This was the best day of his life, watching his beloved boy, here in this ancient chamber of light.
Above him, his gaze drifted to the high, soaring fan vaults and armor-ial badges that made the great chapel celebrated throughout the world. On every side, he sensed the enclosing history of the mellow limestone walls, held tall and perpendicular by massive buttresses. And within these frames, he was dazzled by the coloured glass that filtered and split the heavenly rays, and told the story of his faith.
Candles flickered in glass sconces along the choir stalls. The choristers and choral scholars were ranged on both sides of the aisle in white surplices and red cassocks. In a few moments, their voices would well up and soar into the vast echoing space and dance off the tracery and the carvings.
Colonel Ronald Marfield knew now that even in the dark nights of war, God had never deserted him. This was His promise made good.
At his side sat his elder son, Ptolemy, slumped awkwardly in the pew, and his wife, Margaret, erect and dignified.
But it was the thirteen-year-old boy at the front of the choir who held his eye and his heart. The head chorister, his beautiful younger son, Marcus. Marcus with the perfect voice, the pale golden skin, the blue eyes and the tousled sandy halo of hair. Every father’s ideal son; truly a gift from heaven.
King’s College chapel was packed, but the congregation made not a sound. And then the organ broke the hush and the first haunting notes of Charles Stanford’s Magnificat in G crept forth, sempre staccato.
Marcus opened his lips and his voice emerged. ‘My soul doth magnify the Lord . . .’
Every boy, every man in this fine choir sang wonderfully. But only one stood out. Marcus’s treble notes were not just flawless, it seemed as if they rose on angel wings. Those watching and listening barely breathed.
Colonel Marfield’s eyes were wet. How could he not weep at such perfection? At the divine sound of his own son?
He reached for his wife’s hand, but they were clasped in front of her. Through eyes blurred with tears he looked at her, beseeching. She stared straight ahead, refusing to meet his gaze. Her eyes were dry.