I throw myself on to the ground and scream my frustration and anger. I drum my heels, wail until I am wrung empty. I lie there listening to the nothing between my ears. The reeds rattle with my secret, passing the truth from stem to stem: The Maid is a fool, a fool, a fool. The Maid loves. The Maid loves.
For the first time, I speak to my fears as one who is not in thrall to them.
‘Be quiet,’ I say, and the tauntings hiccup to a stop, surprised that I am their master, even if only for a breath. ‘I am my own woman,’ I say. ‘If I love – so be it. If I love, that is.’
I rinse off the muck in a ditch and climb back on to the horse. Her vast eyes glitter with what looks a lot like amusement. She whickers and stamps her hoof. I cluck at her, tug her mane gently. She turns about and we begin the long trek back to the village.
As soon as I have stabled the mare, I seek Anne out and find her in the house, shelling peas. I take her hand and place it on my breast, over the spot where my heart thumps.
‘Are you hungry?’ she asks.
I shake my head from side to side. I cannot speak for the pebble lodged in my throat. The mute disguise I have created for the village is accurate, tonight at least. Anne nods in response. I stumble into her arms before she has had a chance to open them to me fully. I am so famished I think I may swallow her in my kisses. But she is hungry also. I cling to her like one who is drowning, and plunge my hand into her body as though the safety I seek is between her legs.
NONE
1349
From Saint Cuthburga to Saint Frithestan
THOMAS OF UPCOTE
The boy found me in the church, pressing grease into the hinges of the window shutters.
‘I must speak with Father Thomas. I was told he was here.’
‘You have found him,’ I said, climbing down the ladder and wiping my hands on my stomach.
The lad did not move from the doorway. ‘I have a message. From Father John, of the Staple. He preaches at Saint Petroc’s.’
‘Yes, yes, I know him.’
The boy shifted his weight from his right foot to his left, and back again.
‘So? The message?’
He stared at my pattens, my hose loose about the knee, my oily tunic.
‘What then, boy? Has he sent a fool?’
‘No, sir. Father. Reverend sir.’ He sighed. ‘Father John will attend upon you today, after Sext.’
‘But that is in a few hours only.’
‘That is the message.’
‘Will he be alone?’
‘No, Father.’
‘Then who will be with him?’
‘He did not tell me,’ he shrugged. ‘Gentlemen.’
He put out his hand and would not move until I put a penny into it. He kissed the coin and left without bidding me good day. As he passed through the gate I heard him singing, There was a fox lived in the wood. I tried to walk slowly to the house, but was still breathless when I arrived. Anne brought water and I began to clean my hands.
‘I need my best shirt and over-tunic,’ I said, picking the stickiness from beneath my fingernails. ‘John of Pilton will be here this mid-afternoon. And some other gentlemen.’
Anne held the bowl steady. ‘Then I will take the girl to the well, sir.’
‘No, she will stay. And you also.’
I could not get all the dirt away. It seemed that I moved it from one part of my hand to the other. I rubbed harder.
‘Strangers will confound her.’
‘They are not strangers to me. They have business here. With her.’
‘With her?’
‘Hold the bowl still. Can you not see that I am covered in muck up to my wrists?’
‘What business?’
‘My business. The work of God. And men.’
Anne took the bowl to the window. ‘Thomas, what have you done?’
‘I have done nothing. I do not need to explain myself.’
She threw the filthy water through the open casement. I heard it splash against earth.
A crowd of boys ran shrieking beside the wagon, announcing its arrival. It was as tawdrily attired as the men within; painted and panelled sides, and a hooped roof of scarlet cloth that bulged and sucked its cheeks in the breeze.
They began their complaints as soon as they climbed down: the dampness of the air, the clenching smoke from the hovels, and Nicholas Fuller the physician the loudest amongst them. He peered into the cup of ale brought up from the brewer’s house, sipped at it unwillingly.
I smiled and held my cap, bobbing my head at these insults as I showed them up the stairs into the schoolroom. The light warmed the window frames and filled the room with the smell of flax oil and beeswax.
John showed Nicholas to the largest chair, dancing about his skirts. I knew also William Sneaton, the master of the boys’ school, but not the other man, whom they called Walter. None thought to introduce me to him.
‘Master John tells us that you boast of a monster pulled from the marshes,’ began Nicholas.
I opened my mouth, but the schoolmaster filled the space. ‘There was a monster born in Hartland, as I heard tell, that had two snakes growing from its breast, and another from its mouth. Its mother had lain with the Serpent.’ He smoothed the long hair on his chin. ‘It was at the time of the hunger. Sent by the Devil himself.’
‘To confuse us.’
‘To turn us from God.’
‘I heard this too.’
‘I also.’
They tussled for a while to be the first who heard this tale, the tips of their noses sketching circles in the air.
‘What happened to the creature?’ I asked.
They looked surprised that I could speak. Or dared to.
‘I did not hear tell.’
‘Nor I.’
‘I believe it died; it was ordered to be starved,’ said William.
‘And the mother?’ asked John.
‘Stoned for her sin.’
‘But the child I have here is no monster,’ I said. ‘There is no deformity about her.’
‘Is she not green? I heard she was green,’ said Nicholas.
I lifted my chin. ‘She was green. And brown. A multitude of hues when we found her in the marshes.’
‘A fish then,’ said Walter.
The others turned towards him, nodding agreement. Nicholas coughed into his hand, wiped it against his embroidered tunic.
‘Not a fish,’ I continued. My heart beat fast, but I placed my hands in a calm arrangement upon my stomach. All would be well. I was convinced of her holiness: they would be too. ‘The colours upon her were easily loosened by water and much scrubbing.’ I looked from face to face. ‘Not the scales of a fish, which we also scrub away, but dirt, revered sirs.’
I watched their faces. Walter smiled and I permitted myself to smile also.
‘Dirty,’ he said.
Nicholas grunted. ‘I heard it on good report that she is a pygmy.’ He glared at John. ‘Is she small?’
‘Only as any girl close to womanhood,’ I replied.
‘Is she a pygmy then? Did you consider this?’ he continued, ignoring me.
‘Origen has proved that pygmies are not human,’ piped the schoolmaster.
‘She is a child, not yet full grown,’ I persisted.
‘Why does she not tell you whence she came?’
‘She does not speak.’
‘Speech can easily be beaten out of the unwilling,’ said William to the others, but not to me.
‘She is not unwilling. She makes noises, but they are not English, nor Latin, nor Greek.’
‘French then?’
‘Not even French. No tongue of men.’
‘I heard she grunts and whinnies,’ said John.
‘Like a beast.’
The word rolled heavily in the space between us and I could not pick up its weight swiftly enough.
‘Does she have the head of a dog? I heard of a dog-headed boy born in Bristol,’ squeaked William. ‘His f
ather sinned grievously, and his children were cursed.’
‘They are godless in the north.’
They nodded again; hounds on a hot day that hang out their tongues and droop their muzzles.
‘She has the head of a girl,’ I said, my voice straining to be heard. ‘There is no malformation in her body.’
‘I heard tell of a girl with the claws of a crab rather than hands,’ began William. Nicholas glared at him, and he quietened. The man Walter spoke to me more politely.
‘Can she speak to beasts?’
I selected my words with care. ‘It is true that she innocently chooses the company of animals. She lodges in the stable.’
‘This is foulness,’ rumbled Nicholas. ‘Her mother lay with a horse.’
‘She does not have any of the features of a horse.’
He did not hear me. ‘Who then cast her out to conceal her vileness. That is why she stalls with beasts. She is half beast herself.’
I answered quickly, finding words I did not know I possessed. ‘Or perhaps she is sinless: the Holy Brannoc himself yoked stags to the plough, and a wolf became his faithful servant. Holiness, not foulness.’
‘Saint Petroc did this too,’ said John, very loud, so that all turned to him.
‘He did,’ I said, and prayed it did not sound like a question. My heart warmed to him for the first time I could remember. They would believe. God would make it so.
‘Foulness,’ grumbled Nicholas, glaring at John.
‘As beasts are to us, so must we appear to God,’ sighed William, tugging at the hairs on his chin so fiercely that some came away. He looked at them, wound around his fingers, then shook them onto the floor. The rest of the company grunted, nodded. I waited for quietness to come upon us again.
‘I would not claim any holiness for myself, sirs,’ I said. ‘Not at all. I am a simple parish priest. I do not have the learning you gentlemen possess.’ I looked at my knees. ‘But I have observed this child. When we found her, she bit and snarled in the company of men. Now she holds herself meekly, and contends no more. At least, not when she is with me, a man of God.’
I did not say, And also Anne. Most of all, I did not speak of my vision. I would not influence their own awakening of faith. It was not for me to say she was holy. That was for the Lord. Nicholas removed his cap, flapped it before his face. His cheeks oozed with sweat.
‘She does not speak in the tongues of men, and prefers the company of horses. Is that not mark enough of an animal?’
He hawked and emptied his mouth onto the rushes. I would not let myself become angry. I am as mild as a lamb, I said privately.
‘With God’s grace she has been sent to us as a girl child,’ I said, and nodded devoutly; saw all heads save Nicholas’s nod too. My voice swelled. ‘Must we not allow little children to come to the Lord? Did He not teach—’
‘Enough talk,’ interrupted Nicholas, waving away my protestations. ‘We must see this proven. I would examine this creature. I am a man of medicine. I will tell you if she is child of beast or child of man.’
The nodding began afresh. I swallowed air, which lay heavy in my belly.
‘I will send for her,’ I said, for I dared not leave the room.
I could have fought them. To this moment, more than any other, I would return and be a different man. But I was determined to make them see through my eye of faith, and my words were not sufficient to the task. If the act of looking upon the Maid hastened their belief, then so be it. It was my undoing.
I leaned out of the window and cursed the emptiness of the street. The cart still stood outside the alehouse door. I could smell meat cooking. The cart driver would be enjoying his meal. My mouth filled with water.
‘Aline!’ I bawled and her face appeared at the window, wet about the mouth. ‘Go to my house, I beg you. I pray you see that the girl is brought here.’
‘The girl?’
I pushed my head further out of the casement, clinging to the sill.
‘Can you not hear me? The Maid,’ I hissed. Still she stared at me. ‘The Vixen,’ I whispered, and rolled my eyes.
Her mouth formed a small o, and she bellowed to the room behind her that she must be errand-girl to the priest. There was laughter, smothered none too quickly.
I looked more closely at the wagon. The straw at its bottom was enough for comfort, but dirty. My uncharitable humour noted that the good doctor was not so rich that he could afford fresh rushes for his journey. Or was too lazy to have a care. As I watched, the surface stirred and a rat tumbled from the back of the wagon and hobbled towards the nearest wall. How slowly it moves, I thought. Even the vermin of the Staple are lazy. One of our cats would soon put a finish to it. I felt moist breath on my ear and my blood leapt. Nicholas laid his paw on my shoulder.
‘A fine schoolhouse my Lord Bishop has built here,’ he said.
‘Indeed, sir. We are grateful every day.’
‘It is a shame we did not need to chase out any boys to make room for us.’ My face glowed. ‘Can any read in this place? Save yourself, Father Thomas?’
‘We are humble folk,’ I chanted.
‘Indeed you are.’
He patted me like you would a toothless hound, long past its hunting days. I leaned further out of the window to escape his clutch.
‘See: she is brought,’ I shouted and gladly, for Anne was approaching, leading the Maid by the hand.
The girl blinked as though the light pricked her eyes. Anne had clothed her in one of her old under-dresses, and the girl rubbed at her thigh, unused to the heavy fabric so close to her skin. I prayed she did not tear it. Prayed that she kept it upon her and did not caper about naked. They must see her for the angelic creature she was.
Their feet creaked the stairs: Anne’s tread heavy and slow; the girl’s faint, quieter than any child, who are by nature noisy. I pushed the comparison away. She is a child, I reminded myself. Sent to me by the Lord. Then they were in the room. The Maid held onto Anne’s hand and regarded us steadily.
‘Now then,’ said Nicholas, and swept across the floor towards the women.
The girl shrivelled into Anne’s side.
‘Have a care, my good doctor,’ I called out. ‘She is a maiden, and modest before any man.’
‘Yes. So you say,’ he said, and sat again, his legs wide open at the knees. ‘Woman, bring her to me.’
He coughed, and it turned into a rattling bark. He pounded his chest and spat into his hand, peering at the dark gobbet before smearing it onto his thigh. Anne turned wide eyes towards me. Her cheeks were pale. She bit her lip and made a show of lifting her eyebrows and casting meaningful looks at the place on Nicholas’s gown where he wiped the spittle. I frowned at her and remained silent.
‘There is nothing to fear, mistress,’ said John. ‘We are not here to do any harm. We must decide simply if this is a child of man or beast.’
‘See,’ I said. ‘Look upon her. The Maid is clean and whole. Born of woman.’
The physician rubbed his palms against his knees, darkening the wool. ‘But she stands before us clothed,’ he said. ‘Who knows what foulness she may be hiding beneath her wrapper?’
‘She hides nothing, sir,’ said Anne. ‘I have cared for her, bathed and clothed her. I have seen the whole of her.’
Nicholas sweated his hands up and down his thighs. ‘I’m sure you have. But am I not the physician here?’ He looked about him at the other men, and they smiled into their sleeves.
‘Who knows what passes for clean and whole in such a place?’ muttered the schoolmaster.
‘Let her be stripped,’ said Nicholas.
‘Let it be so, mistress Anne,’ I said, examining the ribbed plaster on the wall.
She knelt beside the girl and whispered words we could not hear, motioning for her to raise her arms so that the dress could be lifted over her head. As she raised the cloth we could see in turn the roughened skin of her knees, the ropes of her thighs, the goat’s beard between them, and the
pale crescent scratches laddering up her belly to the buds of her new breasts. Then at last her head, the tufts of hair where Anne had shorn her. She stood quietly and looked at us. Not bold, merely curious; tugging at the knots on her head.
I waited. For a miracle. For them to be struck by the evidence of her holiness. The room was quiet, save for our breathing. The only light was that trickling through the thick glass at the windows.
‘Turn her.’ The doctor’s voice was rough.
Anne spoke softly, helped her turn, revealing the wings of her shoulder blades, the rack of her ribs and barely swelling hips, and again, the veil of healed scars and scratches. I did not know why God did not cast a halo of brightness around her. Had I sinned in some new way? Had I displeased the Lord? At last I found my voice.
‘See. Did I not say she was whole? The only marks on her are scratches. From the cruelty of men or beasts, I do not know. But she is clearly born of woman, as are we all.’
All save Nicholas nodded in agreement with me, and Anne began to place the dress over the child’s head.
‘Wait,’ said the doctor, and coughed into his hand again. ‘She may be hiding her beastly nature within. The Devil tempted Saint Anthony in the form of a female. With teeth in her cunny. I will test her.’
‘Nicholas,’ began John, quietly.
‘It is the only way to be sure,’ he said before the rest of the words could be out. ‘I have tested many women thus in the Staple.’
He glared at us, to see who would fight against him. We were silent.
‘You shall not destroy her maidenhead,’ said Anne. ‘For then how shall things be for her?’
‘I have done this many times,’ he spoke, and loudly.
‘Did you find any teeth?’ growled Anne.
He turned upon me, scarlet with choler. ‘You keep an unruly house, priest: I do not know who is servant and who is master.’
I said nothing. John stepped forward.
‘Let us calm ourselves, gentlemen.’ He held his hands up as though about to pray. ‘Master Nicholas is a fine physician, and a godly man. Thomas is a gentle and careful priest.’ Nicholas grunted. ‘There may be no need of fingers. This goodwife vouches for the Maid’s virginity, and so it may be. We can search for teeth with our eyes as well as we may with our hands.’
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