Free The Chapel of Bones: (Knights Templar 18) by Michael Jecks Page B

the floor and curving back towards the wall, and she watched it dully for a few minutes. The idea of going outside to fetch water and empty her bladder was unappealing.
    A widow must shift for herself, though. She embraced her boys, pulling them to her. Eight-year-old Dan was reluctant, as though such behaviour was too immature for him now he was the master of the house, but three-year-old Elias was enthusiastic, as always, and his arms gave Sara a strange feeling of comfort; she had found herself desperate for the little boy’s hugs since Saul’s death. He wanted as much of her warmth as he could take, and he happily snuggled closer. Then, when Dan had already risen and was trying to strike a spark from his flint and dagger, Sara finally eased herself up and pulled her old cloak about her, tucking the bedclothes in around Elias. She kissed him, then went to the door and peered out.
    Rain was falling like spears, pelting into the mud about the huts. All was so wet, it was like staring at the sea. She shivered and pulled her cloak tighter, and hurried outside. Behind herhut was a little lean-to shack with her wood neatly stored on either side. Here she squatted over the hole Saul had dug for them when he built this little home for his family, and cleaned herself as best she could with a damp rag. Grabbing a bucket, she ran out to the walls near the West Gate, filled it with water and carried it back home up the hill, careful not to slip on the wet cobbles. Manure lying on the streets could make walking hazardous in this weather.
    She was soaked. Still, at least Dan had managed to light the fire. The room was already filled with smoke as the dry tinder caught and started to singe the bits and pieces of wood shaving he’d put over them. He was still crouched on all fours, arse in the air, head down, like a puppy begging to play, when she entered.
    Tipping a little water into her ewer, she rinsed her face, then grabbed a reluctant Elias and washed his face too. Dan would do his own later. Her children were always hungry. It was not something that would improve, she knew. So many children died too young to have ever known a full belly. Of all her friends about this city, not one hadn’t lost a child. All knew the pain of loss, just as she did herself. Her only daughter, little Claricia, had died just before her second birthday. It had been a close thing for Elias, too.
    ‘Oh God, let us find some food today!’ she murmured under her breath.
    It was two weeks since Saul’s death, and still she found herself willing him back, as though he had gone travelling and must soon return. Somehow, she couldn’t quite believe that she’d never see him again.
    Dan was coping with the loss. He was a little rock, he was. Strong, he had nodded when he was told, and then sniffed a little, before declaring that he would have to start breaking upthe firewood as his father always had before. He felt the responsibility of being master of the family very strongly. Bless him, he’d even borrowed old Jen’s hatchet, since he couldn’t lift Saul’s axe.
    Elias was too small to understand. He had seen dead men before, of course, but he somehow thought of them as something else. His own father couldn’t have gone. Sara had seen the disbelief in his eyes as she told him. He’d listened as she explained he was dead and couldn’t come home again, and then he’d asked for some food, and while he chewed his bread, he said, ‘It’s all right, he’s bound to come back soon.’
    The funeral was a blur. She’d seen little, her eyes were so fogged with tears, and when they carried her husband’s pathetic half-body outside, the heavens had opened again. There were inches of water in the grave, and a man nearly fell in as they were settling his body in his hole. Sara had stood there staring down at him, trying to remember his smile, his kind brown eyes, his mouth fixed in that half-smile he always wore. She tried to remember his hands about her