The Golden Farce
The ledger had three hundred and twelve lines, and Thomas had counted them twice. He sat in the scriptorium, the air thick with the smell of oak gall ink and damp wool. His father owed the Abbey forty shillings for a fever that would not break. The Abbot’s doctrine was simple: nature was a lie, a trap set by the Devil, and the only truth was the Word. But Thomas had a secret, kept close for...
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