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on Judgement Day, ‘They forfeit that blessed right when they set their feet on the paths of sin.’
    ‘Surely you overlook forgiveness?’ Josse persisted. ‘Did Our Lord not order us to forgive those who trespass against us?’
    The expression on the Abbess’s face should have warned him; she was frowning so hard that her brows almost collided. And she was right, Josse reflected; it was folly to have opened a debate on ecclesiastical philosophy with a fanatical cleric . . .
    ‘But the trespass is not against us, is it, Sir Josse?’ Father Micah’s lean, pale cheeks had taken on a faint flush. ‘The sin is against God Himself, from whom these wretches turn in their madness!’ He paused, breathing deeply, and appeared to be waiting until he was calm once more before continuing. ‘Any man – any woman or child also – who turns from the one True Church and from the knowledge of God commits treason,’ he said eventually, his voice cool and distant. ‘And the penalty for treason is known to all.’
    ‘Death,’ Josse whispered.
    ‘Indeed.’ Father Micah, whose virtually lipless mouth had briefly twisted into a sardonic smile, gave him a brisk nod of approbation, as if rewarding a dull child who had finally and against all expectation come up with the right answer. ‘Death by burning.’
    Josse, momentarily brought to a standstill by the horror of that sort of death, found he had nothing to say. The Abbess, as if she had been waiting for the chance, instantly spoke up. ‘Father Micah, we have detained you far too long,’ she said smoothly, moving as she spoke to go and open the door. ‘I am quite sure you wish to be about your duties, a busy man such as you.’
    At first Josse thought she must be making some sort of a joke and he half expected the priest to drop his frightening intensity and relax his ferocious face into a grin.
    But he didn’t. Getting to his feet with a swish of his long dark robe – which emitted, Josse noticed, a faint smell of old fish – Father Micah nodded curtly to him, gave the Abbess a glance that looked strangely like a sneer and swept out of the room.
    The Abbess walked across the floor and sank into her chair. Josse, closing the door firmly, rested his broad shoulders against it just in case the Father decided to return for one last harangue. ‘And exactly who,’ he asked, ‘is that ?’
    The Abbess had leaned her head against the back of her chair and closed her eyes. Josse watched her anxiously, concerned at the desperation he saw in her face. But then, at first very slowly, she began to smile. Opening her eyes, she looked at Josse and said, ‘That, my dear Sir Josse, friend and deliverer, is our parish priest, the replacement for Father Gilbert.’
    ‘Father Gilbert is . . . ?’ Josse could not bring himself to ask the question.
    ‘Oh, no, no, he’s all right! Well, he’s not, he has broken his ankle and given himself a nasty blow to the head, but he will recover. I pray he hurries up about it!’
    ‘So you’re landed with that cold fish?’ Josse whistled softly. ‘Oh, my lady, I am sorry for you.’
    He had spoken in all sincerity, but to his discomfiture the Abbess began to laugh. ‘Sir Josse, you must excuse me,’ she said after a moment, merriment still lively in her face, ‘but it amuses me that, after but a brief experience of the man, you judge so accurately that he and I are not destined to be friends.’
    ‘To say the least,’ Josse muttered.
    ‘Ah, I am glad to see you!’ She was still smiling widely.
    ‘So it seems. Your deliverer, my lady? What did you mean?’
    ‘I had been praying that someone would come and rescue me before Father Micah talked me into my grave.’ She tried, and failed, to straighten her face. ‘He had been lecturing me for some time on the irredeemable sins committed by fallen women and, I believe, gone on to the even greater sin of heresy, only I confess I had all but ceased to listen. Then in you came, and what