Free Final Sacrament (Clarenceux Trilogy) by James Forrester Page A

community of which he felt a part. Then he opened his eyes, and resumed his seat.
    A strange gentleman, seated not far away, was looking at him. He had a distinct air of being out of place. He showed no sign of connection to those sitting beside him. His hair color was extraordinary—it was white, even though he was clearly not old. His clothes were just as distracting as his hair: despite the cold, he was not wearing a doublet but only an extremely fine linen shirt embroidered with gold and silk. He seemed not to know how to wear that properly either; the ties at the collar were hanging down and he wore no ruff. His cuffs too were loose. On his lower body he was wearing soft leather breeches and silk netherhosen.
    Clarenceux met the strange gentleman’s gaze twice. The first time he held his eye. The second, he felt uneasy. He glanced at Awdrey, who turned to him. When she understood his expression of concern, and had herself seen the white-haired young man, she shrugged, to say she knew nothing about him. But from the corner of her eye she studied him, watching his movements.
    At the end of the service, Clarenceux and Awdrey led their daughters straight out of the church. The white-haired man was caught in conversation with another gentleman who had been sitting on the benches in the nave, and who wanted to know more about him. He did not catch Clarenceux’s eye again.

7
    Rebecca caught up with Mr. Wheatsheafen after the service in the church in the precincts of Portchester Castle. He was walking back to his lodging slowly, appreciating the sunny morning.
    “Good morrow, Mr. Wheatsheafen. A fine day for December, is it not?”
    He turned around and caught sight of her long brown hair and smiling eyes. “Ah, good morrow, Rebecca. It most certainly is a good day. I was just reflecting that, at my age, one appreciates every day that bit more, regardless of whether the weather be good or bad. One knows one has relatively few days left to enjoy. But if all days are good, then it follows that the fine ones are doubly pleasant.”
    She walked alongside the physician, comfortable with him. He was a good Christian man who genuinely cared for people regardless of their status in the world.
    “Did you see Philip Camp in the congregation?” she asked him. “To think—two weeks ago we did not expect him to live another day.”
    “Indeed, it is something to give thanks for. The Lord is merciful as well as bountiful.”
    Rebecca went on for a few more paces before turning the conversation to her prime concern. “You remember, yesterday, you told me that two young men had been looking for me?”
    “I do.”
    “Can you tell me more about them? Did you notice anything in particular?”
    Wheatsheafen turned to her. “Such as?”
    “Well, I do not know exactly. But…were they kindly disposed toward me?”
    They had reached the gate leading out of the castle. The great gate was closed but a smaller side door was open, allowing people to come and go freely on foot.
    “Well, I would not go so far as to suggest they were unkind,” Wheatsheafen said after thinking hard on the matter, “but nor would I say they were friends of yours. They both had strange accents, from the north, I believe. One of them was—well, ugly. He had swarthy dark skin, like an Egyptian, and his eyes were too close together. I cannot imagine your beautiful brown eyes settling happily on his and not being a little disconcerted. You know what they say about the Egyptians. It is just as well consorting with them has been made a felony.”
    “And the other one?”
    “I can recall only one thing about him—I do not think he was a man.”
    “You mean he was a boy?”
    “No, no. The Egyptian seemed to be taking direction from this smaller, smooth-skinned person, who did not speak at all. I had thought his demeanor odd at the time; being a physician I had looked at his hands—but he was wearing gloves. I also looked at his throat but he had covered it up.