“What desecration!”
“Nay! nay! thou knowest we make them doff both glove and hawk to take the blessed eucharist. Their jewelled gloves will they give to a servant or simple Christian to hold: but their beloved hawks they will put down on no place less than the altar.”
Gerard inquired how the battle of the hawks ended.
“Why, the abbot he yielded, as the Church yields to laymen. He searched ancient books, and found that the left hand was the more honourable, being in truth the right hand, since the altar is east, but looks westward. So he gave my lord the soi-disant right hand, and contented himself with the real right hand, and even so may the Church still outwit the lay nobles and their arrogance, saving your presence.”
“Nay, sir, I honour the Church. I am convent bred, and owe all I have and am to Holy Church.”
“Ah, that accounts for my sudden liking to thee. Art a gracious youth. Come and see me whenever thou wilt.”
Gerard took this as a hint that he might go now. It jumped with his own wish, for he was curious to hear what Denys had seen and done all this time. He made his reverence and walked out of the church; but was no sooner clear of it than he set off to run with all his might: and tearing round a corner, ran into a large stomach, whose owner clutched him, to keep himself steady under the shock; but did not release his hold on regaining his equilibrium.
“Let go, man,” said Gerard.
“Not so. You are my prisoner.”
“Prisoner?”