Father Walter hurried to the table where the other two priests sat.

"I've ordered ale," Brother George said. "Let us wait to finalize our business until the wench returns and serves it."

"Agreed!" Father Walter said.

The tavern maid rejoined them, three mugs of ale in her hands. Setting them on the table, she sat down in Father Walter's lap with a giggle. "Do you want a little jog?" she asked him, provocatively wiggling her bottom in his lap.

Father Walter stuck his hand down the girl's gown and pinched her breast. "Aye," he nodded. "Come back later, Violet." Then he tipped her from his lap.

"Here, Violet," Brother George said and handed the wench a coin.

"A silver penny! 'Tis too much for just three mugs of ale, Good Father."

"It's for the ale, and for the pleasure you will give Father Walter later," Brother George said with a grin.

" 'Tis still too much," the girl said slowly.

"Then take what is left over and buy something for your child," Brother George told her quietly.

"How did you know I had a child?" Violet wanted to know.

Brother George shrugged, and the girl bobbed a curtsy before running off. He picked up his mug of ale and drank a deep draft. It was good, which surprised him, for the tavern was so low. "Now, Good Father, to business," Brother George said. "Have you brought the documents I require?"

"I have, but one thing is missing. I do not have the names of the parties involved. Will you add them? Or shall I? I have brought my quill and inkpot."

"Spread your parchments out, and I will tell you the names. You may write them into the document so there is no confusion in the matter," Brother George said. He watched as Father Walter unrolled the parchments. The work was flawless, and there at the bottom of the bill of divorcement was the seal of the archbishop of York. "Your work is excellent," he complimented. "No one will ever know it is a fraud."

"The archbishop's seal makes it quite official even if the old man hasn't authorized such a divorce. The names now?" He set his inkpot on the table and drew out his quill.

"My master's name is Sir Richard Dunn," Brother George said, watching as the priest carefully wrote the name he had been given. "His wife is Mary Anne."

Father Walter added the second name.

"Do you do all of this yourself?" Brother George answered. "The work is so fine."

"I do," Father Walter said. "I should not like to have to share my gains with anyone else. And, too, I should not like a dissatisfied client returning because the fraud was discovered. Your master should not be pleased when he remarries and gets an heir on his new wife to learn the child is a bastard. No! No! I do all my own work."

"And the archbishop's seal? Is it real?"

"His Grace has several seals. I took one once, and no one has been the wiser. No secretariat of a great man is so free from disorganization that everything can be accounted for, which allows for the more enterprising among us," Father Walter admitted. "Now, if you are satisfied, I should like payment for my work. Four gold pieces I believe we agreed upon, and you have given me one as a down payment."

Brother George drew a small pouch from his robes, and as he did Father Walter said, "You said you had also heard of my skills from another. Can you tell me who?"

"A priest named Father Peter, whose master, the lord of Wulfborn Hall, needed a dispensation to wed his son's widow," Brother George said, cupping the pouch in his hand but not yet releasing it to the dishonest priest.

"Aye! I remember him. I was able to extract three payments from his master, for the old fool lusted after his widowed daughter-in-law. It is not often I find someone as gullible as that lordling. If I had only been dealing with him I might have gotten more, but his priest began to get suspicious of the delay, so I turned over the dispensation I had written up for him to Father Peter so he might wed the woman." He laughed. Then held out his hand again. "My gold," Father Walter said.

"I think not," Brother George replied. He turned to the shadows and said, "Have you heard enough, Your Grace?"

The archbishop of York stepped from the dim recess where he had been listening to everything that was said. His two men-at-arms were by his side. "Arrest him!" the archbishop said in a cold voice, "and take him to the cathedral dungeons."

"What is this?" Father Walter cried, jumping back. "You have tricked me! And you have cheated me! A pox on you for it!"

Brother George stepped forward, and reaching out, he grasped the priest by the neckline of his robe. "Where is the gold coin I gave you the other day? You'll have it on you, I know, for you would not hide it for fear it would be stolen. Where is it?" He began to rummage in the pockets of the robe, and then he smiled. "Here it is!" Taking the coin, he stepped back, releasing Father Walter. "I promised Sister Mary Agnes to donate this coin to her convent," he told the archbishop, "and so I shall."

"Before you leave York we must have your testimony, Brother George," the archbishop said to him. "I know time is of the essence to you and so tomorrow you shall be examined by a panel of priests. And you as well, Father Henry." He turned to Father Walter. "You will be defrocked, and then you will be executed as a warning to others who consider dishonesty," he told Father Walter. "Take him away!"

"Help! Help!" the dishonest priest cried, drawing the attention of others in the tavern as he was dragged forward.

The archbishop followed, saying in a loud voice, "This is church business, my children. This unworthy priest has stolen and lied."

"Make way for His Grace, the archbishop!" Brother George said as he stepped before York's prelate. Father Henry brought up the rear. The inhabitants of the tavern looked the other way, and went back to the business of drinking and wenching. Those who knew Father Walter didn't particularly like him and saw no reason to go to his defense. His pleas for aid were in vain. The archbishop's men dragged him off down the street in the direction of the cathedral.

"An unpleasant business," the archbishop said.

"I apologize, Your Grace, if I have embarrassed you in any way by bringing this matter to your attention," Brother George said.

"None of it shall be made public," the archbishop responded. "Whatever he has done shall remain done. We cannot know how many people this affects."

"But I would beg Your Grace to settle the matter of Sir Udolf Watteson, the Laird of Dunglais, and his wife, the lady Alix," Brother George reminded the prelate. "That is why I came to York in the first place."

"Come to the cathedral in the morning to see me," the archbishop said. "You have rid me of a bad priest. In this case I will correct the fraud, for you have told me of it." Then, as they had finally reached the cathedral, he bid Brother George and Father Henry a good evening. The two cousins returned to St. Cuthbert's.

When the morning came Father Henry and Brother George said the Mass for the parishioners of St. Cuthbert's, broke their fast, and then walked to the archbishop's house on the cathedral grounds. They were admitted by Sister Mary Agnes, who whispered to them as she escorted them into her master's privy chamber, "See me before you leave."

The archbishop greeted the two priests, holding out an elegant hand so they might kiss his ring of office. Then he invited them to sit opposite him on the two chairs that faced the long oak table he used to write. There were two sealed parchments tied with black ribbon upon the table. The two priests waited for the archbishop to speak.

"Late last night," he began, "I had two of the most trusted members of my secretariat draw up these papers. They are identical. They nullify any dispensation received earlier from this bishopric by Sir Udolf Watteson in the matter of Alix Givet. This document explains the clerk writing the parchment was young, inexperienced, and misunderstood the instructions given to him. That he sent the fraudulent dispensation off to Wulfborn Hall without the proper seals. Alix Givet, being as a daughter to Sir Udolf Watteson, would not be allowed to enter into an incestuous union with him. That upon having this matter brought to our attention by the bishop of St. Andrew's we have sought to correct the misunderstanding. Sir Udolf Watteson is advised to seek another wife. He is forbidden by God's law, and the king's law, to take Alix Givet from her lawful husband and attempt to force her into an illegal union. Will this satisfy your master, Brother George?" the archbishop asked.

The Franciscan nodded, and then he said, "Two parchments?"

"Actually three," came the reply, "but the third has already been placed among the official documents. This one is for you. See that it is delivered to the Laird of Dunglais and his wife. Then tell James Kennedy he will owe me a favor eventually for this favor I have done for him." He handed a rolled parchment to Brother George. "And this last one will be delivered by one of my messengers into Sir Udolf Watteson's own hand. It is hoped this will end the matter once and for all."

Brother George arose. "I am most grateful to Your Grace for all he has done," the priest said. "I will leave for Scotland on the morrow." He kissed the hand extended to him once more, and with Father Henry left the archbishop's privy chamber.

Sister Mary Agnes was waiting for them. "You should know Father Walter is dead," she whispered to them. "They tortured him to gain any information he had, but he was naught but a greedy little man, so they garroted him to put him out of his misery."

"Thank you," Brother George said softly. "God bless you, Sister."

"Go with God, Good Brother," she responded as she ushered them through the front door of the archbishop's dwelling, closing the door firmly behind them.

"Did you notice," Father Henry said, "how neatly he solved the matter without ever accepting blame for it?"

Brother George laughed. "Such is the way of the world, Henry. You are carefully insulated in your little church with its merchants and artisans and goodwives. I live in a world of pride and power, as does your archbishop. I am rarely, if ever, surprised."


The next morning the bishop of St. Andrew's emissary rode out of York heading north to Scotland. And on a separate road the archbishop's messenger directed his horse towards Wulfborn Hall, which he reached several days later. On his master's instructions he sought out Father Peter first.

"My master, the archbishop, asked that you be with me when I deliver this parchment," the messenger said.

Ah, bad news, Father Peter thought to himself. "I will gladly accompany you," he told the messenger, and directed their footsteps to the house and the great hall.

Sir Udolf Watteson lay sprawled in a high-backed chair by the hearth, which burned low. A large goblet hung from his hand. There were no servants in sight, and the hall was rank with the smell of urine and rotting food. He did not move as the priest and the messenger entered the hall, and as they drew nearer they could hear the sound of snoring coming from the chair.

"He has not been well," the priest excused his master.

"Wake him so I may deliver the parchment," the archbishop's messenger said. He had stayed the night before at a nearby monastery and as the sun had not even reached the midheavens yet he intended returning back to York this very day. Looking about the hall, he could tell its hospitality would be scant. He wanted to be on his way as quickly as he could be. He gazed at the sleeping man. It was obvious that he was drunk.

"My lord. My lord!" The priest gently shook Sir Udolf. "Please awaken, I pray you. There is a messenger here for you from York."

Sir Udolf struggled to open his eyes, to gather his thoughts. Only one word had penetrated his foggy brain. York. "Give me some wine," he husked, and the priest hurried to fill the silver goblet that was held out to him. Sir Udolf gulped down half the cup. His eyes began to open. He drank the rest of the liquid and tossed the cup aside. It hit the stone floor with a clatter. Then, rising, he pissed into the hearth, thoroughly extinguishing what little fire was left. Then, turning about, he said to the messenger in a rough voice, "Who are you, and what do you want?"

"Message from His Grace, the archbishop of York," the messenger said, shoving the rolled parchment into Sir Udolf's hand. Then he moved to leave the hall.

"Wait! Are you not to remain to carry back a reply?" Sir Udolf asked.

"I was told there would be no reply, my lord," the messenger said. He could hardly wait to get out of this place.