ABSTRACT
fourteenth century By Scanton Market Cross We each saw each together. He drove his spur to flank, I broke my horse from tether. Though he led by a thousand yards, I swore there’d be no escaping. Dust of seven hamlets We stirred, with the peasants gaping. Farms once left behind, The pace of our horses quickened: Over the Great Plain We rode as the dusk thickened. Two, on that vast waste, Down a road that was white and narrow, Raced till there rose before us A spire like a shafted arrow. Torchlight, we reached the City: Our hooves on the streets rang hollow. He left his horse at the gate, I leapt from mine to follow. We crossed the darkened Close, Our spurs on the path clattering. Torches thrust in our face— Priests staring and chattering. One barred our way, Rebuked us before the Lord— He for unseemly haste, I for my drawn sword. ‘Sanctuary!’ he cried gasping, And fell in the Choir entry. The monk gripping my arm Stood his ground like a sentry. I sheathed my sword at his bidding, Removed my cap at another’s, And panting lay in the Porch Till they fetched their learned brothers. Thus they agreed: the Chapter, While he skulked at the High Altar, Would discuss the pros and cons And decide by book and psalter. So, as the talkers talked And the tapers swayed and blurred, Prone by Chapter-house wall I sat in my seat and heard:
