Writing, events, competitions and even some self-penned bits

Joannus Rodriguez took one last look to right and left then quickly ran across the sand.  They had gone. For two days he had been  hiding in the small cave at the base of the cliff. Nobody had thought to climb over the rocks and search the shingle beach  to the West. They had all  been  concerned with the few items that he had left in his small, upturned skiff. These paeons were so predictable, a bundle of gaudy blousons, some cheap stockings and a small cask of cheap brandy had kept them arguing amongst themselves for hours. Now it was time to make his way to  the house of the Throckmortons. Then after a good meal they could commence their spreading of the true faith. They had all the ecclesiastical vestments safely hidden, ready for him to begin his tour of the houses of the faithful. His flock who still supported the old religion before the upstart Elizabeth the frigid cat had driven them  underground.  Those steadfast men and women who were forced to keep their services hidden. Proud in their defiance of those heretics who threatened them with imprisonment, painful tortures and violence, even  death. All for their belief in the true God through his representative on Earth, His Holiness Pope Benedict.