Sylvia

by Bryce Courtenay

  I had not told her that we had known each other but a day and were only travelling companions. Reinhardt the Ratcatcher and I had fitted so well together the previous night in the square that the widow Johanna must have taken us for a pair of wandering musicians well practised as a duo. Apart from cautioning me against his amorous intentions she had not seemed curious about our relationship, assuming by the ragged way I looked that he cared only for himself. It was a notion that fitted well enough with the opinion she seemed to have of men and was one most people would possess of a wandering minstrel.

  ‘We only met yesterday, Frau Johanna,’ I now told her.

  ‘Oh, now I understand!’ she exclaimed. ‘I have misjudged you, Sylvia.’

  ‘How may that be?’ I asked, curious.

  ‘When you told me of your father I believed you – it is as common as sunrise. But when I cautioned you against the piper it was because you are on the cusp of womanhood and if you are sleeping with him now you are yet safe from becoming pregnant, but when your bleeding comes, after that you will not be.’

  ‘But he told you that I was chaste and asked last night that I might share a widow’s bed?’

  ‘Phfft! He is a minstrel and like his kind saw only what advantage there was for him in suggesting his piety and your chastity. I did not for one moment believe him. Now I see that you are chaste and had I not doubted it, I would not have instructed you as I did.’

  ‘But I am grateful that you did!’ I protested. ‘For lack of a mother I know nought of such things.’

  ‘Yours is a cautionary tale, Sylvia. I must make sure my own daughters are not so ignorant when the times comes.’ She smiled. ‘It is I who am now grateful to you. Come, let me show you how to make and fit the strips of cloth that will cope with your womanhood. But first you must have a slip so that you can attach them.’ She reached over and handed me a linen undergarment. ‘It is old, my own when I was your age, but the linen is still good and I shall give you pins to keep against the time.’

  The three girls were up well before sunrise and we broke our fast on a bowl of gruel and pickled cabbage and made our way to the square. Frau Johanna asked me if I knew what the promised miracle might be, but I couldn’t say. ‘I do not think his flute, no matter how good the melody, will get me dancing in the morning cold,’ she laughed.

  ‘Oh we shall dance, Mama!’ Gerta, the eldest of her children, cried, hopping ahead of us with her two sisters following and crying out in imitation of the older, ‘We shall dance! We shall dance!’

  ‘Nor will I be able to sing,’ I replied. ‘He has a silvered tongue and I hope only that what might happen will not disappoint and will be worth the early rising.’ I clutched at the neck of my new second-hand dress with both my hands. ‘Today is almost winter come,’ I shivered.

  Several dozen village folk were waiting at the oak tree, stamping their feet, their arms folded about their breasts, their vapoured breath rising in the morning cold. They nodded to the widow Johanna who seemed well respected, and also to me, but did not speak.

  Reinhardt and Red the Belly had not yet arrived when the sun was past the rim of the hills. The birds in the nearby woods were well into their morning song and a large crowd had assembled when at last the two men came towards us. It was clear to see that both were the worse for wear, with Red the Belly’s hair aflame and wilder than ever and his nose a bulbous lighted globe, while the ratcatcher’s pretty face appeared a ghostly white, his hat askew upon his tousled head. Reinhardt came up to me, his eyes red-rimmed and raw, indicated the oak tree and in a whisper said, ‘Come stand with me, Sylvia, the cider has destroyed me and my head throbs like the clappers of hell.’

  Frau Johanna next to me cried out in a jolly voice for all to hear, ‘Good morrow, young man! Is it not a perfect day for a miracle? We come with the greatest expectations!’

  A murmur rose from the crowd and Reinhardt the Ratcatcher gave her a sour look. I followed him to the base of the tree. ‘That one has a raspy tongue,’ he growled, then groaned, ‘Oh, my stomach is full of speck and cabbage that wishes to return to the cook!’

  ‘We have come to witness a miracle!’ a strident voice in the crowd complained. ‘You said it would be at sunrise!’

  ‘Aye!’ several others called. ‘The miracle at sunrise!’

  ‘I think there will be worse than your sore head and regurgitating stomach to come if you don’t do as you promised!’

  I whispered, then added, ‘Nor do I look forward to my share of their wrath.’

  ‘Can you not sing?’ he begged.

  ‘No! It is too cold, my voice is not yet warmed to the high notes. Anyway, singing is not a miracle!’

  ‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ he groaned again.

  ‘Be sick then!’ I cried, my voice trembling. ‘That will finally do it! We shall be lucky to get out of this place alive!’

  ‘Can you do nothing?’ he begged plaintively. ‘Something to calm them while I recover? My mouth is as dry as monk’s parchment – I cannot play the flute!’

  ‘It is not I who promised the miracle,’ I protested.

  ‘Oh sweet Jesus!’ he exclaimed, bringing both hands up to his head.

  ‘Do not blaspheme or we shall be the worse for it and more!’ I hissed.

  ‘Miracle! Miracle! Miracle!’ the crowd began to chant.

  ‘Come, lad, are you not made of stouter stuff?’ Red the Belly called out. Then addressing the crowd, ‘Last night when the cider talked, he promised to make puppy dogs fly and turn cats into tigers, turtles into turtle-doves!’

  ‘Miracle! Miracle! Miracle!’ the crowd continued to chant.

  Reinhardt turned green before my eyes and rushing behind the oak tree brought up all of Frau Red the Belly’s splendid repast, so that the men present clapped and cheered and the woman turned their heads away and cried out in disgust.

  Then came the word ‘Trickster!’ followed by ‘Buffoon!’ – this from Red the Belly, now turned leader and the ratcatcher’s tormentor.

  The angry crowd started to draw closer. I could bear it no longer and as had happened with the Miracle of the Gloria I was not aware of my next action. Putting up my hand to command their silence I stepped forward and from my mouth came the coarse mating call of the jay; this I followed with all the mating calls of the birds I could so clearly hear in yonder woods. Soon enough they came in flocks, until the bare-leafed oak tree was clothed anew with the fresh colour and brightness of every bird that flew in the heavens. Some came to sit upon my head and shoulders, others perched along my outstretched arms, and all did sing so that no one in the crowd could hear themselves if they should speak. Then the miracle occurred. Reinhardt the Ratcatcher, all the better for the contents of his stomach missing, came to stand beside me, no doubt to accept some part of the unexpected glory of the birds. A crow flew down from a branch above and landed, wings flapping, upon his head and shat, crow shit running between his eyes and down his pretty nose. Whereupon I sang a single soprano note and the birds all rose to the sky in a vast cloud and flew away.

  The shatting of the crow was a happy coincidence but the crowd immediately took it to be two miracles of my making. The summoning of the birds the first miracle, and the crow sent by God to demonstrate that pride comes before a fall and that vanity and vaingloriousness is a sin to be punished with the shame of humiliation the second one. There is more that I shall tell of later, but the telling of the two miracles was to spread from one village to another over the ensuing months, although this time no priest or bishop was asked to verify the miracle. The village shared a church with two nearby villages and there was a great deal of jealousy between them. The folk had seen with their own eyes the birds called from the woods to clothe the naked winter oak with bright new feathered raiment and they cared not to argue the veracity of the miracle with priests and bishops when there was no other simple explanation some doubting cleric might conjure up to thwart their miracle.

  But now let me tell of the moments follo
wing the crow landing on the ratcatcher’s head. It had the immediate result of causing laughter and ridicule among the more callow folk in the crowd and so divided their attention. But the widow Johanna, who I now perceived carried some influence in the village, spoke out. ‘God has paid the piper for his male vanity! He wished to accept the credit for the miracle of the birds, when none was due to him! Let it be a lesson for all men to note that God rewards pious women with gifts of wonder just as he punishes the boastful and vainglorious man!’ With this admonition to the men and lads present she looked sternly at Reinhardt the Ratcatcher, who had found a rag in his pocket and was attempting to wipe his face. To the delight of the crowd this served only to spread the bird droppings across his pale cheeks.

  I approached her and said quietly, ‘Frau Johanna, he is sufficiently humbled. Can we get water and a rag?’

  She pointed to a woman in the crowd. ‘Gilda, your house is nearest. Will you fetch a bowl of water and a rag for shitface?’ With this the crowd roared with renewed laughter. The woman, grinning, nodded and left. Frau Johanna, enjoying the notoriety, held up her hand for silence. ‘We have laughed enough! God has sent us a virgin maid who can charm the birds from the trees. I know her to be chosen by Jesus Christ as his special messenger, for I have with my own eyes seen the sign.’ She paused and looked around the crowd, now grown completely silent. ‘The holy sign of the early martyrs, the mark of Jesus, the fisher of men!’ She drew breath and then shouting said, ‘The Virgin Maid has the mark of the fish upon her back!’

  I gasped, for she had not previously spoken of seeing the birthmark. ‘Frau Johanna, it is only a birthmark – it means nothing!’ I whispered urgently.

  The widow ignored my plea. ‘Ah, the bowl of water and a rag for the piper,’ she exclaimed, as Frau Gilda broke through the crowd.

  I was angry. I felt myself being used, though I was too young to understand why. Last night Johanna had talked of different things and I had seen her as a sensible woman, but not a pious one. My heart filled with fear, now she was taking control. I trembled to think I might be with another Frau Anna. I hurriedly took the small bowl of water and the rag and started to clean the ratcatcher’s face, my own averted for the shame and humiliation I felt. ‘We must away from here! We cannot tarry!’ I whispered to him urgently, wiping the bird shit from his cheeks.

  Now the crowd had started to chant, ‘The fish! The fish! The fish!’ Then Red the Belly’s voice cut through the chanting. ‘Strip her! Show us the fish!’ The crowd took this up. ‘Strip her! Show us the fish! Strip her! Show us the fish!’ they chanted. I turned to see that they had started to move closer, those from the back of the square pushing forward so that the crowd began to surge towards us.

  Suddenly Reinhardt stepped forward. ‘Stand back!’ he shouted, ‘or you may harm the Virgin Maid! She has brought the birds from yonder woods to charm you, but should you touch her she will summon a jackdaw or a raven as an ill omen or else call a curse upon your homes and cause a plague of rats to destroy your summer harvest!’

  But he had long since destroyed his credulity. ‘Lies! Rapscallion! Whore’s son! Devil! Let the Virgin Maid show us the fish! Fish! Fish! Fish!’ they chanted, heedless of his warning.

  Reinhardt the Ratcatcher drew the flute from his belt and blew a note so high and sharp that I dropped the bowl and brought my hands up to my ears to stop the pain. And then I saw that everyone in the crowd had done the same. He withdrew the flute and you could have heard a pin drop, so silent had the crowd become.

  ‘They be in an ugly mood and want to see the fish, what say you?’ he muttered from the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Only if it will help us to be gone,’ I replied, concerned for what might happen next.

  He nodded his head and turned back to the silent crowd. ‘Now hear me, all!’ He paused so all could tune their ears. ‘The Virgin Maid does not wish to show you the fish, we cannot tarry and must be away.’

  ‘Charlatan!’ Red the Belly boomed out suddenly, then turning and jabbing a fat finger at the ratcatcher yelled out, ‘Turtles into turtle-doves! Cats into tigers! Flying puppy dogs! He would trick us once again!’ He turned back to the crowd. ‘What think you of rats? Maybe the cats turned to tigers will with their fierce roaring chase away this promised plague of rats!’ The crowd broke into laughter at his taunt and Red the Belly waited for calm before continuing. ‘Cup your ears against his flute, let not this boastful bounder gull us once again!’ He looked directly at me, all wild, flamed hair, pink porcine eyes and great bulbous nose stuck luminous and veined within his brutal face. As he spoke, spittle bubbled at the corner of his mouth. ‘If the maid be a virgin and a special child of Christ Jesus, then let her bear witness!’ He turned to face the crowd once more and with his arms raised, bellowed, ‘What say you? Let the maid show us the fish of Christ!’ He placed both hands on his belt and made as if to take his trousers down. ‘Or we must perforce see if she a virgin be?’

  The crowd brayed their approval. ‘Fish! Fish! Fish!’ they called again and again, while some of the toothless youths unbuckled their belts, bottom lips dropped, leering.

  Reinhardt turned to me, his eyebrows raised in alarm, as the widow Johanna cried out, ‘The men have turned into wild creatures! You must show them the fish or we cannot contain them any longer!’ With this she urgently pulled at the lacing at the front of my dress, then grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me fiercely around so that I was pulled against her bosom with my back to the crowd. She grabbed the neck of my garment from both sides and jerked it down to expose my shoulder-blades and so also the birthmark of the fish.

  A sigh, as if all were transformed to one, rose from the crowd. While I could not see with my back turned, the ratcatcher would later tell me that the women fell silently to their knees and then Red the Belly, his eyes grown fearful, lowered his great stomach and sank slowly to one knee to be closely followed by all the men. ‘Praise be to the Lord God! Blessed be His name! Hallelujah! There is a child of Jesus among us! Glory to the Highest and hosanna to the King of Heaven! Christ Saviour, forgive our doubting!’ they called out, a more pious lot of ne’er-do-wells you never did see.

  So concerned were they in this lamentation that none had their eyes raised to see that Reinhardt the Ratcatcher had brought his pipe to his lips. He blew a note so high that it turned his pale face scarlet and caused his eyes to bulge, the sound pitched beyond the human ear. Soon rats were seen to emerge from everywhere – from the eves of houses, under floorboards, from ditches, drains, corn bins, stables, cowsheds, sheep pens. Behind rocks set upon the hill, abandoned foxes’ dens and disused wells, all ran towards the kneeling crowd answering the irresistible but silent call of the magic flute.

  The women commenced to scream and all the people rose, alarmed, as rats stumbled into ankles and bumped into calves, some running up the hairy legs of the men and straight up the skirts of the kneeling women. Helter-skelter, squeaking, hell-bent, they clambered, struggled, ran towards the piper, heedless and unafraid of the human presence.

  The village folk beat at the rodents with their bare hands, crying out and running for dear life, stepping on rats that squealed and bit them as they fought to flee the scourge. The errant youths, who had previously unbuckled, were the first to turn and run, and in so doing they forgot their undone belts and stumbled, then fell, as their trousers descended to their ankles. The rats jumped and skipped and ran over them, biting as they went, so that many clutched their cods with one hand and trousers with the other, wailing as they ran.

  The widow Johanna was soon among the fleeing crowd and in great haste I pulled my dress back up across my shoulders and tied the front. Reinhardt stopped blowing scarce a moment to call out, ‘Come, stand by my side!’ He turned and walked just as the rats arrived at his feet and still piping silent sound he moved among them towards the entrance to the square. The rats turned to follow us, remaining half a stave-length from our ankles, a wave of grey rodents ten wide and stretched along a lin
e full eighty cubits long, obedient as pilgrims come to worship at a shrine.

  And thus we did wend our way out of the square and past the cottages and up over the hill. When we reached the edge of the woods and were out of sight of the village folk, Reinhardt the Ratcatcher started to pipe a merry tune kindly to the human ear, whereupon the rats, as if of one mind, scattered and ran into the woods. Reinhardt ceased his piping and threw back his head and laughed. ‘Aye, we will make a pretty penny from all these rotten rambling rodents, little sister.’

  ‘How did you do this miracle?’ I exclaimed. ‘You have saved us from the wicked mob.’

  ‘Ah! You did not tell me your miracle of the birds! Shall we each keep our own secret?’

  I shrugged dismissively. ‘Nay, mine is no secret nor miracle. The cock of each bird kind has a mating call that the hen cannot ignore and she comes, ever broody, to his tune, while the other cocks come also to see how bold a cock it is who calls. If he is yet young and lacks experience in cuckolding, they will compete for her attention.’

  ‘And mine no less plain an explanation,’ he assured me. ‘The ratcatcher’s flute is passed on each generation by the Guild of Ancient Ratcatchers to an apprentice who shows a talent to become a piper.’ He tapped his flute. ‘This ancient pipe is so contrived that there rests within it a certain pitch too high for human ears that nevertheless proves irresistible to rats. There is another for mice and yet another that will pacify the fiercest dog or cause a pack of dogs to whimper at my feet.’

  ‘What of humans – can the pipes call them against their wills?’

  He gave me a strange look. ‘Why ask you me this, Sylvia?’

  ‘Well, when we came here, I saw your way with the children, how quick they were to obey the tune played by your flute.’

  He looked relieved. ‘Ah, you well know how eager children are to join in any game.’

  ‘Aye, they witnessed what you did to the village dogs and became themselves compliant?’ I suggested.