II. A Most Wondrous City…

Hugh gazed at the two tall rounded stone towers stretching upwards, flanking the wooden gates of the city. All towns were encircled by a wall, partly for defensive purposes, but also as a means of keeping outsiders apart from the town citizens. For this reason the king’s officers lived within, looking down through the narrow slits in the stone at those approaching the entrance. At Richard and Hugh’s appearance, a solider stepped forward blocking their path into the city.
     “What is your business here?” Hugh’s hand went to his scrip, pulling out a coin which he handed to the solider.
     “My friend and I are here on pilgrimage to visit Saint Thomas’ shrine.” The solider pocketed the coin and nodded his grey head.
     “Aye, you and thousands of others have come to visit our blessed martyr.” He leant in towards the knights, his tone hushed reverentially. “He saved my little girl from death. Sick with fever she was, so bad the physicians gave up hope. But I went to his shrine and I prayed to Saint Thomas. The monks there gave me a vial of his holy blood, which I gave to my girl and the next morning by a miracle she awoke healthy and whole again. I defy you to find a saint in England as powerful as Saint Thomas.” Hugh nodded agreement and thanked the soldier, who moved aside to allow them past. He called after the knights, “It really is a most wondrous city!”
     As Richard and Hugh stepped inside the city walls they were assailed with the stench of human and animal waste dumped in the river or on the street. The heavy rain of the last few days had turned the streets to streams. Water cascaded across the flat areas of road, causing the fetid waste dumped at one end of the street to slide wetly down to the other. The deep ruts marking the path of many trundling carts were full of muddy water that splashed up on to Richard’s fine woollen cloak. He scowled, brushing uselessly at the dirt.
     “A wondrous city indeed. Place smells worse than a castle’s latrine.” As Hugh and Richard continued to amble down the street, the citizens of Canterbury strode purposefully or bustled hurriedly to get out of the rain. Down small cramped side streets scurried the poorest citizens dressed in dull homespun brown. Brightly dressed merchants stood along the edge of the widest and cleanest streets. They stood in the doorways of their houses shouting in the hope of attracting custom. The blues and greens of their tunics were gaudy beacons in the bleak grey of the day. Finally there were the monks and canons moving in packs, their plain robes seeming to shine with prosperity. “Mind where you’re going!” Richard suddenly yelled as a figure shrouded in a grey cloak knocked into him. The stranger turned. His features were bloated and reddened from a clear over indulgence in good wine. His voice when he spoke was sneering and matched his unpleasant expression.
     “Move a little faster then. Some of us don’t have all day.” The grey-cloaked figure must have noticed Richard’s unconscious movement towards the hilt of his sword, for he said no more but moved away and disappeared into the crowd. Richard turned to Hugh,
     “What’s the hurry? The guy’s been dead for decades, I doubt he’s going to go anywhere fast.” Thomas Becket had been dead fifty years, murdered by four knights in the Cathedral, but his cult continued to grow stronger with time. In 1174 there had been a fire, which had destroyed the eastern part of the Cathedral. Over time this had been rebuilt in a glorious new style that had spread from France across Europe. The Trinity Chapel was the pinnacle of the project, and it housed the new shrine for Saint Thomas. In July his holy relics had been translated from their burial in the crypt to their new jewel encrusted shrine, which had provoked new waves of devotion. The Pope had granted this year as a jubilee in celebration of Saint Thomas. Anyone within Europe who visited the new shrine at Canterbury Cathedral during the year could receive an indulgence of five hundred and forty days.
     “The relics won’t be going anywhere no, but for those who want their penance remitted this year is a good opportunity. The only other way to have so many of your sins forgiven is to go on crusade to the Holy Land. And I doubt your new friend would have been so eager to hurry there.” Hugh paused, glancing around at the mingling crowds of pilgrims and town citizens. “But come, we must obtain lodgings. With so many pilgrims in the city we’ll be hard pressed to find a decent bed for the night if we don’t find something soon.”