Free All Fall Down by Sally Nicholls Page B

Several bags sit open on the earth floor, clothes and books and other interesting-looking objects spilling out of them. The boy-priest is tumbled on to the floor, under Sir John’s ale barrel, which is spilling ale out on to the floor and over his hose.
    â€œ Benedicte! ” he says, then he sees me there in the doorway. “I mean—”
    â€œIt’s all right,” I tell him. “I don’t mind you swearing. Here—” And I go and help him heave the ale barrel up and off him. He’s a man nearly grown, but I’m stronger than he is.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he says. “I only arrived last night, and there’s so much to do. There are so many people who need visiting. And I don’t know where anything is. I’m still studying, really, but so many priests are dying. I mean—” He stops and looks confused.
    â€œIt’s fine,” I tell him. “I know there aren’t many priests left. And I wouldn’t bring the oil and candles if I were you; I’d save them for people who are actually dying.” He looks at me so gratefully that I stand up a little straighter. “I’m Isabel,” I tell him. “And don’t worry. I’ll look after you.”
    â€œThank you,” he says, very seriously, though I can see a smile puckering at his lips. “I’m Simon de Marcham. And I’d be very grateful if you’d show me where your friend’s mother lives.”
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    Robin’s little house sits closed like a treasure chest between the baker’s and the forge. Next door, Robert Smith is leading a horse around the forge-yard, trying to calm it down. The horse snorts and tosses its head, perhaps sensing the disquiet around it.
    The young priest – Simon – fumbles with the catch of the gate. I lean over and open it for him.
    â€œYou can go home now,” he says. “Don’t stay.”
    â€œAll right,” I say, but I wait at the gate as he goes up to the house. The door opens a crack, but I’m too far away to see anything but darkness inside. Simon the priest goes into the house, and the door shuts behind him.

15. Kisses Against the Night
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    F our more people fell sick yesterday, and eight today. One of John Dyer’s oxen fell down dead on the green, and no one would go near it to bury it. One of Agnes’s chickens was stolen in the night by one of the exiles from York, or some other village in the south. The bell rang out twice for the dead this morning, and once this evening. I don’t even know who the last bell was for.
    It’s worse at the abbey. Amabel Dyer says she heard ten monks died. Emma Baker says eighteen, and thirteen of the exiles. Agnes says, if God is punishing those monks, they must have done something terribly wicked.
    â€œI heard they were sleeping with devils ,” she whispers, at the well, and I clench my fists to stop myself from answering. Father says she’s talking nonsense.
    â€œAll those sick folk in the infirmary, no wonder they’re dying.”
    I worry that Geoffrey is dead. I want to go up to the abbey and see, but Father won’t let me.
    â€œNot while the sickness is there,” he says. “I’m serious,
Isabel! There’s time enough to worry about Geoffrey when this is over.”
    I don’t understand how he can bear not to know, but I know he means it.
    We don’t hear anything more from Robin. I go and leave food and water on his doorstep every day. The second evening, Alice catches me with the bread under my arm.
    â€œSo it’s you who’s taking it! I didn’t think it was Ned. Where’s it going, then?”
    â€œRobin’s house.” I brace myself for anger, for Alice to tell me how stupid I’m being. But she just stands there, biting her lip.
    Then she says, “They’ll need ale as well—” And she goes and fills me up her favourite green flagon.