The Saltergate Psalter by Chris Nickson Page B

mothers are sisters.’
    ‘That doesn’t always mean much.’
    ‘True enough,’ he agreed with a nod. ‘But the pair of them were closer than most brothers. Born the same year, grew up together.’
    ‘And was Christian as bad as Julian?’
    ‘Not as bad. You’ve heard the tale?’
    ‘Only a little of it, Father.’
    ‘Probably enough. Stories always grow bigger in the telling.’ A flutter of wind ruffled his black cassock. ‘Are you old enough to remember what things were like after the pestilence?’
    ‘Yes,’ John answered. Walter shook his head.
    ‘Those were good days for lawless men,’ the priest sad with a sigh. ‘Or for those who wanted to be.’
    ‘Julian and Christian wanted to be?’
    ‘Julian did. He’d always been wild, the way some boys are, but his parents stopped the worst of it. After they died …’ He shook his head.
    ‘What about Christian?’ John wondered.
    ‘He was always easily led.’ The priest sighed. ‘But he was never as bad as his cousin. There are plenty of folk who still resent him for those times, though. And he’s a hard man to work for.’
    ‘But the villagers never demanded that Christian leave?’
    ‘No. The lord had appointed him as steward by then, so there wasn’t much we could do. Getting rid of Julian was enough. There’s been no trouble here since then.’
    ‘Christian and Julian often talk together at the Saturday market,’ Walter said and the priest nodded.
    ‘That doesn’t surprise me. The kind of bond they had doesn’t vanish.’ The father turned to John. ‘Why are you so interested in Julian?’
    ‘Something he might have done. But even if he did it I don’t think I’ll ever be able to prove it. Tell me, do you remember someone called Nicholas? He was from here.’
    ‘No. Perhaps it was before my time here.’
    ‘Who owns the manor?’
    ‘Sir Alexander de Sèvres. Not that we ever see him from year to year. He has most of the land from here to Doncaster. But it’s the steward who takes care of it for him.’
    Just like so many lords, who never saw their property. John stood.
    ‘Thank you for your time, Father.’
    ‘May God go with you and help you.’
    They left him in the shade, staring into the distance.
    ‘Are we going to see Christian now?’ Walter asked as they strode back down the hill.
    ‘No,’ John answered. ‘I doubt he’d be willing to tell us anything about Julian. Not if they’re as close as people say. And we’ve already learned a lot.’ He clapped the boy on the shoulder. ‘Let’s go home. You must have messages to deliver.’
    ‘I like working with you.’ The lad beamed.
    ‘We’ve finished for today. You might as well make some use of it.’
    • • •
    After the peace of the countryside, Chesterfield seemed dirty and crowded. He watched Walter run off, then turned on to Saltergate. Later he’d go to find the pedlar and hear his story. For now, though, he needed rest. His arm ached and his head seemed heavy; the morning had started too early.
    The girls were working, spinning wool as Katherine watched them and mended a pile of linen. Up in the solar, stripped to his shirt and braies, John lay on the bed and closed his eyes. The window was open, the air warm and lulling. A few minutes later he felt her settle next to him.
    ‘The news is all over town,’ she said. ‘Martha came and told me.’ She giggled. ‘I think she was hoping you’d be here to get all the gossip.’
    He smiled softly and felt sleep take him

    He woke with a weight on his chest and the soft sound of purring. He opened his eyes to see a cat staring into his face, kneading his shirt softly with its paws. It was small, hardly more than a kitten, a tabby with dark stripes over the grey fur and a blaze of white on its nose. The rough little tongue licked his hand. Tenderly, he placed it on the blanket while he dressed, then went down to the hall with the animal cradled in his arm.
    Martha and the girls were on the settle. They had