CHAPTER 45
One grey day a grim procession led by a flint-eyed man in black cassock and ecclesiastical ornamentation, flanked by two others who swung thuribles of incense, made their way to the smithy. They were followed by the shire reeve’s men.
‘We come for the person of Jared of Hurnwych,’ intoned the flint-eyed man. ‘In the Name of the Christ who is risen.’
Jared stepped forward.
‘I am Edward of Lincoln, summoner to His Grace the Bishop of Coventry, here to enquire into matters of grave moment for which you will answer.’
From the bishop? Despite the heat of the forge Jared felt a chill that swiftly sliced through his tiredness.
‘Reverend Father, what is it you want to know?’
Nearby Osbert stood uncertainly, his face troubled, with him a wide-eyed Daw with his outsize blacksmith’s cap.
‘This is not the rightful place to hear your words. You are herewith detained in the name of the Holy and Apostolic Church to render up such defence when called upon before a lawfully convened consistory court, for which this is my warrant.’
With all the dread authority of the Church he passed across an impressive document in Latin, sealed with a ribbon. It meant nothing to Jared.
‘Why … that is, what am I accused of?’
‘Maleficium, of the foulest kind.’
‘I … I don’t know—’
The summoner nodded to the shire reeve’s men and they took Jared in charge. The procession moved off, Jared’s last despairing glance back taking in Daw’s white face staring at him as he was held protectively by Osbert.
As they passed, folk emerged from their houses to gape silently at the spectacle.
He was not taken to the castle for it was an ecclesiastical court that had jurisdiction, but this brought with it a problem. The little village of Hurnwych, in which no crime worthy of more than the stocks on the village green had happened in living memory, now had to detain a prisoner of the Church of some notoriety. Castle Ravenstock’s dungeons would not be appropriate until the guilty malefactor was handed over for punishment.
Jared found himself confined in the church steeple.
After some hours he was visited by a sharp-faced priest in black who introduced himself as the episcopal confessor. He told Jared that if he truly confessed to his misdeeds there would be a quick end to it, but if he persisted in denial the confession may well need to be extracted by more persuasive and painful methods. Better to save himself the torments and acknowledge his sins: who knew, in that case the court may be inclined to leniency in the sentence.
At Jared’s plea of ignorance of his sin the priest frowned – he must know very well how he’d transgressed, for why else would he be accused of such evil? In any case, he was not in a condition to discuss any case before it was heard.
It wasn’t until Father Bertrand came that it all became clear. The grey-haired cleric was clearly distressed and could not speak for some time, then raised his eyes and said softly, ‘Jared, my son, are you possessed at all? Tell me true, for His Grace is inclined to be merciful, you as an innocent pilgrim having suffered so grievously in the Lord’s Name.’
‘Father – please! Tell me what sin I have done, I beg you.’
‘Why, you are accused of sorcery and conjuring the Devil, a heresy of the vilest kind. I pray that this can not be so, but we are faced with no less than five staunch witnesses to your guilt.’
‘I’m not possessed, Father! I can’t know what they mean for—’
‘I must tell you, my son, there is no more heinous sin under heaven. If you are found guilty then … it is my duty to tell you that as a consequence, immolation at the stake is the customary penalty.’
‘I didn’t … they’re mistaken, I never—’
‘The inquisition will visit in four days. Do you not feel that time would better be spent in prayer? Let us then begin …’
CHAPTER 46
‘Jared of Hurnwych, blacksmith of this parish, come into the court!’
The manor Great Hall, which had seen so many banquets and bawdy entertainments, was now an echoing vastness. One end was set up as an episcopal inquisition with tables and a dais. The judge, a heavy-faced and sour individual in black with a winged scholar’s cap, sat in the centre high chair. Others in severe robes attended on either side.
‘Approach the judge in due obeisance,’ ordered the proctor.
Jared quailed. This was not a court of law, it was a bishop’s inquisition into an accusation and if this judge deemed it upheld and he guilty, he would be handed over to the civil authorities for punishment – with this charge, nothing less than the stake!
He moved forward and fell to one knee, his head bowed.
‘Rise.’
The rest of the court was packed with village folk: curious, sorrowful, perplexed – everyone who knew him and was known by him. Would they be the ones to howl and dance as the flames put an end to his existence?
‘My lord, this man stands accused of the most heinous diabolical practices, of a nature that is worthy of the extreme sanction.’
‘Bring forth the chief accuser.’
There was a stir to one side and John Frauncey came forth. He gave a quick glance at Jared then refused to catch his eye.
Frauncey! The high-and-mighty bailiff’s clerk, whose courting of Aldith he’d frustrated.
Was this mysterious and baffling charge an act of revenge by a deranged suitor? If it was, then it would be Frauncey who would suffer. Bearing false witness was both a churchly and civil felony, heavily punishable. But then Jared remembered that there were no less than five witnesses. If this was vengeance it was well planned.
‘John Frauncey, give your evidence.’
Sworn on oath, he spoke with quiet venom. ‘My lord, I accuse Jared of Hurnwych with falsehood, deceit – and sorcery.’
The judge waited for the ripple of shock to subside. ‘Go on.’
‘He did abuse the charity of the Holy Church by representing himself to be a pilgrim to the Holy Sepulchre. My lord, not only did he fail to make worship there, he had quite another object in mind.’
‘And what was that?’
‘To enter in on the lands of the Saracen and infidel, there to learn their black arts and heretical practices, which presently he does indulge privily here in Hurnwych.’
This time there was open disbelief and dismay that had the judge threatening to clear the court.
‘Let the accusation be recorded. Master Frauncey, you have evidence?’
‘I do, My Lord. Four more witnesses to his detestable conduct other than myself.’
Hardly believing his ears, Jared heard how his nightly visits to the old priory had aroused suspicion and perplexity, and this had reached Frauncey’s ears. He’d taken four men and followed him and they’d been terrified and unnerved to see him conjure fire and brimstone deep in the haunted ruins, manifestly in an attempt to raise the Devil himself.
‘If further evidence is required, it can be produced, My Lord.’
‘Do so.’
‘Since his arrest, his house has been searched, and with this result.’
Two clay jars and a series of small bags were offered up.
‘And what is that?’
‘The apparatus of sorcery, My Lord. Brimstone, which he acquired from a pedlar with a tale of pestilence in his house, but which is well known as necessary in the summoning of Satan, his master. Various other substances of strange and unknown purpose, and—’
‘I see. Any further evidence?’
‘There is, My Lord, particularly concerning his lunatic behaviour under diabolic influence among the pigsties and animal dung of this village …’
‘We may hear of this later. Have you any further first-hand witnesses?’
‘His servant Perkyn Slewfoot will have beholden these foul deeds and might be examined to advantage.’
‘Let him be called.’
There was something both noble and pathetic abou
t Perkyn when he was brought forward. No longer young and artless he was now stooped and worried and moved with a spiritless shuffle, bringing murmurs of sympathy from the villagers.
‘What can you tell us about what took place at the priory?’
Clearly awed by his surroundings he lifted his head, glancing nervously at Jared as if for strength, but then drew himself up. He was now going to pay back the debt of life he owed his old master.
‘It’s not right, he going to worship the Devil. He never did and I never saw Satan ever!’ he burst out bravely. ‘On my life, I never!’
A murmur began among the villagers that the judge ignored, coming back immediately, ‘Then what was he doing in a far place with those substances – a ruin that all do shun?’
Jared tensed. What would Perkyn answer?
‘Come along!’ the judge rapped testily. ‘You were there with him, you must know what he was about.’
Perkyn looked despairingly at Jared.
‘You are on oath and sworn to tell this court—’
‘He was trying to make huo yao,’ he blurted. ‘Not calling the Devil at all!’
‘What are you talking about, you villain?’ spluttered the judge.
Cringing, Jared heard Perkyn continue.
‘Why, that’s a secret powder that he’s going to use to tear down the walls of every castle in the kingdom!’ he said proudly.
It was met with incredulous gasps and pitying laughter, but the judge glowered.
‘Your loyalty does you credit but as a witness you are worthless. I believe I’ve heard enough and am minded to conclude the proceedings. Jared of Hurnwych, have you anything wherewith to rebut these accusations?’
He swallowed hard. What he said next would either cast him to the flames or …
‘I do, My Lord.’
‘Then let us hear it.’
‘Only because of the respect in which I hold this court will my secret now be revealed.’
‘If you are trifling with me it will go hard with you, that I can assure you!’
‘Not at all, My Lord. I only crave understanding.’
‘What is this secret, then?’
‘I am toiling hard to devise works of fire that do surprise and entertain for holy day occasions and feasts. I work privily for fear my discoveries will be stolen by those who will set up in rivalry to me. The old ruins are convenient for another reason, My Lord. The stink of the huo yao is offensive to some and I would spare them.’
‘Works of fire! You expect me to believe such nonsense? You’d better find another line of rebuttal, or this inquisition must draw its own conclusions!’
‘Then you’ll take an evidence, My Lord?’ he asked innocently.
‘Evidence? What evidence?’
‘If I am so indulged, I can produce these works of fire for your enlightening, here in this very place before you all.’
The judge blinked, and sat back, baffled.
‘And from the very materials that were taken from my house!’
He prayed he’d remembered right what he had on hand, or it could be a sorry and tragic spectacle.
‘You will conjure works of fire as you call them, before me now?’
‘My lord.’
‘From the substances seized as evidence against you?’
‘I will.’
A table was brought and space cleared around it. A plain pottery dish had also been asked for and with heart thumping Jared checked the jars. The lord be praised – here was a three-day-old trial with the five-part hsiao, last week’s failed three-part sulphur and another that he hadn’t trialled yet.
‘This is my huo yao, My Lord.’
He passed up a scruple, which the judge sniffed suspiciously.
‘This smells to me like nothing other than the Devil’s own dust, I swear.’
‘You will see it is not, My Lord.’
Taking the five-part hsiao powder he heaped it generously on the plate, an inert dull grey.
The hall held its collective breath in a deathly silence as he prepared the display.
‘My lord, the huo yao sleeps now, but when touched by flame it does awaken in violence. I beg pardon for any dismay it might cause. Are you ready?’
‘Yes, yes. Get on with it.’
A taper was brought and Jared paused, looking up significantly. ‘Upon your command, My Lord.’
‘Very well.’
He brought the flame slowly down to the tail of the ridge. It caught, and in an instant flared up blindingly, quickly replaced by a roiling pillar of smoke mounting to the ceiling, the sulphurous reek of the combustion drifting down on the stunned spectators.
A shocked silence was followed moments later by gasps of admiration and cries from all sides.
‘Here is another.’
The three-part sulphur behaved as he knew it would, with a fizz and splutter of yellow and blue, bringing yet more applause.
‘And finally …’
It was the untried batch, which he spread liberally across the blackened plate.
This time it went up in a satisfying whoomf, which had some falling to their knees, overcome.
The judge took a little time to recover then intoned, ‘I rule that these accusations may be shown to have an alternate explanation and therefore cannot be sustained. Jared of Hurnwych is hereby discharged.’
CHAPTER 47
The days that followed were anything but jubiliant for Jared. The sympathy shown to him after he’d returned from pilgrimage had evaporated with the realisation that the nocturnal wanderings they’d charitably attributed to his disordered mind was merely cover for base experimenting in fairground magic. Some were curious, most disillusioned and others even hostile.
His play with huo yao at the trial had saved his skin, but he despised himself for turning his great vision into a magic trick to entertain. And it had just revealed the utter impossibility that he could go on with it, given that every eye was on him now, his months of labour only resulting in that paltry show.
The wisest thing was simply to give up. Wang had probably tricked him somehow, but what was that to him now. He had to lay to rest the quest that had driven him for so long and get on with life.
But he felt an emptiness; he was now approaching forty, no wife or family save Daw, who must now despise him … nothing to live for in fact.
Depression clamped down.
He was late at the smithy and a red-faced Osbert swore at his forge-hand and rounded on Daw before confronting him.
‘Jared, we’re going to have words!’
‘Well?’
‘I’ve got … we’ve got a right to know what you’re about now. Have you finished with your devil’s dust that you can give your forge the attention it sorely needs? Spit it out, now, we deserve an answer!’
It was the last thing Jared wanted, given the mood he was in, and he bit his lip without reply.
‘Christ’s bones, man!’ Osbert exploded. ‘All this time we’re feeling sorry for you wandering abroad at night and you’re footling about with your cursed fire playthings. Isn’t it time to put it behind you and bear a hand here?’
Jared picked up the tongs and pulled a mattock tang from the fire, taking it to the anvil and welting it sullenly.
Osbert pulled him around roughly. ‘That won’t do, Jared! We’ve got a heap of work – see?’ His anger was building, distorting his face. ‘Unless you get rid of what’s riding you, I’ll …’
‘You’ll what?’ Jared snarled. ‘It’s my life, I do what I please.’
‘… I’ll buy you out!’
It was said.
Astonished, Jared paused, peering at him in disbelief. ‘You’d … buy the smithy, take it from me?’
Osbert’s red but obstinate features were all the answer he needed.
Thoughts rushed in. It would leave him free and with money in his pocket, but to what end?
To leave the village.
The sudden realisation that this was what he wanted came as a fearf
ul but wonderful self-discovery. He’d returned to his place of origin to find his friends changed, and with his son estranged he had no one close to share his life. As a man who had travelled and seen marvels uncounted he was being suffocated in Hurnwych.
This was his opportunity. To start again, take another course to who knew where … to chance it!
‘I agree. It’ll be your smithy and I’ll get out.’
‘Done!’
Suddenly there was a muffled sob and Daw scurried away.
‘You’ll take care of my boy?’
‘He’s my apprentice, Jared.’
‘So …’
Osbert shuffled his feet together awkwardly. ‘Where will you go?’
‘To a big place, a town.’
He turned to his loyal companion on his earlier travels but before he could say anything Perkyn shuffled awkwardly. ‘Master Jared. We’ve seen a lump of things together but I’m not a youngling any more. I don’t like the big world, too much to worry on. I’m happy here with Master Osbert; the old village is where I want to lay down at my end. You do understand, Master Jared?’
He gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. ‘Be a good forge-hand for Osbert and you’ll make me happy.’
It was going to be a complete and total break.
So be it.
CHAPTER 48
Coventry, AD 1307
It was a great city of ancient lineage and three cathedrals – and a stinking, noisy, jostling and exuberant new world that set Jared’s pulse racing. Nothing could be better calculated to set him to rights. Here he could make something of his life – if he took the chance with both hands.
His horse shied from the grisly heads arrayed above the gatehouse with birds at work on the eyes. And his nose twitched at the reek of the black ditch he crossed over; half-naked children at play along it, old women searching among its rubbish.
To the left was a street leading to a packed market square. A flock of lambs was being driven towards it through the bustle. To the right a narrow passage opened to a street with a maze of stalls.
His destination was straight ahead into a complex of inns and taverns and he kneed the horse forward. The Cock and Hen took his fancy and he clopped into the courtyard, leaving his horse and pack animal with the stable boys.
The Powder of Death Page 15