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money to buy any more.’
    Jacques had pressed his lips together. Gerald knew this sort of thing troubled him, filling the more experienced soldier with a sense of foreboding. As far they both knew, there was no shortage of money for the rival army under William, and money represented power, especially when it came to outfitting an army.
    Mr Mahon asked, ‘How can I help you? Are you looking for anything in particular?’
    Now that he was here, Gerald wasn’t so sure of himself. He was struck by the leather covers, some of which seemed to be inscribed in gold lettering. Everything looked so expensive, and he fretted that he might waste this learned man’s time.
    ‘Well, I thought I might look at your Bibles, that is, if you have any?’
    Mr Mahon smiled. ‘But of course I do. They are my biggest sellers. Step right this way.’
    As Gerald stepped forward there was a cry of protest from a dark bundle near his feet – a dark bundle with claws.
    ‘Ow!’ cried Gerald in fright, quickly following this up with an embarrassed apology. ‘I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t see him.’
    ‘Do not blame yourself, my boy!’
    Mr Mahon stood over his cat and waggled his finger at it. ‘Odysseus, what do you mean by hiding yourself there? Can you blame this young chap for walking on you? Have some sense, sir!’
    The cat meowed in a tone that could only be described as rude.
    ‘Please accept my apologies, Master Gerald. I am afraid that I have spoiled him.’
    Gerald could hear Jacques and Nancy tittering behind him as he fell in behind the bookseller who led him to a small shelf of Bibles.
    ‘Here you are, some of the finest Bibles available. Of course, I imagine that the big ones are too bulky to carry around but, see here, these little ones can easily be carried in a pocket.’
    The bookseller was right; there were at least three squat, thick Bibles that would fit into the palm of his hand. Gently, Gerald pulled one free from its companions and instinctively raised it to his nose to sniff the almost transparent pages. Father Nicholas had taught him how to appreciate books, telling his pupil, ‘I’d rather the smell of a new book over any flower – may God forgive me!’
    Next, Gerald let the book fall open. The print was tiny, to be sure, but its cover was mottled in reddish hues and, well,it just felt right. He was not in a rush to query the price of the Bible and allowed his eyes to travel over the other books on the shelf. Right at the end, he spied a much thinner book squashed up between a large, imposing book about the Gospels and the wooden slat that signified the break in the shelving.
    Gerald reached for it, almost crushing his fingers as he worked the book free until, finally, out it came, toppling into his hand, no doubt glad to have escaped its ample neighbour. It was only then that Gerald realised there was no way he could put it back as the Gospels book seemed to have somehow expanded leaving absolutely no room.
    It was a prayer book and much more decorative than the Bible which Gerald placed gingerly on the table behind him. The cover felt almost soft, like a cushion, and was tinged with gold, glistening in the drab light of the nearest oil lamp. The back of his neck tingled when he read the name on the opening page: Saint Teresa of Avila – his sister’s favourite saint.
    Cait collected saints like Gerald used to collect rocks. Father Nicholas usually helped with this, returning from his trips abroad with pamphlets and books that he thought she might appreciate. She once said that Saint Teresa was an inspiration to women everywhere because she wrote several important books and helped to found convents all overSpain. Cait also admired her because: ‘She did not allow herself to be pushed into marriage, preferring to keep herself free to pursue her own work.’
    Gerald could not imagine either of his parents attempting to push their daughter into doing anything she didn’t want to.
    The Spanish saint was a