The Chapel of Bones

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Saul died because of the ghost.

It was a clear morning, with only a few wisps of cloud passing overhead, and Thomas had been whistling happily, stripped to his waist, his long hair bedraggled with sweat.

As a mason, he preferred building work to demolition, but in order to erect the new Cathedral, first they must throw down this old one. Starting at the south-eastern corner of the wall of the nave, Thomas and his men had climbed up the scaffolding and were gradually levering loose the old rocks, attaching iron bolts to them so that they could be lifted out by the cranes. It was backbreaking work, with the Warden of the Fabric, Vicar Matthew, often peering over their shoulders to ensure that the stones were damaged as little as possible. He wanted them reused.

Thomas was terrified that at any moment Matthew would see through his thick, salt and pepper beard, his long hair, and know him, but so far there had been no flicker of recognition. Perhaps after forty years Matthew had forgotten him; perhaps he paid little attention to a mere labourer.

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