedral shop and not from any of the entrepreneurs setting up stalls outside, and on no account allow anybody to disturb the archbishop.

He was pretty sure the archbishop would be disturbed by the fellow playing “Women, Women, Love of Women” on the bagpipes. When he saw Father Gerard coming, the piper switched abruptly into the Angelus ad Virginem.

“Excuse me,” said Father Gerard. “No busking in the cathedral!”

“D’you mean to stop me, then?” demanded the piper. He was the biggest man Father Gerard had ever seen, with a fiery red beard, a wart on his nose, and great, muscular arms.

“On second thought, I suppose not,” said Father Gerard. “Carry on, but stick to holy songs. Er, if you please.” In any case, the pardoner who had actually set up shop inside the cathedral seemed like a more urgent priority. He was conveniently scrawny, with lank flaxen hair and a high voice.

“Relics, relics, get your relics of St. Thomas here! Get a piece of his swaddling-clouts for only four shillings, and I’ll throw a pardon into the bargain, guaranteed to get you into heaven or your money back! And this, my good brethren and sistren, is one of the cloths St. Thomas’s mother used to wipe his –”

“AHEM!” said Father Gerard. “The only authentic relics of St. Thomas are for sale in the cathedral shop. You'll pass through it on your way to the exit. If you buy from this man, how do you know what you’re getting?”

“Ah!” cried the pardoner. “We seem to have an expert on St. Thomas here! Tell me, good sir, where was he born?”

“In Cheapside,” said Father Gerard, “but I hardly see how that is rele–”

“And I’ve just come from Cheapside, not two days since, so you know my relics are the freshest ones available. You don’t want some old stale relics that have been sitting in Canterbury Cathedral since before the man himself was murdered, do you now?”

Father Gerard was so baffled by the logic of this pronouncement that he could do nothing more than sputter for a moment – at which point another voice, a woman’s, rose from the crowd of pilgrims. “I demand to see the Archbishop of Canterbury!”

Father Gerard hastened to block the way to the archbishop’s offices. “Madam, if I can help you with anything –”

The woman proved to be a nun, dragging a little priest along by his collar. Two other women, another nun and a laywoman in scarlet hose and an enormous hat, were trying to hold her back.

Father Gerard pushed and the woman in the hat pulled, and they finally managed to bring the angry nun to a stop.

“I am the prioress of St. Leonard’s, and I have a complaint to make against my priest!”

“Very well, madam Prioress. I will hear it, in the archbishop’s name.”

“Are you French?” asked the angry nun eagerly, noticing his accent. She let loose a torrent of Cockney-accented French, of which Father Gerard understood about one word in ten.

“Madam, I speak English,” said Father Gerard, trying to stem the flood of words with his hands. “I suggest we proceed in that language, lest your priest be unable to understand the charges against him. What has he done?”

“He turned me into a chicken!”

“Eglantine, don’t be a fool,” said the woman in the hat. “He turned all of us into chickens. You’re the only one who can’t take a joke.”

Father Gerard stared at the women, wondering whether his English was as good as he had thought it was. “I take it you got better?” he ventured at last.

“I shall never get better!” declared Eglantine. “I have never been so insulted in my life, and by a man sent to serve and obey me! I demand that he be defrocked forthwith!”

“I am sorry to hear that, madam. But – ah – do I understand you are charging this priest with black magic? I do ask you to consider carefully before you answer, for that is a very serious accusation, especially against one in holy orders –”

The woman in the hat was doubled over laughing, and even the second nun looked amused. “Pardon, Father, but I think you are under a misapprehension. My lady Prioress means that he represented her as a chicken in a satirical tale. We were having a storytelling contest, you see. Perhaps it got out of hand, but I thought it a harmless amusement, and a good way to teach virtue to those who would hear.”

“I see,” said Father Gerard, feeling that the world had returned to normal again. “Well – ah – I am afraid, madam, there is no canon against satire, nor against storytelling contests, so he cannot be punished. But, sir priest, if you are attached to the convent of St. Leonard's, you are charged to obey the Prioress. I should try to avoid offending her in the future.”

“Oh, I will,” said the little priest – flashing Father Gerard a smirk that said, all too plainly, But it was worth it.

“Come, girls,” said the woman in the hat, “let’s taste some of the good ale of Canterbury; I hear it is famous. Thank you for hearing her complaint, Father. You’ve good legs for a priest, by the way. We’ll be at the sign of the Unicorn, should you be in want of a drink and good company.” She gave Father Gerard a wink, and swept out with the others.

Father Gerard leaned against one of the columns, feeling wholly exhausted.

“Excuse me, sir,” said one of the acolytes, “but we need you to deal with this madwoman from Lynn at once. She does nothing but cry, and it is disturbing the archbishop...”