“That’s him, that rich devil there!” a voice called out. Was it one of the sergeants? The crowd blocked Small’s path. “Let me through, you rabble, can’t you see I’m a man of worth? You’ve made a mistake!” But the hint of fear in his voice gave him away.
“We saw him, we saw him, he’s the one,” called out an old woman, and the crowd surged around him so that I could barely make out a thrashing, fur-trimmed arm. I could hear his voice rising shrilly as he tried to break through the crush of bodies. I could see his wife, standing apart at a distance, her eyes wide with fear, before she hid herself in the crowd. Now I caught a glimpse of her fleeing, headdress askew, fighting her way in the opposite direction of the crowd.
“That’s him! That’s him! Tear him apart!” The crowd was milling and riotous.
“Let’s see him do it. He’s the one that’s working for the Devil!” A rough hand grabbed Lewis Small by his fur-lined surcoat, and he either tripped or was shoved onto the fiery bed of coals. He fell and cried out as his hand was singed, scrambling up and frantically trying to get away. His gold chains rattled and glittered. He had lost his plumed beaver hat, which lay smoking on the coals, before it suddenly burst into flames. It was an ugly hat, a nasty dark thing with a jewel on it and a little brim. In all this time he still had no taste.
The crowd had closed in around him now, and someone’s cudgel knocked him back onto the coals. He struggled up, frantic with pain, his eyes wild. This time his clothing smoldered and then caught fire. There was a dreadful stink like a singed cat, and I could see him clutching his burnt hands, the rings glistening on the blistered flesh. As the flames crawled up his back, he began to scream hideously and run. The crowd pulled back from him as the flames broke out in his hair, converting it into a sort of infernal wreath. Running fanned the flames, and the people cleared a wide path before him as the fire leapt from the dry stuff of his gown. Now he was clawing at his face and head, as if he could somehow stop the burning, and the blackened flesh and ashy beard cracked so that the blood flowed beneath the stubs of his fingers.
The crowd gazed with a sort of fascinated awe as the nearly unrecognizable, but still screaming, human torch ran insanely in an eccentric circle about the coals. Blindly he crashed into the tree behind the judge’s bench and fell on his back. Somehow the smoking arms and legs still worked, moving mindlessly, like a dying insect’s. Cinders and shreds of blackened clothing scattered about him on the ground, and I could see the white of bone. The crowd watched silently as the flames died around the blackened mass writhing and moaning on the ground, greasy black smoke still rising from it. I couldn’t stop staring. I couldn’t even move. My God, the man burned! I’d thought he’d emerge from the flames like a devil, still smiling his horrible smile. Don’t let him, don’t let him, I thought in terror. But the face—it wasn’t there. That blackened crust couldn’t make that awful smile ever again. The moaning—did it sound like my name? Never, dear God, never! Then the mass gave a convulsive shudder, and I could see one hand, all cracked and black like a burnt claw, pointing hideously in my direction. Dead, dead. I wanted to prod him with a stick, to make sure.
“Come away quickly, while they’re not looking.” Brother Sebastian’s voice was urgent as he threw my cloak over me and grabbed me up from the ground. With his arm around my back he pushed me into a run. Mother Hilde and the others were waiting a discreet distance away, packed and ready to go.
“Put on your shoes, child. But don’t stop to put on the rest. We have your clothes, you can put them on later. Tell me, just how is it your feet weren’t burned?”
Mother Hilde handed me my shoes, which I put on without hose.
“I don’t know, really. My feet are hurting right now from the stones we’ve run over.”
“Never question a perfectly good miracle, I say,” intoned Brother Sebastian. “And now we must away. As I always say—”
“Light feet and light hands!” the whole party chorused together.
Once a distance of a mile or so was between us and Sturbridge, we stopped so I could finish dressing, and put away my cloak, for it was a warm day. I had to show off my feet, which were bruised and not altogether clean, but certainly without burns, and that cheered everyone up greatly.
“We stayed to see if we could recapture you, Margaret,” said Hilde. “But we thought at best we’d have to load you up and hide you until your feet were well. And at worst—well, we won’t think about that.”
“You stayed for me? Just for me? Thank you, thank you, my true friends.” I sat down and cried, because I really couldn’t believe how good they’d been to me. But they embraced me and said they had expected it was more likely that I would have had to help Brother Sebastian flee, and that next time there was trouble I could make it all up to them.
“And now,” said Brother Sebastian, waving his arms, “a song to speed us on our way in merriment.” Tom and Little William began to sing:
“Young men, I rede that ye be ware
That ye come not into the snare,
For he is brought into much care
That has a shrew unto his wife.”
Then Brother Sebastian and the others joined in:
“In a net then I am caught,
My foot is penned, I may not out;
In sorrow and care that man is put
Who has a shrew unto his wife.”
Then they began a song about spring, which suited me better. We passed several happy miles in this way, until we stopped for supper at an alehouse in a village on the road. As it was quite crowded, we were lucky to find seats together in a corner. Merchants and travelers going to and from Sturbridge had given the owner very good business. We could not help overhearing the heated discussion going on at the table next to us.
“And Peter Taylor says that he saw a host of angels there lift her by the arms bodily over the fiery pit!”
“A true miracle! God has sent a Sign!”
“Yes, all virgins are to be saved.”
“No, I think it means the end of the world is at hand.”
“How many angels did you say?”
“At least twenty, all with golden wings. One had a brazen trumpet.”
“Yes, the trumpet means the end of the world, definitely.” I shrank into the corner. I feared someone might recognize me, but I needn’t have worried.
“A virgin, you say?”
“Yes, a holy virgin, falsely accused. Clad in robes of white samite with golden borders. She had long golden hair down to her ankles. The angels just carried her away to heaven, for she completely vanished, without a trace.”
“Goodness, that’s amazing.”
“The best part is what happened to the accuser. Devils rose out of the earth and grabbed him, pulling him into the fiery pit, which opened and then closed around them. They left nothing but a hard black stone, which is what he had instead of a heart.”
“Mpf,” whispered Hilde, her mouth full of food. “I always suspected as much—about the heart, I mean.” Brother Sebastian had a pleased expression on his face.
“Altogether a highly satisfactory, first-class miracle, Margaret, don’t you think?” he gloated, beneath his breath.
“Shhh!” I warned. The others tittered behind their hands. We paid and sneaked quietly out, deciding it would be wisest to sleep by the road tonight, out of the range of gossips, rather than sheltering indoors.
The next morning the party took counsel. The players wanted to continue traveling rather than go directly to London, after all. It seemed that Tom had a problem with an important fellow in the London Saddlers’ Guild that he’d not bothered to tell anyone about before. He was waiting for things to quiet down before he returned to the City, and he judged that the fellow hadn’t really had time to cool down enough yet. I looked at my toes and said, “I don’t really want to go to any more fairs for a while. I know you understand how I feel about it.”
“Margaret, you’ll soon recover. Maybe you should train dogs next time. You
just aren’t good at selling things,” Master Robert consoled me.
“Still, my dear children all,” intoned Brother Sebastian, “I myself feel the magnetic pull of that veritable navel of the universe, I mean, if you discount Jerusalem, Paris, and Rome—that is, namely, the mighty metropolis of London. There I have my winter business, and it will not be harmed by an early start. Therefore I propose that we break up this delightful party, and that we four continue on to London, where you might rejoin us, if you so desire, at a later date.”
“Break up? That’s really too bad. We were doing so well with Peter—the fortune-telling, that is—it’s really a pity to stop so soon.”
“It is a great pity, and we shall miss your excellent company. But London is a city paved with gold. It beckons, you understand.”
“But how will we find you?” said Parvus Willielmus.
“Inquire at the house of Sebastian the Apothecary in Walbrook for the whereabouts of Brother Malachi—you’ll always be welcome.”
“Brother Malachi, my dear Sebastian, who is he?” asked Hilde.
“Why, myself, of course. That’s my London name. I borrowed Sebastian’s for the road. He did not give his permission, but he would have if he’d known about it, I’m sure.”
“Oh, Sebastian, dear—I mean Malachi—you’re a man of such parts,” she murmured fondly.
“I live a cosmopolitan life, my dear, one that will be my joy to share with you.”
“You won’t leave me, will you?” I asked anxiously.
“Why, Margaret,” he answered simply. “Would we abandon Peter? Or Moll? You’re part of the household as long as you want to be.” I was dreadfully relieved. I would starve in a minute without my friends. I just wasn’t competent to get a living by myself.
And so we parted from our friends of the road with many embraces and tears, and promises to see each other another day. They set their faces west, and we toward London. We were full of hope.
“What is London like, dear Malachi? I have never lived in a city,” said Mother Hilde.
“It spreads as far as the eye can see,” said Brother Malachi, spreading out his arms. “Every convenience, every comfort, that might be imagined is there, seven times over. Within the walls lie nearly two hundred churches and over thirty thousand souls—that is, if the late pestilence has not reduced the numbers sadly. You cannot imagine the clamor of the bells—not just one miserable parish bell, but hundreds and hundreds of them, rolling across the city in waves! Foreigners toil and travel incessantly to bring exotic spices and luxuries to her door. A constant round of pleasure—parades, plays, and festivities of the most exquisite nature—entice and delight her residents. All this, dear Hilde, I lay at your feet.” He bowed as if laying a gift at her feet. She laughed. I loved to see Hilde laugh. She had earned whatever joy she could find, I thought.
MARGARET PEEKED SIDEWAYS FROM where she sat on the cushions of the window seat, her hands in her lap, resting on a piece of neglected mending. She wished to watch and enjoy Brother Gregory’s growing annoyance as he finished writing. There is nothing more delightful than secretly annoying someone who tends toward the kind of pomposity that Brother Gregory liked to display in matters of religion. By now Margaret knew her subject well. A red flush was climbing up the back of his neck. He turned suddenly and stood up over her, and growled down at her in an irritated voice, “I suppose, madame, you are trying to inform me that you and the ‘Blessed Maid of Sturbridge’ are one and the same creature.”
“I’m only telling you what I saw and heard. I believe in trying to be exact,” she replied sweetly.
Brother Gregory fumed as he walked about the room with his hands behind his back.
“You are an utter disgrace. I suppose you take a percentage in the sale of relics.”
“Oh, never that, I assure you. Of course, some time later, I did catch Brother Malachi scooping ashes out of the fireplace into reliquaries. He said he got the idea from the way the dead coals were raked up and sold as a cure for palsy. He did very well with them for a while. That was before he changed to selling teeth.”
“Don’t tell me about it, for I don’t wish to hear more.” Brother Gregory clamped his mouth shut in a tight line.
A perfect day, thought Margaret. I have got a large part of the story done, and annoyed Brother Gregory in the bargain. I suppose now I’ll have to get back to work. Today they were making soap, and while it is not a difficult process, Margaret liked to supervise it closely to make sure that it did not come out too strong. There is something very nasty about soap that peels the skin off the user. Later, the tailor was coming to take her measure for the new dress and surcoat that Kendall had ordered for her. He had decided that it would be nice to outfit Margaret and the girls for the Christmas season.
“I have a piece of dark green velvet that will make your pretty eyes shine, sweetheart,” he had said, giving her a squeeze around the shoulders. And although Margaret was never much concerned with clothes and considered it a great bother to stand still for the tailor, who was she to refuse such a gracious offer from the man she cared for so much? Kendall was outfitting his household, as well, and it was on Margaret’s shoulders that the business of making these arrangements fell. Then, of course, there was supper; but there was always supper. When it is served in a large household, it is a job for a field marshal. Margaret reluctantly put her book out of her mind, even before Brother Gregory had quite left, and when he bade her farewell, she looked a little blank before she remembered that she needed to answer what he appeared to be saying.
“—I was telling you that I have business out of town for two weeks,” he repeated with exaggerated patience.
“Oh! Well, that’s all right. I’ll practice in between,” she said, as if she had still not fully comprehended what he was saying. Then she suddenly realized what was going on, and said with a new note of alarm in her voice, “You’ll be away? Oh, my goodness, not long, I hope.”
“Two weeks, as I have told you.”
“You will be back to help with the book, won’t you?” I’ve gone too far, and now he’s really angry. How will I manage if he really doesn’t mean to come back at all? The thought stabbed through her.
“Yes, I will. My business away shouldn’t take too long. It’s just some family business. It will take two weeks.”
“Oh, I see, two weeks. That’s not long.” She sounded relieved.
“Exactly,” said Brother Gregory, pronouncing the word with dry precision. One cannot be too careful in dealing with persons who have a naturally lower capacity for comprehension.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DURING HIS FORTNIGHT’S ABSENCE Brother Gregory had made the best of an unpleasant time at home with a cheerful distraction. He had allowed his Curiosity free rein to follow the flash of remembrance he’d had about the odd, gold-shining eyes. Now he was all a-bubble with a new piece of knowledge that would force Margaret to admit she’d been entirely wrong in her argument with him. It was only a pity, he thought to himself as he trudged down to the river, that the raging quarrel at home couldn’t be resolved as perfectly. It was all doubtless waiting until he should see God, which really shouldn’t be all that long a time to wait, now, since father always managed to add immeasurably to his Humility in one way or another.
Brother Gregory did not realize how much he was capable of missing the house on Thames Street and its occupants, until he rounded the corner and saw it there, looming ahead of him like the brightly painted superstructure of a galleon. Directly in front of him, lounging in the slime of the gutter, was a great sow, eyes half closed in ecstasy as her piglets sucked at her teats. One little rebel had not joined in the family meal but was rooting happily in a great pile of stable muck that nearly blocked up the street.
And not raked up yet! thought Brother Gregory with annoyance. A person can hardly get through! It wasn’t like this in the old days. There’s no order anywhere now. Pigs loose! Trash! Now you can’t get an honest workman to do anything! Greed
, it’s just greed! Nothing is right since the plague. Greedy workmen, runaway serfs, crazed women who need to write books! Things are just coming apart! So intent was Brother Gregory in his worry and in negotiating his way around the pigs and the rubbish, that he failed to hear the shout of “Gardy-loo!” from above. A brawny servant woman’s arm appeared from a window in an overhanging second story across the street. A heave—and warm liquid splashed about Brother Gregory, wetting his gown down one side. Gregory shuddered and jumped aside too late, stubbing his sandaled toe on an uneven paving stone in the process. He was so distressed, he did not even have time to reflect on the anarchy that allowed each householder to pave the little portion in front of his house with whatever material, at whatever height, that suited him.
“By the Body of Christ, you fool woman—!” He shook his fist at the closed shutters above.
“Why, Brother Gregory, I thought you disapproved of vain oaths?” Roger Kendall had been approaching his own doorstep from the opposite direction when he had seen the mishap to Brother Gregory two doors down. He was flanked by the clerk who assisted with his accounts and an apprentice boy, who sniggered.
“I do, I do,” responded Brother Gregory ruefully. “It was a weakness of the flesh; I’ll have to do penance for it.”
“I see your sleeve and hem are quite wet. You shall come in and be set right.” Master Kendall’s voice sounded annoyingly cheerful.
“I’d best go home; I’ll need to wash up,” grumbled Brother Gregory. He was inspecting his sleeve with a black look on his face. “The day started out well enough, but who knows what Fortuna has in store for us before it’s over?”
“If this is the farthest Fortune’s wheel puts you down, then you’re a lucky man indeed. But you’re not leaving my house until you’re as tidy as you came.”
“But I’m not in your house,” protested Brother Gregory.
“You are now, friend.” The door was opened from within, and Gregory was whisked inside. Handing his clerk a packet of papers Roger Kendall called a servant to him.
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