Dead centre of town

It was a bitterly cold night as Jude and I trudged through the village. Hard, crusted snow lay thick on the ground. We turned into the graveyard of the church at the preceptory, ancient site of the Knights who say Ni... sorry, the Crusader Knights Hospitaller of St John.
Jude relieved himself. To this day I know not whether he was just scent marking or sensed something more mysterious.
Either way, we beat a hasty retreat and retired for the evening, chastened by our foolish diversion.