My Lord, the Hermit

by Veronica Heley

  He slept again. Above his head Herkom and Father Ambrose talked.

  ‘Is there no hope?’ said Father Ambrose. ‘He is a little better now, but very weak. He’ll never live through a hundred lashes.’

  ‘Julian’s our only hope, but he’s like his father: weak. The priests are adamant. They’ll come to fetch him at ten. Now when they come, you must slip out, and get across the drawbridge. None of my men will stop you.’

  ‘No, I’ll not leave him. I’m a fat and foolish old man, and my legs are not well adapted to running away. Will you send for some water, so that I can wash him, before … before ten o’clock? And if there’s any more food going …? Nursing the sick is hungry work.’

  They woke Amory at the last possible moment. He could not think where he was for the moment. Then he saw the monks, standing, waiting for him, and he remembered. Father Ambrose and Herkom were helping him to stand. The little friar was praying in a low tone. Amory picked up the words and began to follow them in his head. He could stand unaided, now, but he did not think he could walk, for the weight of the chains on his legs. He had been wrapped in a cloak, but now they took that from him, so that he shivered. They would think he trembled from fear. Well, there was that, too. Herkom handed him a clean loin-cloth. He looked down at himself, and groaned, for he was filthy, in spite of Father Ambrose’s efforts with water and towel; unshaven, unsightly, and stinking. Well, there was nothing he could do about it. He tried to detach his mind from what was happening. It could not last for ever. Father Ambrose was still praying aloud, but Amory had lost the thread of the words.

  They had to help him to the door, Herkom and Father Ambrose one on either side of him. One of the guards held up the weight of the chain, so that he could shuffle forward. They had not removed the pad of linen which had been bound over his shoulder, but the blood on the pad was dark brown, and not the fresh bright colour of new blood. The edges of the wound were holding together well. It did not scream with pain as it had done at first.

  The sunlight blinded him. He would have liked to stop and close his eyes for a moment, but they were dragging him on. His feet were on something softer than the cobbles of the courtyard. There were rushes laid in a path to the whipping post, strewn there for him to walk on. And what had happened to that grim post, with its dangling cuffs? Two women were working on it, winding garlands of meadow flowers round the pole: Elena and Kate. Joanna stood beside them, with a basket of herbs, which she was laying on the ground where his feet would stand.

  A dark-haired lad ran by Amory’s side, smiling, and as the boy threw another garland of flowers around Amory’s neck, someone cried ‘Hurrah’, and someone else echoed him, and the whole courtyard was filled with faces smiling at him, welcoming him, glad to see him.

  And the guards walking beside him were grinning, too, as if they were glad and sorry all at once. And that was how everyone looked, except the monks. Even Julian was there, on the steps to the keep, and he had his arm round Joyeuse.

  Father Hilarion did not look happy, of course. He stood like a black crow beside the whipping post, folding back the wide sleeves of his gown. So the priest, his enemy, would be the one to lay on with the whip. Well, perhaps that was how it should be. The Lord alone knew how long Father Hilarion had wished for Amory’s death. Amory did not think death would be long in coming. He prayed that he would show no sign of fear before he lapsed into unconsciousness. He turned his face up to the sun, and felt warmed by it, and by the warmth that came from his friends round about him: Herkom and Midge, Peterkin and Alice, little Bethany with her vast foster-mother, Rob and Col, John Blackbeard and the architect, the master carpenter and the master mason, and so many of the men with whom he had worked at the quarry. He turned his head from side to side, but could not see them clearly for the tears of gratitude that threatened to unman him.

  And Joanna, standing close to the whipping post. He had thought he would not want her to see him like this, and indeed there was pain in it, but there was joy, too. Her face changed as she took in the details of his appearance, but the look which replaced her first smile of greeting was the same anxious, motherly look she had worn when he had put Bethany on to her lap. He knew now that he need not have feared her love would die, whatever happened to him.

  He held up his arms, and Herkom fastened the cuffs around his wrists. There were tears in Herkom’s eyes, and he sniffed as he stood back. And all the time Joanna’s eyes held his, and behind him he could feel the sharp wind of hatred: Father Hilarion was flexing his arm, his right arm, which held the black snake of the whip.

  And then the lash fell on his bare back. In spite of himself, he jerked against the cuffs. He had not been ready for it. The beginning was always the worst. He knew he must think about something else, but that was not always easy to do … and Joanna was standing there with all the colour drained out of her face, and her eyes … again the whip fell, but this time he was braced and ready for it. The muscles which had hardened through nine years of labour would stand him in good stead now. If only he were not so weakened by … and again.

  He began to let out his breath slowly, little by little. He could feel drops of blood beginning to run down his back now, and the strain of holding his arms up so high was begining to start up the ache in his shoulder … and again. That made four. At forty he would be unconscious. He blinked. Joanna had gone. Where?

  He twisted to see where, and then he felt her arms close around his body from behind, and the whole length of her laid against his filthy back. He felt her jerk as the whip fell again, but he himself felt nothing but a flick on the side, as the tip of the lash came down beyond her body.

  Then someone was shouting. Amory shook his head to clear it. Her arms were still about him, and her head was resting aslant his good shoulder, and he could feel her breathing, hurried, in and out.

  ‘Lady Joanna, come here at once!’ It was the Lady Floria.

  ‘No,’ said Joanna, close in his ear. ‘No. He suffered for me. Should I not take some of his burden in return?’

  ‘Out of the way, woman!’ That was Father Hilarion.

  ‘No. He cannot take so much punishment. Let me take what I can, for him.’

  ‘That is not possible.’

  ‘Does not your creed tell of how a good man suffered for others? Even so, I will take on myself some of his pain. Here, Kate. Help me off with my dress. The good father will want to lay on to bare flesh, or he will not feel he is getting his money’s worth.’ She released Amory, and, helped by Kate, pulled off her blue gown to stand in her thin shift. She shook back her plaits, and undid the drawstring that held the neck of the chemise, letting it fall down over her shoulders. She allowed the material to drop down to her waist at the back, but held it up in front of her with one hand. The other arm she put round Amory’s waist, and laid her head once more against his. Everyone could see the bruise made on her back by the whip when it had first fallen on her.

  ‘I am ready,’ she said.

  The Lady Floria swept down the stairs. ‘Joanna, that is more than enough. To your chamber, girl. You shall be whipped for this. Julian, order her away.’

  Julian ran down the stairs, and set himself between the two women. ‘Back, aunt.’ He pushed her away. ‘This is none of your business.’

  The abbot had come out on to the top of the stairs, and was watching from above. The Lady Floria called up to him. ‘The girl is possessed. She would do better praying on her knees. …’

  ‘I am praying,’ said Joanna. ‘I am praying with deeds, as Amory taught me. Father Hilarion, proceed before my nerve fails me.’

  The priest hesitated, biting his lip. Then he lifted the whip.

  ‘Hold. Enough!’ Herkom strode forward and struck the whip aside. He pulled off his hauberk. ‘Are we men or mice that we stand aside to let a woman pay our debts? I am stronger than you, lady. Let me cover his body for you.’

  ‘And I!’ Midge danced forward, and bowed to Father Hilarion. ‘Men forget that in this fo
olish garb lives a man, who feels shame as deeply as others. Let me pay part of the debt we owe him, all of us.’

  ‘You, Midge?’ roared Herkom. ‘You’d faint at the tenth stroke!’

  ‘Then I’ll take five, and you can take my place thereafter.’

  Peterkin stepped forward. His voice went high on him, and he coughed, but got the words out. ‘I’ll take another five. I’m stronger than I look.’

  ‘Why, Peterkin!’ cried Alice. ‘You are a man, after all!’ She began to shrug herself out of her dress. ‘If you can take five, then so can I.’

  ‘And I,’ said Kate, though she trembled. ‘Men have misused my body so much already, that a little more will not matter; and I would be dead if it were not for him.’

  ‘Fools!’ quoth John Blackbeard, pushing the throng aside to reach Amory. ‘Let the strong take the brunt of it, and the women may take a stroke or two apiece afterwards if they like. I owe our master a life or two.’

  ‘And I,’ said Elena, handing the child she was nursing to Dickon.

  ‘And I,’ said Dickon, limping forward with the child in his arms.

  ‘This is becoming a farce!’ said the priest, his eyes burning. ‘Stand aside, I tell you.’

  ‘Why, don’t you believe in miracles?’ asked Midge. ‘This is the miracle of the loaves and fishes all over again. See, how we multiply at a good man’s word.’

  Rob and Col came up, grinning, their backs already bare. ‘We’re ready.’

  ‘I’ll take two strokes for him,’ said the boy Fulk, his eyes shining. ‘I swear I’m strong enough, and he is my cousin, after all.’

  ‘And what about us, eh?’ said the architect. Behind him the master carpenter and mason nodded agreement. ‘A good many of our men have been healed by him, and would be glad to repay by taking a stripe each. Is that not so, lads?’

  A chorus of assent went up, and Father Hilarion looked around wildly. ‘My lord abbot, will you not intervene?’

  ‘Most interesting,’ said the abbot. ‘You did not tell me the hermit had so many friends.’

  ‘And many admirers, to,’ said the tallest of the men-at-arms. ‘I saw him fight yesterday, to save us. Aye, and I saw him fight to protect the convent and the church, and I only wish I’d been there to see him fight on the hill-top. I’ll gladly take a stripe on his account.’

  ‘And I,’ said another of the soldiers. ‘And I.’

  Father Hilarion threw down his whip. ‘You mock Holy Church when you mock me.’

  ‘Do we mock you?’ enquired Joanna. ‘I think not. Lay on, priest. Exact your penance to the full.’

  ‘No, I will not do it.’

  ‘You must. We hold you to the very letter of the law. Don’t you see that we are all eager to expiate our own sins in this?’

  The abbot was amused. ‘I think you must continue, Father. You designed the penance, and you must carry it out … unless you wish, publicly, to remit it.’

  ‘No.’ The priest picked up the whip. ‘Very well. But someone will have to take the whip from me, when I tire.’

  ‘You, or no one,’ said Joanna. ‘There isn’t another man in the castle who wants to see Amory flogged.’

  The priest ground his teeth, and lifted the whip.

  ‘Hold hard!’ cried Herkom, as he and the other men-at-arms vied to get into position first. ‘Line up, men. On the right. Stripped to the waist, that’s it. Anyone who’s scared can stand down, but otherwise you all take one stripe each. Understand? That’s it. Step up to the post smartly, wait for the blow, and step on to let the next man take your place. That’s it. No hustling, now. Plenty of time for you all to have a turn. That’s it, John. And two three … Thomas … two three … keep it going, now. … Anyone counting? … and two, three. …’

  Twenty-five men stood forward to take a lash of the whip, and they took it, some grinning, and some with set faces, but each and every one of them smiled after, and clapped each other on the shoulder and looked pleased as they resumed their jerkins. The tall man took five lashes, and Herkom took eight. He would have taken more, but Blackbeard was breathing down his neck, and pushing him out of the way. Blackbeard took eight, and was hauled off by Midge, because Midge said it wasn’t fair that anyone should take more than Herkom. Peterkin, Midge, Dickon, Rob and Col each took four and came away white at the mouth and breathing hard, but smiling. Elena, Kate and Alice each took three, with Alice laughing as she bared her back to the lash.

  By that time there was a file of masons and carpenters waiting to take one lash of the whip each, and at the end stood Father Ambrose, struggling to get out of his ragged cassock. All of these took one. Father Hilarion was tiring, and his breath came with a gasp as he laid on.

  ‘… and that makes ninety-four,’ concluded the stout dame, who had been counting while she nursed Bethany.

  ‘And me,’ said Fulk. He had been standing at Joanna’s side for some time, his face getting paler with every minute that passed.

  ‘I don’t really think that. …’ said Julian.

  ‘It is my right, my lord,’ said Fulk, stepping to the post.

  ‘One only, then,’ said Julian.

  ‘Ninety-five,’ said several people at once.

  The boy stepped away, smiling as if he had been given a present.

  ‘And I will take the other five,’ said Joanna.

  ‘You have taken one already,’ objected Julian.

  Joyeuse stepped forward. ‘May I not take one, for my cousin?’ She had her dress unlaced already. She slipped it off, and stood straight in her shift. ‘Only might I keep my shift on, do you think?’

  Father Hilarion was shaking his head, and waving Joyeuse away. ‘No, it is not for you, who aspire to be a Bride of Christ. …’

  ‘I don’t like to see anyone persecuted like this. The hermit was ready to die for us. I would be happy to take a stroke for him, but I would very much prefer not to expose myself by removing my shift.’

  ‘And neither shall you,’ said Julian. He was getting angry. He pointed at the priest. ‘Get on with it, you … you murderer!’

  Father Hilarion lifted the whip, and brought it down on Joyeuse’s back. She shuddered and passed on, her face white, but her head held high. Someone cheered, and several of the women went to her side.

  ‘And now me,’ said Joanna. ‘I’m getting tired of waiting.’

  But Julian was pulling off his own tunic. ‘No, you don’t. I could never hold my head up again if I let everyone else take a stripe except me. I claim the same number as Herkom.’

  ‘You can’t,’ said the stout dame. ‘There are only four left.’

  ‘Two for you, and two for me,’ said Joanna, smiling at Julian. ‘I claim the right to go last, though.’

  ‘I cannot raise my whip to you, my lord,’ said Father Hilarion. ‘It is not possible.’

  ‘That’s how it’s going to be,’ said Julian. ‘But be quick, man. Our friend Amory is nigh fainting.’

  And indeed it was so. The long wait, and the fear that Joanna of all people should suffer for him, had combined with Amory’s weakness to make him droop in his fetters. Joanna had wound her arms round him, and held him upright. Their bare shoulders touched. Joanna was looking at the wound which the lash had opened up on his left shoulder, and something about it seemed to excite her, for Julian had to call her when it came to her turn to take the whip. Amory heard the sound of the lash descend on her bare back, and fainted.

  ‘The miracle of the loaves and the fishes,’ said the abbot as they sat at meat. ‘In some ways a very apt simile, but perhaps the parable of casting bread upon waters is better. Whatever the man Keren did in the past, he seems to have redeemed himself. I am glad the matter ended as it did, although I fear that my poor Father Hilarion is exhausted. He seems to have misjudged the mood of your people.’

  ‘A grave mistake,’ said the Count, who had made a miraculous recovery once he heard how Amory’s problem had been solved. ‘I assume you will move him on to another household now? I cann
ot feel comfortable with him, since he raised his hand to my son.’

  The abbot knew when to give in. ‘Of course. It is a pity, for Father Hilarion has been one of the most zealous of my priests, and his work in laying the foundation for the new church and convent is above reproach. His has not been an easy post here. I was going to suggest that we send him to negotiate with Sir Bevil’s family for us.’

  ‘I’d be against that,’ said Julian, wincing as he leaned back against his chair. ‘How could we trust him now?’

  ‘The trouble with him,’ said Joanna, easing her robe over her shoulders, ‘is that he seems to have only two ideas in his head, to build for God, and to destroy Amory.’

  ‘Strong language,’ said the abbot. ‘Tell me: do you hold all priests in contempt?’

  ‘No.’ She frowned. I think a lot of Father Ambrose, and my father had a chaplain who was marvellous with dogs. What I don’t like is priests and nuns who talk a lot about the love of God, but seem to hate their fellow men.’

  ‘Father Hilarion preaches a good sermon now and then,’ said Julian, anxious to be fair, and thinking Joanna had overstepped the bounds of politeness. ‘That was a fine one he preached about being Crusaders.’

  ‘Yet you could see how he hated giving Amory his sword and the surcoat with the cross on it.’ Joanna chuckled. ‘And Amory trying not to laugh, because he could see how much Father Hilarion was hating it.’

  ‘Laugh?’ said the abbot, staring. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because. …’ She shrugged. ‘That’s Amory. He’s …’ She shook her head, unable to express what Amory was.