15 The Sempster's Tale

by Frazer, Margaret

  ‘I thought that your rite of baptism was supposed to cleanse and make anew the soul of Man.“

  ‘It does, but as a dog returns to its vomit—“

  ‘And an ass to its braying,“ Daved snapped.

  Anne had seen him angered in small ways a few times. What she had never seen was him in anger—anger around him like a dark and burning cloak, still in his control but— like fire—no less dangerous for that. But what she also saw was the gathered horror in the stares the nun’s two men now had on him, as if somehow, now that they understood what Daved was, he was turned into something hideous. But he wasn’t. He was still Daved, and Brother Michael would give him over to men who would kill him for it, would torture him to break his will and body, then burn him alive, chained to a stake, helpless while flames leaped up around him through high-piled wood, with no hope except that his executioner might strangle him before the fire reached his flesh, and if that mercy weren’t given, then the agony as the flames took him from the feet upward, his flesh scorching, blackening, burning. His screams until finally the flames finished with him, and there was nothing left but ashes and charred bones. All of his beauty, his laughter, his kindness and strength and clever mind gone in screaming agony to nothing.

  That was the death he had played against every time he had taken on the seeming of a Christian. And he was still playing against it, Anne realized. Goading the friar. Keeping him at word-war. Holding off the moment he would be bound, chained, locked away until taken to the bishop’s prison. Maybe hoping—Anne’s heart lifted with the desperate thought—hoping that the trouble in the streets would spread into enough confusion that somehow he’d have chance at escape. Or that his uncle would come back with, somehow, rescue. Or fighting because it was not in him simply to give up.

  But Brother Michael’s urge to battle looked to be no less than his, and past Daved’s words he was saying on, “… even so man returns to his old sins and, worse, finds new sins in which to wallow. Look you at the Church’s mercy, leaving Jews through all these centuries past to follow your faith, such as it was, because it was the faith of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the faith of the Prophets, the faith given to mankind to ready us for Christ’s coming. Despite your blindness to the Light of Christ, despite your persevering in darkness, the Church sheltered you as one shelters a cripple. And yet treacherously, under that protection, you have corrupted the very faith you professed, that very faith of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob that was the Church’s reason for mercy to you.”

  Daved laughed shortly, bitterly. “For that, and because we made money your Christian princes could leech from us by bushelfuls.”

  Brother Michael raised his voice. “You were allowed to dwell among us in hope the Light would finally end your blindness, despite you’ve lived by usury and other foulnesses, preying on Christian weaknesses.”

  ‘We’ve lived by whatever ways Christians leave to us,“ Daved said sharply back at him. ”And those ways become fewer every year. Whenever we have something that a Christian covets, it’s taken from us, sooner more usually than later. Does a Jew hold land and make it prosper? A Christian finds a lord to give it to him instead. Let Jews have lands or vineyards or trades that prosper, laws are passed that take away the lands, the vineyards, forbid us those trades. We used to practice every craft in Christendom, but steadily, steadily, we’ve been forced back and back into lesser and lesser lives. And then you scorn us for how we live, for what we do to stay alive with the less and less you, in your Christian ’charity,‘ leave to us.“

  ‘As hope lessens that you as a people will accept the Light, so should your place in the world grow less,“ Brother Michael said, his words edged with anger for the first time. ”And even such mercy as you’ve had, you no longer deserve. Your treachery is found out, and an end must be made. Justice—“

  ‘Do you mean my particular treachery or my people’s at large?“ Daved asked mockingly.

  ‘Both,“ Brother Michael said back, judge-stern and certain. ”You’ll die both for your own treachery in seeming Christian and for your treacherous heresy as a Jew, faithless as you Jews are become to even your own poor faith, the covenant broken that let you live safe in the Church’s grace and care…“

  ‘

  ‘Safe’ except for whenever a pack of Christians felt like killing Jews,“ Daved said, rude and bitter together.

  ‘… so that by right of your treacherous heresy, you will all be brought down, death no more than you deserve, who refuse the light of Christ!“

  ‘The charge of heresy against us is a lie,“ Daved said quietly, his quietness as dangerous as his open anger had been.

  As if he were lecturing a slow student, he said, “We have not corrupted our faith. We are not heretics, nor lawfully within the compass of your Christian ‘justice,’ except as you’ve corrupted that ‘justice’ to your own ends.”

  ‘Our ends are to cleanse the world of the Devil’s works. For long and long you hid behind your false language, your false hearts, but that ended when at last we ceased to take you at your word and read for ourselves your perverted, and perverting, writings.“

  ‘What you mean,“ said Daved with cold scorn, ”is that some Christian scholars finally bestirred themselves—after how many hundreds of years?—to learn the language in which their holy book was first written.“

  ‘And thereby,“ Brother Michael said, his voice rising, ”found out that rather than living only by your Torah, as you claimed and for which the Church gave you leave to live, you had given way to the shifts and subtleties of foul corrupters, taking their twisting of truth to your hearts in place of God’s clean word. Rashi. Maimonides. Ibn Ezra—“

  ‘Whose names should not even be in your mouth, befouled by your ignorance,“ Daved said.

  ‘They are the befoulers! Corrupting your Jewish faith so far astray from God’s given word as to leave you no going back. Dark with ignorance though your forefathers were, in their darkness they at least followed a once-hallowed way and were therefore tolerated in the body of Christendom. By heeding these others, you’ve forsaken the way where you trod safely in your error, have broken the covenant between Church and Jew, are heretics and must be pursued as such, lest your corruption spread, destroying others with you!“

  ‘Those scholars you condemn,“ Daved said, ”have no more ’corrupted‘ our faith than your own vaunted scholars have ’corrupted‘ yours. Your Augustine, Bernard, Aquinas, Anselm, and how many dozens others whose words you study over and over. If to talk of and interpret God’s word is the same as corrupting that word, then your Christian faith is corrupted at its very roots, from the time of your Paul who never saw or heard your Jesus but went on at length about what was meant by and could be drawn from what he heard your Christ had said.“

  ‘He followed the light of Christ, not the darkness of unbelief. There isn’t even ground to stand on for debate between us. Your guilt and heresy are set and certain.“ He turned his hawk-gaze on Father Tomas. ”You are Jews, and therefore—“

  ‘I am not a Jew,“ Father Tomas declared, sounding both angry and desperate.

  Brother Michael swung full around on him. “The full truth of that remains to be found out. But you…” Turning fiercely on Daved again. “… you are beyond denial a Jew. Look you, Master Grene, with him or them surely lies the answer to your stepson’s murder.”

  ‘He never harmed Hal,“ Raulyn protested. ”I won’t believe that.“

  ‘A Jew did it. I saw and said that from the first, despite no Jews were known in London. Now we know of three, and unless the two we have can tell us of others here, they are the only Jews we have.“

  ‘Father Tomas said the marks—“ Raulyn started.

  ‘Do you think ’Father‘ Tomas wouldn’t lie to—“

  ‘I am a baptized Christian and a priest,“ Father Tomas cried out.

  ‘Your guilt or innocence will be found out.“ Brother Michael’s threat in that was open and did not change as he shifted his hard look to Ra
ulyn. ”Just as yours will be, Master Grene. The layers of crimes and guilt look to be many here and will be found out, I promise you. Whether you knew this man and his uncle were Jews and how much else you know—all that will be found out.“

  If Raulyn had answer to that, he had no chance to make it as a short, hard-knuckled rap came at the door, and Mistress Hercy entered.

  ‘Madam—“ Brother Michael began at her, but she swept a look as sharp and hard as his own at everyone and said at Raulyn, ”Your wife needs you. Now.“

  Chapter 19

  Mistress Hercy turned her demand from Raulyn and toward Anne. “You, too, Anne. Please.” And while Master Grene said, “I can’t come now. Anne, would—”, Frevisse answered for her, “Of course,” and had her by the arm and toward the door before Anne could answer, Mistress Hercy barely able to step from their way. Anne tried to twist free of her hold and look back, but Frevisse’s grip and haste kept her from it.

  Did Anne have any thought at all of how much her face betrayed? Frevisse thought fiercely. If the friar had looked her way even once, he would had her into his net of suspicions on the instant. However wrong she was to have taken a lover, let be a Jewish one, Frevisse saw no help in letting the Inquisition have her and did not slow their fast walk down the hall, Mistress Hercy hurrying to catch them up. She knew it was probably her own anger at the men driving her as much as anything. Among the many things she had not perfected in her nun’s life was patience at debate that was not debate. Brother Michael had declared his accusations and shoved aside, half-heard at best, whatever Daved Weir said back at him, no matter how to the point, well-taken, and well-reasoned Daved’s answers had been. Brother Michael was of a kind she found least easy to bear—so certain of his answers to everything that anyone who questioned against his certainty was not only wrong but to be scorned. To be that certain of anything besides the love of God seemed to her a cowardice, a wish to hide from any thought but those in which you felt safe. Whatever else could be said against Daved Weir, he was not a man who hid from thoughts. Trapped though he was and surely doomed, he’d held his own against Brother Michael with cool boldness.

  All else aside, Anne Blakhall had taken a brave man for her lover.

  But how, as a merchant, had Daved Weir become so learned that he could meet a friar of the Inquisition blow for blow? Not that his learning would save him. He was too far in the wrong, being in England at all and seeming Christian. Nothing except truly turning Christian and a lifetime of penance would keep him alive, and Frevisse did not think fear or force or any persuasion would bring him to that. Unless he loved Anne enough…

  Mistress Hercy overtook them at the foot of the stairs where they all had to pause to gather their skirts for going up, asking as she did, “Why can’t Raulyn come now? What was the matter in the solar just now? Something was the Matter. More than the friar having been knocked about.”

  Anne drew a harsh breath to make probably a harsh answer, but Frevisse raised a silencing finger and ordered, “Not a word. Not one. Would you make everything worse for him?”

  Anne snapped her mouth closed on whatever she might have said, but Mistress Hercy demanded, “What worse? What are you talking of? What’s toward in there?”

  Keeping one hand for her skirts, Frevisse took hold on Anne’s arm again and started up the stairs, taking Anne with her and answering as she went, “It’s been found out Master Weir and his uncle are secretly Jews. Brother Michael—”

  ‘Jews?“ Mistress Hercy gasped and not for the stairs’ steepness. ”Jews?“ She caught at Frevisse’s skirts from behind, stopping her. ”They’re never. Are you certain?“

  ‘Brother Michael is,“ Frevisse said. ”Master Bocking has escaped, but he’s questioning Master Weir for it even now.“

  Alarm and questions of her own crossed Mistress Hercy’s face, but before she could ask them, Frevisse said, “What’s amiss with Mistress Grene?”

  Instantly turned to what mattered more to her than Jews, Mistress Hercy answered, “Fret and worry and grief.” She let Frevisse go and went past her and Anne, leading now up the stairs, saying as she went, “We’re hearing more from the streets all the time. Why hasn’t Cade taken his men back to Southwark? He did last night.”

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe he’s losing his hold on them.“

  ‘Well, that’s no surprise to anyone but maybe Cade,“ Mistress Hercy said tartly. Now at the parlor door, she paused. ”Best say nothing about Jews. I don’t believe it. It’s nonsense. You can tell Jews from Christians, can’t you? They look different. And there’s the smell. Of sulphur, from being the Devil’s servants. Master Bocking couldn’t be—“ She broke off, shaking her head. ”That friar is loose-witted is all-She lifted and lightened her voice, saying as she went into the parlor, “Pernell, my darling, here’s Anne and Dame Frevisse anyway. Raulyn is at man-talk with the others and will come soon.”

  Frevisse paused to let Anne go ahead of her, judging by a quick look at her face in the lamplight through the opened doorway that she had steadied, was better-hiding her raw feelings. That was something, anyway.

  The child Lucie was sitting on a joint stool near the table, sewing by the lamplight, but Pernell stood at the southward window, turned from it toward the door, her hands spread over the swell of her belly, her face creased with worry that made her look like an uncertain, frightened child as she said, “I can hear shouting. There’s fighting started, isn’t there?”

  ‘It’s nothing but high-heartedness,“ her mother said bracingly, crossing to the table to take up a goblet waiting there. ”You need to finish this, sweetling.“

  ‘Raulyn has gone out again, hasn’t he?“ Pernell said, her voice thin with fear.

  Anne, going toward her, said with what could pass for light ease, “I promise you he’s here. But you know what men are when they get to talking.”

  Pernell turned away from the goblet her mother was now offering her, back to the window. “I woke up to what sounded like fighting just outside.”

  Anne put an arm around Pernell and gentled her away toward her chair, saying with just enough laughter to make it the more real, “It’s nothing more than we hear when things go out of hand at a holiday time. It’s our worry makes everything sound worse, that’s all, and we shouldn’t be worried. Master Bocking and Master Weir were out for a while and came back to say it’s only the rebels reveling a bit to make up for those nights they spent on Black Heath.”

  ‘So there,“ Mistress Hercy said, following them with the goblet. ”Whatever is happening, it can’t be too stirring, or Master Weir at least would have stayed for the sport instead of coming back.“

  Pernell gave a shakey laugh at that and let Anne set her in the chair.

  ‘Besides that,“ Anne said, ”Raulyn has set good guard. We’re as safe as anywhere in the city, save maybe the Tower.“

  ‘Trust Raulyn to see to his own best interests,“ Mistress Hercy said, pressing the goblet into her daughter’s hand. ”No, sweetling, everything is locked and shuttered and barred, and besides our own folk and Master Bocking and Master Weir, we have Dame Frevisse’s two men here, too. The only way someone can get in here is over the rooftops, and I doubt there’s a drunken rebel going to take that much trouble. Not with all London’s alehouses and taverns to be gone through.“

  That won another laugh from Pernell, and she took the goblet and drank whatever was in it—something to make her sleep again, Frevisse supposed.

  ‘And here’s Lucie,“ Mistress Hercy said. ”Still up at this hour. Let’s to bed with you, young woman.“

  ‘I want her with me tonight,“ Pernell said.

  ‘Best you come along together,“ Mistress Hercy said cheerfully. ”You’ll go to sleep better if your mother is with you, won’t you, Lucie dear?“

  That succeeded in getting Pernell to bed, though as she let her mother take her toward the bedchamber she asked Anne, “You’ll send Raulyn in when he comes, won’t you?”

  ‘I will,“ Anne promise
d, smiling. She held the smile until the bedchamber door was shut. Then all her forced brightness vanished and she sank into Pernell’s chair.

  ‘Can you keep up the pretense if this goes on?“ Frevisse asked.

  Wearily, Anne answered, “I’ve hidden more than this from more people than Pernell.”

  ‘You mean what’s between you and Daved Weir,“ Frevisse said; and when Anne did not answer that, asked, ”Does anyone else know of it?“

  ‘My servant. And Raulyn. Others may know. Or suspect. I don’t know.“ Anne covered her face with both hands and said, in pain, ”Oh, God, they can’t kill him. What am I going to do? Oh, my God, what?“

  ‘There’s nothing you can do,“ Frevisse said, unable to give comfort where none was to be had. ”Not now he’s been found out.“

  Anne dropped her hands into fists in her lap and said fiercely, “It’s the friar. Without him there’d be no trouble. No one would have known. Daved should have let those men kill him. They were probably Lollards.” Fear wrenched into her voice again. “And he’s accused Daved of killing Hal!”

  Frevisse make a shushing gesture at her, warning against going any louder because besides Pernell in the bedchamber, someone was coming up the stairs. Anne, hearing that, too, sprang to her feet and went quickly, saying at Master Grene as he came in, “Where’s Daved? What’s he done with him?”

  ‘He’s still in the solar. He’s bound now…“

  Anne moaned and covered her face again. Master Grene put an arm around her shoulders and guided her back to the chair, much as she had done with Pernell. “No, listen,” he said. “It was the solar or the cellar. I refused the cellar. And I refused to have Father Tomas held prisoner. He—”

  ‘The solar,“ Anne said with sudden hope. ”He could escape from there. You can help him, Raulyn.“

  Master Grene took her by both arms, bringing her around to face him while he said carefully, to be sure she understood, “Anne, he’s tied hands and feet and to a chair, and brother Michael means to stay the night there for better measure.”