The Window

     The cell was small, twelve feet by twelve. It possessed three windows. In none of the windows was there glass. The window which looked on to the alleyway was curtained by thick black serge into whose heart was cut the shape of the cross. In sunlight the symbol shone gold; in moonlight, silver. The second window looked straight onto the church altar, the third onto a room in which Alice, the maidservant, slept.
     There was a squat narrow bed upon which were laid ample blankets. There was a three-legged stool, something like a milking stool. There was a table, just wide enough to lean on, without carving or ornament.
     Beneath the table was a pot. On the table was a cup of cow’s milk and a crust of bread. There was also a slate candlestick, in which, on this first night, a candle burnt. There was a wedge of ample parchment, two uncut goose quills, a silver penknife, a pot of black ink and a pumice stone.
     There was also a small altar, clothed in white, upon which stood the stout black marble cross which Sister Benedicta had given Perpetua ten years previously.