Sentence the Threehundredandninetysixth

And that was how, tired and dispirited, each subject to the different emotions aroused within them by the harrowing events which their minds were still finding it difficult to make some sense of, they arrived at the church of St Mary of Wedale, newly rebuilt and consecrated in 1242, it was much

plainer than the, to their eyes, more familiar one, built on the same site and remembered from visits to old Jimmy and Ainslie Thin at Ashlea; on the knoll where the church stood, they could see the packhorse bridge over Gala Water, and sensed that some things stay the same despite the shifting sands of time; “oh yes,” said Tavish and startled himself when the girls looked round and he realised that he had spoken aloud, and was momentarily annoyed at this example of simple gaucherie, so spoke up: “I was just thinking how it's funny when the little details can remain, like the wee bridge,

while bigger and more substantial ones crumble to dust and are replaced by something quite different,” and, realizing that he was babbling, he came to an abrupt stop and, just like Tammy and Bernie, let himself become one with the valley and this very present moment which lasted until there was a cough and they turned to see a priest standing behind them at the open door of the Church; he 
indicated they should follow him, then turned and entered the building; within it was no warmer than the morning dawning outside – the priest led them through to the Vestry where he offered them wine and asked how far they had travelled: “well, Father,” said Tavish, wondering how much he could dissemble, two days having passed since they had left Melrose, making a circuitous journey and keeping ever on the watch for search parties, “Brother Bede at Melrose asked me to say 'good morrow', if ever I found myself in these parts,” and he paused, seeing the priest smile, and then ask:“what exactly did he ask you to say?” and the priest waited: “Brother Bede said I should tell you 'when the dead are buried, it is time to make room for the living', I don't know the origin of the phrase, but I pass it on to you, Father,” and the priest nodded: “I am Father Boisel, named after the Blessed Saint, I hasten to add, not his reincarnation, and I am Bede's younger brother, and as he has vouched for you so eminently, I accept care of you – it is from Origen, slightly different spelling, different pronunciation, and it speaks volumes. telling me all I need to know – search parties came by here the day before yesterday so I know what you have done and while I can never condone Murder, there are times when the only way to deal with a serpent is to crush it's head, as I believe you accomplished with two of the vilest creatures to have walked the earth; if you wish me to hear your confession, my Son, I will be able to give you absolution,” and Tavish nodded, “I admit, I am not of your faith, but I submit to your authority, Father Boisel, my concern is for the safety of my daughter and her dearest friend,” and he indicated Tammy and Bernie who, he suddenly realised, were shivering, “is there anywhere warm where we may try to ease the chill from our bones, while not putting you at risk yourself?” and Father Boisel laughed: “to be a priest in these turbulent times is to always be at risk, my friend, and I have never been one to shrink from duty for fear of what retribution I may bring on my head, so, you are a scrutable man, so come, you need food, shelter and safety, and that is the very least that I can offer you – my wife's kale pot is ever on the boil and she will have baked already this morning, so you may break bread with us,” and so saying, led them into a plain but cheery house, where several small children played around the feet of a cheerful-looking
woman who was stirring a large cauldron which hung from a hook above the fire, and the smell of new bread increased their hunger pangs; “sit, commanded father Boisel, and you may introduce yourselves to us!”