Lord of the Dance (3/4)

s friars, even mendicant friars, we are expected to attend mass once in a while, and since today is Monday the 26th of June it would look fishy if we failed to attend the festival mass of Saints John and Paul. The town is busier than usual for a Monday with people from many of the surrounding villages who have come to town for the festival mass, and presumably at least some of them are hoping for special blessings on this festival of two saints.

It's not hard to get caught up in the crowd squeezing into the Minster of St.Boniface and once inside I am surprised yet again by the absence of something I had expected: the smell of a large mass of unwashed medieval humanity in a confined space is much less noticeable (or my nostrils have become desensitized during our stay here) than the sweet scent of bunches of herbs hung from the walls and stacked in the corners of the windows.
At about the point that the priest is making the absolution I plan to slip outside, and I encourage you to do the same. If anybody asks where we're going, say it's a call of nature. On a feast like today's the mass can take quite a bit of time if the clergy are keen to include all the various options in the service which might give the piper more time than he needs to do his dirty work. My hope is that we can catch him in the act (but remember, look, but do nothing that might change the course of events!).
We don't have long to wait in the shadows of the Minster before I hear the sound of that shawm once more. The streets are not deserted, but very much quieter than earlier, with the few traders who have chosen not to attend mass vying for the closest positions to the entrance to the Minster. Making our way towards the town walls, aiming to get closer to the sound of the shawm a couple of young girls come running out of one of the smaller houses. The older girl is clearly trying to get her younger sister to listen to her cries to come back, but within minutes, both seem more curious about the sound of the shawm which is definitely playing more musically this time.
The air is a dance tune with a lively beat, and I find the jigging rhythm almost hypnotic.

Getting to the town gate, it is clear that we are following the last of the stragglers. Ahead of us, on the westward road heading up towards the hills is a sizeable crowd of dancing children and keeping up is quite an exercise in itself. By the time they reach the stand of yew trees on the lower slopes I have lost sight of them completely and when I manage to struggle up there myself, the grove is completely quiet.

The story we are trying to follow speaks of them entering a cave and it doesn't take long to find the trail of trodden-down bushes and broken branches. By the time the undergrowth gives way to the rocky ground there is a cleft in the rocks a few meters to the right, small enough for less well-nourished bodies to squeeze through. But my calls and whistles go unanswered.
The eeriest thing though, to me, is the silence up here. No birds, not even crows cawing in the trees. And nothing grows under the yew trees. The ground is just littered with leaf mold and little red berries.
Perhaps the best plan would be to return to the town and make a respectable exit. If we just disappear I am worried that we might become part of the legend, however unlikely it is that anybody would ordinarily notice the departure of two mendicants. Particularly, I am worried that if we should disappear without some kind of explanation, somebody will make a link between us, and the missing children. And Mother Church has a long reputation of accepting oblatus novices without examining their past too closely.

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