“God’s will, as explained to me by my superiors.”
“Which superior told you to deny Saint Adolphus a temporary resting place in your church?”
“My bishop.”
“Wynstan.”
“Yes.”
Wynstan had ordered the priest to do this—and, worse, he had probably sent the same message to every church between Glastonbury and Dreng’s Ferry. He must have moved quickly, to get word out so fast. And for what purpose? Merely to make it difficult for Aldred to raise money? Was there no limit to the bishop’s malice?
Aldred turned his back on the priest. The poor man was more terrified of Wynstan than he was of Saint Adolphus, and Aldred did not blame him. But Aldred was not ready to give up. The villagers were waiting for a spectacle, and Aldred was going to give them one. If it could not be in the church, it would just have to be outside.
He spoke quietly to Edgar. “The mechanism will work with the effigy on the cart, won’t it?”
“Yes,” said Edgar. “It will work anywhere.”
“Then get ready.”
Aldred moved in front of the cart, faced the villagers, looked around as they fell silent, and started to pray. He began in Latin. They did not understand the words but they were used to that: in fact the Latin would convince doubters, if there were any, that this was a genuine church service.
Then he switched to English. “O most omnipotent and eternal God, who reveals to us through the merits of Saint Adolphus your mercy and compassion, may your saint intercede for us.”
He said the Lord’s Prayer, and the villagers joined in.
After the prayers, Aldred told the story of the saint’s life and death. Only the bare facts were known, but Aldred embroidered freely. He portrayed the Saxon king as a raging egomaniac and Adolphus as amazingly sweet-tempered and pure-hearted, which could not have been far from the truth, he felt sure. He credited Adolphus with numerous invented miracles, believing that the saint must have performed them or similar wonders. The crowd was rapt.
Finally he addressed the saint personally, reminding people that Adolphus was actually present here in Trench village, moving among them, watching and listening. “O holy Adolphus, if there is anyone here, in the Christian village of Trench, who is feeling grief today, we beg you to bring consolation.”
This was Edgar’s cue. Aldred wanted to look back, but resisted the temptation, trusting Edgar to do what had been arranged.
Aldred made his voice boom out over the crowd. “If there is anyone here who has lost something precious, we beg you, O holy saint, to restore it.”
Behind him he heard faint creaking, which told him that Edgar, behind the cart, was pulling smoothly on a stout cord.
“If there is anyone here who has been robbed or cheated, bring justice.”
Suddenly there was a reaction. In the crowd, people began to point at the cart. Others stepped back, murmuring in surprise. Aldred knew why: the effigy, which had been lying on its back on the cart’s flat bed, was beginning to rise up, emerging from its wraps.
“If anyone here is sick, bring healing.”
Everyone in front of Aldred was staring past him in shock. He knew what they were looking at. He had rehearsed this many times with Edgar. The feet of the effigy remained on the cart but the body tilted upward. Edgar could be seen pulling on a cord, but the mechanism he was operating was not visible. To peasants who had never seen pulleys and levers, the statue seemed to be rising up of its own volition.
There was a collective gasp, and Aldred guessed the face had appeared.
“If anyone is tormented by demons, cast them out!”
Aldred had agreed with Edgar that the effigy’s rise would begin slowly then speed up; and now, as it stood upright with a jerk, the eyes came into clear view. A woman screamed and two children ran away. Several dogs barked in fear. Half the people crossed themselves.
“If there is anyone here who has committed a sin, turn your gaze upon him, O holy saint, and give him the courage to confess!”
A young woman near the front fell to her knees and moaned, staring up at the blue-eyed statue. “It was I who stole it,” she said. Tears streamed down her face. “I stole Abbe’s knife. I’m sorry, forgive me, I’m sorry.”
From the back of the crowd came the indignant voice of another woman. “Frigyth! You!”
Aldred had not been expecting this. He had hoped for a miraculouscure. However, Saint Adolphus had given him something different, so he would improvise. “The saint has touched your heart, sister,” he announced. “Where is the stolen knife?”
“In my house.”
