The smell of candle making, how she missed that aroma. Lydia want so badly to leap from the cart and go into the shop. Under his breath, James said, "In time, we shall go there." It was a promise, Lydia would hold onto. James did not promise things he could not do. As they passed by the shop, she craned her neck and looked at it until, the only way she could see it was if she turned around. In her peripheral vision, she could see Antone. He was looking at her. She felt her face begin to flush. Abruptly, she turned around.

Up ahead was a cathedral. It did not have the grandeur of Notre Dame but it was sturdy and solidly built. It looked like a fortress. Brother Matthew exclaimed, “That is Saint-Benigne! It is on the list! James, can we PLEASE stop for Morning Mass?”

“No, we have to secure lodging. Also, I have a letter for Dame Paston’s cousin, Domina Simeon.”

Desperate Brother Matthew asked, “What about later, please? Luke and I have not been to Mass in ever so long. You may not need Spiritual refreshment, but Luke and I do.”

Irritated, James said, “No.”

Beside Lydia, Brother Matthew slumped down. He was furious, but he held his tongue.

Of his own accord, Moses Aaron abruptly stopped in front of Saint-Benigne. James slapped the reigns, but Moses Aaron refused to budge. “So, you think they should go inside old boy?” The mule snorted. "All right then, they can go."

Brother Matthew asked, “Really?"

"Aye."

"Thank you James. Thank you Moses Aaron." He climbed off the cart followed by Lydia and Antone. James remained seated. Brother Matthew asked, "Are you not coming with us?"

“No. Be off with you and come straight out when Mass is over. No dwadling."

"Of course, Uncle," said Antone. He went to the heavy doors and opened them. Lydia and Brother Matthew passed through. Antone was close behind. All at once Lydia felt like she was standing on holy ground. She felt something she had not felt since she had been inside Father Peter's church. It welcomed her body and her spirit with such comforting warmth. Soft shadows draped the space. It felt like coming home. The morning sun had just begun to fill the windows.

Brother Matthew chose seats near the front and they sat down. Unfortunately, or fortunately, Lydia was not sure which, she was between Antone and Brother Matthew. The nearness of Antone was once again doing funny things to her. The temptation to reach over and touch him was so strong, she had to clasp her hands together. She closed hers and tried to pray.

The service began. Lydia opened her eyes. The candle bearers came first. Lydia watched them light the altar candles. The candles were wax. Their tiny flames wavered. Just behind them a young priest wielded the incense. Its fragrance was strong and sweet. The priest came next. He was old, like Father Peter. He turned and faced the congregation. His kind brown eyes smiled at Lydia. It was an instant connection. In a loud voice he proclaimed, “Quem liquidos pelagi grandientem sternere fluctus imperitus, fidumgue regis, trepidumque labantem erigis, et celebrem reddis virtutibus alumum hoc Iubeas rogitante deus contngere portum.”

Beside her, Antone whispered the translation:

When you commanded Peter to walk over watery waves

You bid him to have faith, you raised him up when he began to sink

You restored his fame and kindness of virtues

Praying to you, God, may we also reach our safe harbors.

This felt like a word directly from God. She had been walking on watery waves for such a long time. On the road danger and death always lurked. Her mind turned over the words ‘safe harbor,’ they seemed to echoed inside of her. How long had it been since she had had a safe harbor? For reasons she could not explain, this place, this cathedral felt like a safe harbor. Not just a safe harbor, but her safe harbor.

As the priest spoke, Lydia did not understand everything, but she could hear the compassion in this man's voice. It was a voice she hoped to hear again. When the homily was over, he blessed the elements. It was a mystery that the body and blood of Christ could enter the human body through this ritual, it was not magic, it was something else. The congregation stood and they all moved forward. Lydia stepped before the priest. His eyes met hers with a silent blessing. Holy men such as him, were rare indeed. He put the the bread on her tongue. It was sweet. She turned to the young priest who held the cup. The wine was bitter. It reminded Lydia of her own humanity. The smoke of incense, the smoke of pneuma hovered over the congregation. Lydia closed her eyes. Deep inside she felt the stirring of God’s spirit. When she opened her eyes, rays from morning sun shot through the windows. It filled the cathedral with golden light.

After the service Father Thomas said, “If any pilgrims would like to tour the crypt, follow Brother William and I.”

“I am going,” said Brother Matthew.

“Me too,” said Antone.

Lydia protested, “But we promised James we would leave after Mass.” Neither of them listened to her. She had two choices, she could go outside to James, or follow Father Thomas. Since she might never see Father Thomas again, she chose the latter.

In his magnificent voice, Father Thomas began his recitation of the history of Saint Benigne. He lead them down the aisle, behind a screen and through a door that lead to descending stairs. Cold air rose up from the crypt. With her hand against the wall, Lydia followed the group down the stairs. As they descended into the crypt, Father Thomas told them the story of Sainte Benigne for whom the church had been named. This saint had performed many miracles. Despite her fondness for this Father Thomas' voice, Lydia could not help but think, Of course Sainte Benigne performed many miracles. Saints were supposed to perform miracles, it was their job. At the bottom of the stairs, she prayed she would not have to look at the bones in Sainte Benigne's crypt. She had seen far too many bones on this pilgrimage. If she never saw another human bone again, it would be a blessing.

Below, the crypt was cast in a wavering light. It was likethe light that passed through dense foliage. The crypt was in a room made of three concentric circles. Three was a holy number. Near the ceiling small openings let in morning sun. Columns like tree trunks held up the ceiling. At the top of each column were carvings of men’s faces. When Father Thomas had completed his recitation, they were free to examine the crypt.

Lydia went to one of the columns for a better view of their artistry. In the shadow of the nearest one, she saw a man. He was not just any man, he was the man she had seen in the wood! Was it coincidence? Or had he followed them all this way?

Brother Matthew saw him too and asked, "Cyril, what are you doing here?"

The man stepped out of the shadows with his head tucked down. "It be so good to see tha kind face Broder Matthew. I come here to make a confession."

"Of theft?" asked Brother Matthew.

"Nay. Commandments I dunna broke, but I dunna steal. It were all a lie that young banshee conjured. I know'd things she dunna want told."

Antone asked, "Banshee? What Banshee?"

"Lady Geoffry Paston."

Lydia thought, Lady Geoffry Paston, formerly Lady Bolton. Had the Lady done something wicked or was Cyril just trying to save his own hide?

Brother Matthew asked, "Have you been following us?"

He shrugged and said, "Aye, I dunna know what else to do. No home, no money-" His voice broke off.

Father Thomas asked, "Is there a problem?"

Cyril said, "I need absolution."

Father Thomas motioned to the young priest, Brother William and said, “Please finish the tour. I have a matter to attend to.”

Brother William nodded and directed the pilgrims to the far side of the room. Father Thomas said to Cyril, "Come with me.”

Brother Matthew said, "May I come too?"

Gratitude shone in Cyril's eyes.

Father Thomas asked, "Are you friends?"

Brother Matthew said, "We grew up together."

"Then come along."

Cyril bowed to the group. He cast an eye at Lydia, and gave a little start. So he did remember she had pulled her dagger on him. For some reason a sense of satisfaction filled Lydia.

Father Thomas took Cyril's hand and led him up the stairs. Brother Matthew, Antone and Lydia followed. Once they were back in the sanctuary, Brother Matthew said, “Antone, you best go get James."

"I will." He made his way swiftly down th aisle.

Brother Matthew shook his head. "This is not going to turn out well." Father Thomas and Cyril disappeared behind a screen. Brother Matthew sat down on the front row. Lydia did as well. Like a distant breeze Cyril’s voice rose and fell. She could not understand a word he was saying.

The front doors opened and closed. James and Antone came striding up the aisle. Antone asked, “Where is he?”

Brother Matthew pointed to the side where a screen stood.

“I guess we will have to wait,” said James. He took the seat beside Lydia. Antonesat down beside him. There was nothing they could do but wait.

After what seemed a long while, Cyril appeared from behind the screen. The instant he saw James he blubbered, "I done a bad thing James, but Father Thomas said, God forgives. I have penance to do. I know, and I will do it whatever it is."

James asked, "What have you done Cyril?"

"I stood by and let Lord Geoffrey hang his broder."

Stricken James said, "No! Not Lord Geoffrey!"

"Aye,"

Lydia stood stunned. Cyril was the peasant at the hanging tree. That long ago evening, she had witnessed not a hanging but a murder. This tragedy was as old as Adam and Eve. One son had slain the other. This news would devastate Dame Paston. But, why had Lord George Paston put up no fight?