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“Well what did you think of Richardus Tertius when you saw it?” Asked Crowley.
“It was a fine play. I hope to see it again, but I am not sure I will have the time with the way our press is developing, and your intelligence work. But still I hope.”
“Quo plura speras falso, tubaris magus,” Said Crowley, a smile creeping onto the left hand corner of his mouth.
“Very good. Queens may from time to time share the same sentiments about the world.”
Aziraphale adjusted himself slightly, the length of their journey along rickety roads had given him back ache. To add to his troubles none of the inns along their route to Cambridge in his opinion had beds that were even remotely comfortable. It seemed to him that scholars enjoyed privation to an unhealthy degree, though he was less sure if their lean horses enjoyed it. Aziraphale did assume that the horses, however, always fared better than the local donkeys who were too often faced with unbearable dilemmas.
The more involved he became in human affairs and pleasures, and his halo rusted and tarnished, Aziraphale found that the niggles of the flesh plagued him more than ever. From his trips to the Spanish Netherlands spying, Crowley out of concern, and guilt for being away for too long, bought various unguents to ease the knots out of Aziraphale’s muscles, but these sometimes didn't work.
“Have you got the books...beloved?” Crowley caught himself and whispered the beloved, remembering to keep the love that dare not speak its name appropriately mute.
As he watched Aziraphale retrieve the books with the care of a nursemaid looking after a tender babe, Crowley hoped that a time in the future would come where he could tell all in heaven and hell and on earth of the depth of his love. A time when there would be pageants through the streets celebrating such a love.
“Yes, here they are. A beautifully bound volume of Boethius for Tom, and Galen for John. I’m sure they will both be very pleased with our gifts.”
“I’m sure they will be very pleased. Now tobacco, booze, and food are in order.” Said Crowley. The alighted from their carriage and went off into the tavern. “Tapster!” Crowley cried.
Not one of the elements of the meal satisfied Crowley or Aziraphale’s high standards, but the knew that they would soon be released from the misery of plain vittles when the pre Christmas fast was finally over. Whenever Thomas Legge, and John Gostlin invited people over, their guests always joked that they ought to pack another few yards of cloth with them to add to their clothes, so well fed they were and with what fantastically made food. They were both even said to prepare their own sweetmeats, and so very delicious they were.
After swallowing the unpalatable beer and eating the horrid salted fish with haste, Crowley suggested that it might be time to go to sleep.
“But first let me do a little tempting.” Said Crowley
“If you’re doing a temptation, I shall do a miracle to keep things balanced as we usually do.”
While stretching his legs and yawning, Crowley provoked two counterfeiters into a fist fight with a click of his fingers. Aziraphale’s miracle had a slight hint of being self-serving, but he was sure other travellers would eventually be thankful for his intervention. He changed all of the bedding in the inn to the softest bedding he could muster. Divine and diabolical work done, the pair of them ascended the narrow staircase to the rooms above the noisy tavern, and left the punters to their drinking.
Their room was quite neat, and warm enough. It overlooked the street below, where out in the darkness lanterns lit the way of swift footed scholars racing to complete their tasks before the festivities, drunks sliding in the muck, and women carrying baskets of goods on their hips. Not a single dwelling was decorated yet, but when Christmas Eve came there wouldn’t be a door that was not decked with holly. After undressing to undershirts and hose, Crowley and Aziraphale took the risk of pushing their beds together. The gap between the beds was negligible before they brought them together, and they were also not made of the sturdiest material so they both reckoned that if they were caught they could claim that the beds shifted together because they were restless sleepers. From their luggage Crowley removed a blanket that Aziraphale couldn’t sleep without and wrapped it around Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Ah thank you,” the angel said.
“Oh Bull’s pizzle. Your shirts,” said Crowley.
“Still not mended? Never mind.”
“Hang on.” Crowley always carried a candle that he could use an incantation to light and only went out when his work was done. He produced the candle and the shirts.
“I’ll get them done now.” Crowley lit his candle, dexterously threaded a needle and began to repair Aziraphale’s shirts. The cuffs of the shirts were in shreds because of Aziraphale’s tendency to pick at them when he was nervous about something, or for the sake of some idle amusement while he sat at his ledger books.
When Crowley looked up from his careful needlework he noticed that Aziraphale was still looking out of the cloudy glass of the window at the passers by.” Are you coming to bed?” He said. “We have to be up first thing to get to Tom and John on time for the burning of the Yule log.”
Aziraphale settled himself into bed and entered a peaceful sleep. Crowley continued stitching into the small hours and felt that he would not rather have been anywhere other than where he was.
***
Christmas Eve
Overnight, a hard frost had covered the streets like a piece of marchpane. Crowley and Aziraphale had to resort to increasing the amount of furs they had on to fend off the cold. Travel would certainly be compromised and they were sure that they would have to walk the last few miles to Thomas and John’s house to be in time for decorating, spicy ale, midnight mass, and the mistletoe bough.
Aziraphale paid and thanked the owners of the inn, and waited for Crowley to gather the rest of their things. As they both stepped out into the frozen morning, with its white, icy cloudless sky, they saw industrious menfolk already out, dragging decorated Yule logs back to houses, making lines in the frost.
Crowley nodded at the men, and blew into his hands for warmth. “You know Aziraphale I don’t really fancy travelling all of that way, last time we did and you tried to walk up that snowy hill and you broke an ankle. So I brought one of those Babylon candles.”
“Breaking my ankle was only a problem for a few hours, and two already admittedly strange men can’t be seen to disappear in broad daylight. We’ve been through this already,” said Aziraphale.
Suddenly, Crowley pulled Aziraphale into a tight alleyway, and said, “A life that is millions of years long is still too short for bothering with that dreadful trip.” He lit the candle and he and Aziraphale were immediately transported to Thomas and John’s front door.
“That Wall place is not quite within heaven’s remit, nor is it within yours, but those candles are certainly a godsend,” said Aziraphale. Together, he and Crowley lifted the heavy door knocker, and knocked.
Thomas Legge opened the door with yards of ribbon in his hand, ready for the Yule log. “Oh you have quite caught me and John out, we have neither log, nor spiced ale prepared, or much else for that matter.”
“We are, unfortunately, quite early, but direct us to what needs to be done and we shall do it,” said Aziraphale.
The pair of them walked into the beautiful warmth of the house. The sound of fire in the hearth crackling was pleasing, as was the smell of the bay and rosemary that had been brought in for the purposes of decoration and cooking. The house was quite empty apart from Crowley, Aziraphale, John, and Thomas because John and Thomas sent cook and servants away to their families at Christmas being quite capable of managing themselves. The horror of the endless procession of grey meat puddings, and pottage that issued from the college kitchens made them both resourceful cooks.
Now John Gostlin appeared and embraced both Aziraphale and Crowley. “Dearest of friends, it is so wonderful to see you again. We thought that we were to spend Christmas in mainly our own society because passage has been so difficult for so many this year. How did you find your journey?”
“Swift,” was Aziraphale’s reply.
Crowley covered his chuckle up by pretending to sneeze into one of his blackwork covered sleeves.
"Oh bless you." Said John and Thomas tutti.
“We are truly glad to have you,” said Thomas. “Would either of you like to accompany John and the other local men to fetch the log? I have nearly finished cutting these lengths of ribbon.”
Crowley offered to go, and Aziraphale stayed with Thomas to prepare the ale, and set out items for the coming feasts. Thomas offered Aziraphale some plain bread covered in a sprinkling of sage, sans butter. The days of fasting wore terribly on Aziraphale, but he was never one to cheat his way out of a fast.
Much later, Crowley and John returned with the log all wrapped up in crimson ribbon. They tossed the log on the fire and everyone watched the fire consume it. Thomas and Aziraphale handed out the spiced ale. For a good hour they warmed themselves by the fire and talked and argued about trifling points of theology and philosophy. Carolling could be heard from every house around them, and they even sung a few of their own when the ale got into them. They hung the remainder of the decorations up when they had had enough ale, and finished their decorating work with a mistletoe bough they hung over the door. Darkness gathered, and church bells rang out to call everyone to church for Midnight Mass, where they would all remain in intense concentration before the coming day of festivities.
***
Mummery
The goose came to the table last, stuffed with dried fruit, sage, breadcrumbs, and sausage meat, and surrounded by sprigs of rosemary and thyme. John sat the bird next to the other dishes of food and Thomas carved it and served some to Aziraphale and Crowley first and then to himself and John. John picked out the goose’s heart to go alongside the portion of meat Thomas had served him, and poured fresh glasses of wine for everyone.
“You wouldn’t mind giving me some of that heart would you?” Knowing it was also Thomas’s favourite part Gostlin relented and gave all to him.
“Open up, open up,” a voice cried from the outside as they all began their second round of goose and all the various accompaniments.
“Mummers,” Thomas said under his breath. “The day of the birth of our lord never ceases to be a joy, but why must it always include Mummers?”
“I will go and see them off Thomas, don’t worry about it,” said John
“Ooh I happen to love this,” said Aziraphale rushing to join John at the door as Crowley tutted in sympathy with Thomas.
At the door, snow swirling around behind him, was no ordinary Mummer. He hadn’t come with a band of other revellers and didn’t wear a vibrant mask. The mask was morbid rather than colourful, and surprisingly realistic. It had the sickly hue of a dead man, blood trickled from its mouth at first and then flowed. The figure had a cap on his head, plain black velvet with a jewel affixed to it. He removed the cap to show a deep gash in his head. The man seemed to almost float past John and Aziraphale into the happy home, poisoning everything within, destroying all goodwill. John and Aziraphale stood aghast.
“I wish those two would hurry up and re-join us, it’s never that difficult for John to work out who the Mummers are each year,” said Thomas.
“It is quite ridiculous,” said Crowley, helping himself to another sugared almond. “You’d think that they’d gone out to join them.”
Thomas dropped his knife when he saw the strange apparition that stood in all of its goriness and glory before him. Aziraphale and John, still frozen with fear, having followed it in, were behind it. “I should have known that one instance of evil would follow another, I said so myself.” Thomas hung his head. “This kingly phantom first visited me at Martinmas Time. I spied it glowering over by the spent bodies of livestock that had been culled. It mouthed a warning to never preserve my play in print. I had plans to send it to your printer’s shop Aziraphale, but I had to heed the warning as this creature threatened John’s life. John, my very heart.”
The ghost drew closer and swept all of the dishes and glasses off the table, and then it spoke. “You promised that you wouldn’t print your lies for posterity, you swore on his life.” John soon found the bone white spindly finger of the ghost pointed at him. “If your promise was not false why have you invited the printer here again.”
Aziraphale clasped his hands together and laughed nervously. “Um excuse me Sir, we’re here because we come every year, this is nothing to do with printing the play. Thomas has kept his word, I will not print a word of the play.”
The ghost suddenly looked cornered. Then it rushed at John and grabbed him about the throat. “Give me your word again Thomas!” It howled.
“You have it, you have my word!” Said Thomas.
“Very well,” it said, and it let go of John who collapsed onto the floor grasping at his throat.
“You will still suffer greatly and lose the respect and love of those around you. Your legacy will be tainted, in the same way you tainted mine. Mark all that I have said!” Then the ghost disappeared in a shower of sparks and a covering of thick smoke.
Thomas went to John’s side and kissed him repeatedly. “John, I’m sorry my love.” John leaned against Thomas’ shoulder. Crowley went over to check on Aziraphale who had begun to tidy the food and dishes up from the floor. Crowley put an arm around him and then started to help him tidy up.
Thomas went to shut the door against the cold, whistling wind and any further disturbance. When he returned, John had been helped into his chair by the fire by Crowley and Aziraphale had miraculously restored and parcelled up the food to be given away as alms to the poor.
“Considering we've been through so much trouble this ee'n you may as well give us our presents before the first. Neither of us can wait to see what you’ve bought us,” said Thomas sitting down in his chair next to John’s and resting his hand on top of John’s.
Aziraphale gave them both their books.
“A very fine volume,” said John admiring his book.
“These must have cost you quite a bit,” said Thomas.
Crowley smiled and said, “You could say that they cost us an…”
Aziraphale sighed at Crowley slightly, and then took him by the hand to stand underneath the mistletoe bough. “There is one tradition that we haven’t observed,” he said. And then Crowley and Aziraphale kissed beneath the bough, while Thomas and John read to each other beside the fire.