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'Fair enough. Look, Mike's changed, he's mellowed. He's working for the Equine Savings Bank and he's got himself a transfer to the Amblehead branch. You two ought to meet and have a catch up.'

'The last time we met,' I said, 'I think he tried to glue my tail to a bench in a bus stop.'

This again overwhelmed Anna with laughter, her shrieks echoing back off houses and the church.

'Stop... Stop,' She said, 'I can't take any more, I think I'm going to burst.'

'Laura,' I said, 'I think we are scaring the normal.'

This elicited an amused grunt from Laura, who replied:

'It's just like university again. Are you sure you're all grown up and respectable?'

'You'll just have to find out.' I said, trying my best to look holy, and failing.

I was saved from any more reminiscences about my student days by our arrival at the gate to Anna's house. By now Anna had regained her composure, but the fur around her eyes was streaked where the tears of mirth had run down her face. We followed her into her neat garden, it was filled with the scent of honeysuckle and riotous with summer blooms.

'Why don't you to take a seat on the patio and I'll go and get the tea things. I think I've got some of the honey cake left that Mrs Avis made last week.' She said.

Laura and I sat in the sun to wait. I always forgot how much cats likes to bask in sunny places. Laura had stretched out almost fully in her chair, her eyes closed and she was making little wheep noises as she soaked up the warmth. And there I was trying my level best not to stick my tongue out and pant - as my mother always said: 'Polite dogs don't pant in company.' So, instead, I sat and baked and cursed my black fur.

After a short while Anna reappeared carrying a tray with a teapot, some cups and the promised honey cake; and, joy of joys, a large jug of cold water. As she set out the tea things, she asked:

'Laura, do you know much about the village's local history? I only ask what with you being a historian and all.'

'No,' Replied Laura, 'I meant to do some research before I moved, but, you know, time just got away from me.'

'Well, I must tell you about the ruined abbey!' Enthused Anna.

I looked up in surprise: in my six months in the parish, no one had even mentioned a ruined abbey.

'Did I not tell you this, Father?'

I shook my head in reply and Anna continued:

'In the woods across the river from the church are the remains of the Abbey of St Meinrad. In its day it was the biggest Abbey in the country. I've heard tell that there were over a hundred monks are and that animals would come to join the community from all over the country and even from abroad.

'They used to own half the village. They built the village church and every Sunday the monks would process into the village to offer their services for the villagers of course, this was before the depredation.

'It all changed after the depredation. Food was scarce and the village was dying. At that time the abbot was Henry Leonis, a lion, twice as tall as Father Francis. Now, Henry was once a knight, he had fought and killed in the service of the king. Henry was called to join the Abbey to atone for all the lives he had taken. Anyway, the other monks were so impressed with his devotion and holiness, that he soon was elected as their abbot.

'In the village, the crops failed, puppies and kittens were born dead, and the community began to lose hope. Abbot Henry ordered, that every day, half the monks' ration of food was to be taken to the village church to be distributed to the starving. Abbot Henry's system worked well. Until the Oxfolds came, that is.

'The first Count Oxfold had been a mercenary in service to the king. He was a pagan from the far North, who had slaughtered his way through countless campaigns of conquest and suppression. His payment was the western half of the village and everything that makes up the Oxfold Estate. The original Lord of the Manor had died some years before and the title had become the king's gift.

'Anyway, Count Oxfold took over the Hall and brought with him a baggage train of food and seeds to replace the failed crops. At first, Abbot Henry and the monks were grateful that Count Oxfold was helping to share the burden of charity. Until, that is, rumours started to spread that only pure breeds were being helped. That, Count Oxfold would not give food to any "mixed" family.

'This appalled the Abbot, but his nature led him to dismiss the rumours. Then came more stories, filtering back to the Abbey. Stories of ancient, pagan rites being performed in the caves in the hills on the Oxfold Estate. The rumour ran, that the families who received food from the Count had to take part in these rituals; and if they refused they would be sacrificed. There were stories of the count's men rounding families up to make them take part. This was too much for Abbot Henry.

'The following Sunday, which was, as it turned out, the last Sunday of his life, Abbot Henry preached a sermon in the village church. Now, normally the abbot wouldn't preach except on high days and holidays. So, the church was packed, because everyone (even the Count) wanted to witness this unexpected event.

'The stately lion stood in the pulpit and denounced pagan practices. His great growling voice filling the church. Throughout his sermon Abbot Henry stared fixedly at the Count. Count Oxfold could only sit there and seethe in rage and anger. Once the sermon had ended, Count Oxfold stalked out of the church taking his retinue with him.

'Nothing happened until the middle of the following week. The local legends tell of how after Vespers the Wednesday after the fateful sermon, the Abbey was consumed by purple fire that seemed to come out of the ground. Only one of the monks survived and he took the body of his murdered Abbot away. A month later Abbot Henry was buried in the cathedral at Newton.

'The village was left reeling after this event and slowly but surely Count Oxfold began to increase his influence over the community. The trauma of the depredations passed with time, and the Abbey slowly was taken over by the forest.' With that she stopped speaking.

I shared a glance with Laura, then looks down at my paws. Before the day had seemed stiflingly hot; now, however, I felt a chill. This village that had seemed so sleepy and innocent to me concealed a dark past. As I learnt during my time at the seminary, communities could suffer the effects of such an historic trauma for generations. I wondered about the Oxfold's influence over the village, but my thoughts were interrupted by Anna:

'I said, Father, would you like some cake?'

'Sure,' I replied.

'I'm sure that I had told you about the Abbey.' Said Anna, 'you know, there's that legend that says you shouldn't go into the ruins after dark. I know in most places these old legends get forgotten and ignored, but here I don't think that anyone in my lifetime has been in those ruins at all.'

Laura carefully placed her teacup on the table. I could see in her eyes that the revelation of a violent past in this apparently idyllic setting had shaken her.

'Thank you for the tea, and. I really must be going; the removals firm should be arriving any time with the rest of my stuff.' Said Laura, her voice strangely flat. Laura stood up abruptly, thanked Anna again and then walked off down the garden path. We both watched Laura's retreating back until she was out of sight.

'I can't believe that I didn't tell you about Abbot Henry.' Anna said, 'There's all sorts about him in the archives at the school. We were going to build a museum in the village but somehow the funding fell through.'

I nodded distractedly, my mind in a whirl.

'Can I help you clear away the tea things?' I asked.

'No, no, don't you worry about that.' Replied Anna, 'I'm sure you've got better things to be doing with your afternoon!'

I was grateful for an excuse to not be around anyone for a while. I said my thanks and goodbyes to Anna and left. I retraced my steps across the green and headed back to the church I knew that I needed to speak to someone about my worries for the village. I was growing more and more convinced that the current Lord of the Manor was playing some kind of strange political game, that was profoundly affecting the lives of each and every one of the animals in the village I needed time to collect my thoughts so I let myself into the church and sat down in the nearest pew. I sat in silence for fifteen minutes or so and found that I was starting to doze off - a problem I have had in quiet churches for longer than I care to remember. I jerked back awake with the start as my mobile phone started to ring. I fumbled in my pocket, silently cursing the wretched thing. I always found that mobile phones had the worst possible timing, and I was also less than scrupulous in switching the blessed thing off. I fumbled in my pockets and eventually found the phone. I glanced at the screen to see that the Bishop's office was calling me. Quickly I hit answer:

'Hello? Francis Shepherd speaking.' I said.

There was a crackling sound at the end of the line as the other handset was passed to someone else.

'Hello, Father Francis it's Bishop George here, I'm sorry to bother you like this, but could you pop up to the cathedral today. I wouldn't normally call on you at such short notice, but you're the only one who can sort this out.'

'I'll be with you in about an hour and a half, I'm on my way to the car now.' I replied, but it was too late as Bishop George had already put down the phone.

I pelted out of the church and back down the street to my house. I wondered what it was that demanded my presence at the cathedral at such short notice. I also wasn't relishing the thought of a rush hour drive to Newton. I didn't find driving to be the most pleasurable of experiences and I enjoyed the fact that my parish allowed for me to do most of my work with the minimum of driving around. As I walked along the road I pulled my smart cassock back on again so that I could just jump into the car and leave.

Moments later, I was pulling away from the vicarage and driving north to meet the main road. The drive to Newton was uneventful, but there is always one point in the journey that lifted my soul. As you approach the city from the Amble Valley, you crest the last hill before the city and are treated to a panoramic view of that ancient town. The cathedral soaring above the houses, its twin towers catching the evening sun, the lead of the nearly quarter-of-a-mile long nave roof glinting dully. It was from here that I could always appreciate the wisdom of the choice of our forebears in siting the cathedral where it was - the view and the lines of the cathedral drew your eyes ever heavenward.