‘A heart attack? Are you sure?’
I had witnessed five heart attacks at the winkelhaus. It was Master Yap’s greatest concern when a client who was over-corpulent visited. The girls spoke often of how a very fat male, if over-excited, might at any moment while he is pumping have a heart attack and fall dead to almost smother them under his weight. ‘Yes, he was greatly vexed at what had happened in the square and then in the church and the Lord God chose that moment to transport him to heaven,’ I said piously, my voice on the edge of tears.
I could see the archbishop very much liked this explanation. ‘And you’re sure he wasn’t possessed? Struck down because he was possessed?’
‘Nay, my Lord, it was his heart, I am sure of it.’
‘But he struck the two clerics wantonly, or so they claimed.’
‘I cannot contradict the two priests, my Lord. But they had become panic-stricken. It is a state often stopped with a severe slap to the face. The blows may have been intended for this purpose?’ I suggested, then added, ‘The archbishop was trying to restore order and was himself very agitated at the behaviour of the clerics.’
‘Perfect! Restore order!’ he shouted, clapping his hands, clearly pleased with the two words I’d used. He turned to the table. ‘Note this! The archbishop was attempting to restore order when he died of a heart attack. The Lord God, who sees everything, knew that the time had come to take our dear brother in Christ away from us. So, He placed the sign of the cross on the back of this pious child. By so doing, He delegated her, in the absence of the archbishop and because of the panic of the two clerics, to restore order! Restore order in the Church and then later in the square outside!’
I don’t think the archbishop’s reasoning would have passed a Brother Dominic test but no one present appeared to be sufficiently brave to challenge it and Father Hermann positively beamed at me.
The bishop, knowing that with my sudden sanctification his own judgement was to be questioned, rose and pointed his finger at me, his bejewelled bishop’s ring catching the light. With his voice raised, he accused, ‘There is still the matter of the nudity.
Do you have an explanation for why you felt compelled to remove your habit? Do you not think this the work of the devil?’
‘Nay, my Lord, it occurred in the midst of the first prayer of the mass when I had just completed singing the Gloria in Excelsis Deo, a most pious moment. In truth, I felt the presence of the Lord protecting me.’ I was telling the truth but it nevertheless proved quite the wrong thing to say.
‘The Lord does not condone nakedness in His church!’ the archbishop said severely. Then turning to the bishop, he said, ‘Thank you for your point, my Lord Bishop.’ The angry bishop reluctantly resumed his seat. ‘Does anyone here have anything to say on this matter? The people are, I believe, calling this reprehensible behaviour a miracle – what say you, eh?’ the archbishop challenged.
A moment’s silence ensued and then, to my surprise, it was Father Paulus who rose to his feet. ‘Perhaps a contagion, my Lord Archbishop,’ he said nervously.
The archbishop whirled around to face where Father Paulus stood at the very end of the banquet table. ‘Contagion! Who said that?’ Pointing his finger at Father Paulus, he demanded, ‘Who are you?’
‘I am Paulus, scribe at St Martin’s church, my Lord,’ Father Paulus answered, plainly terrified at the great man’s sudden attention.
‘Explain! What mean you by contagion, Father Paulus?’ the archbishop demanded.
‘It is of the mob, my Lord. A mass hysteria, when hundreds of people find themselves taken up with a cause and an invisible excitement – a spirit miasma seems to possess them so they will do what they would not normally do on their own. It is commonly seen with pilgrims at shrines and I have read that it also occurs during crusades . . . in battles and the like,’ he ended lamely.
‘But that is the work of God! The spirit, the Holy Spirit descends unto them, moving them to praise, I have seen it in Rome many times,’ the archbishop stated. ‘But this is not the same. This chanting we are told was the work of the devil.’
‘Aye, my Lord. But it is not always done for God’s purpose. When, for example, a mob might rampage against a moneylender, perhaps a Jew who is said to have cheated. Not all have been cheated, perhaps only one or two, but a thousand may soon be gathered at the Jew’s door and demand that the offender be dragged out, and they, the mob, will do so and may kick him to death or hang or burn him.’ It was a very brave statement and I felt proud that Father Paulus showed the courage to make it.
The archbishop sighed. ‘Aye, I know it happens. The mob, eh? Contagion.’ He seemed to be savouring the word, saying it quietly as if testing its veracity. ‘But how might this spread from the square into the church to affect four women kneeling in prayer at the altar?’ he now asked.
‘It may have been brought in by members of the congregation, perhaps those who first rushed to witness the chanting in the square outside,’ Father Hermann piped up, no longer intimidated. He had not been in St Martin’s that Sunday but had heard all about it from me.
But the bishop was not yet silenced. ‘Then why did the congregation not suffer from this contagion, only the women who did not see the chanting?’ he shouted.
It was a good question and it was obvious Father Hermann didn’t have the answer. I looked over at Father Paulus but could see he too had no answer. ‘They were past the age of child-bearing, my Lord Archbishop,’ I said, trying to sound convincing.
This brought a string of titters from the table. ‘What mean you by that?’ the archbishop asked.
‘The chant, my Lord. “Our children in Jerusalem” concerned women who have or may still have children.’
‘Ah! Contagion! It only affected women who have or may still bear children,’ the archbishop repeated, suddenly delighted. Curiously this seemed to be true. It had been remarked on several times in the past that there had been no old women in the square.
The archbishop returned to his chair and sat pensive, his ringed finger touching his small mouth that was pulled tight so that it resembled another orifice lower down and at the back of his corpulence.
‘The nuns! They are forbidden child-bearing!’ the bishop sneered. ‘Why then were they possessed of this contagion?’
There followed a hum of acquiescence from the table. I waited until silence had resumed. ‘“Suffer little children to come unto me,” saith the Lord,’ I quoted. Then added, ‘They are brides of Christ and therefore beholden to His word in this matter concerning children, my Lord Bishop. It is a thing of the mind and the spirit.’ I then lowered my head and looked down so as not to seem too forward with this response.
‘Aha!’ the bishop replied, triumphant. ‘Did we not declare the women’s nakedness a sin and the chanting the work of the devil? Now you say the nuns obeyed the word of God!’
Again there was a general murmuring at the table.
‘We have not yet addressed the matter of the words they were chanting, my Lord Bishop,’ the archbishop said sharply. He was plainly upset with the bishop for poking a stick in the spokes of his hitherto well-trundling argument.
The mice sat silent. I thought of how Brother Dominic might conduct the argument. He would take each separate piece of evidence, each finding, and relate it to another, thus revealing either its falsehood or veracity. ‘May I speak, my Lord Archbishop?’ I said, thinking all the while that perhaps I had already said too much.
‘Aye, it seems no other is willing. What say you on this matter of the chanting and the nakedness, Sylvia Honeyeater? I must warn you that we may not condone nakedness in public and as the bishop has said, it is declared a sin!’
‘My Lord, it is the bishop who hath declared this gathering a sin and not the people of Cologne.’
‘The bishop speaks for God and the Holy Scriptures and the people of Cologne for themselves!’ the archbishop chastised.
‘Yes, my Lord, but in the Holy Scriptures there are several instanc
es when God’s children did rent their clothes in worshipful and praiseworthy distress. The sudden loss of a child to a woman is the greatest distress she may bear, and when the word of God came to the two women who first came naked to the square commanding that their children depart for Jerusalem it is quite possible that they were so distressed that they rent their clothes and ran to the church for succour. Others by means of contagion, hearing the words of God, “Our children in Jerusalem”, all those women who have children did, as the first two had done, rent their clothes and hasten to the square of St Martin’s beseeching the Almighty to spare them this terrible sacrifice.’ A stunned silence ensued to which I added softly, ‘A man may also feel this terrible travail, as did Abraham, when God commanded that he sacrifice his beloved first-born son, Isaac.’
‘Four languages, eh . . . and I’ll vouch she reasons as well in all four. Meanwhile we know her to be specially blessed of God, or why else would she be allowed to bear witness at this hearing? It is no different to the incident in the church, where our Saviour did command her to restore order when our dear brother in Christ was taken away from us. Now she brings this blessed explanation that every woman, every mother in the land would understand.’ The archbishop turned to the bishop and demanded, ‘What say you now, my Lord Bishop? The nakedness was neither the work of God nor Satan, but the manifested love of a woman for her children brought about by contagion?’
‘And the chant?’ the bishop asked sourly, silently rebuking me with his look.
‘Ah, the chant, we must now declare it the word of God.’ The archbishop turned from us and walked slowly back to his chair, panting slightly at the effort. Had he ever visited Ali Baba’s, Master Yap would have persuaded him to return home, whereupon he would have sent a courtesan secretly to his bedchamber. A dead archbishop in his winkelhaus could very easily invoke the mass hysteria or contagion Father Paulus talked of when he produced the example of the Jewish moneylender. It would certainly mean the closing of his premises. ‘Does anyone have anything to say?’ the archbishop said, looking first to his left then his right and then directly at the bishop. But the mice remained silent and it became clear from the tone of his voice that the archbishop did not expect nor would he welcome a challenge, as the matter was now neatly wrapped and tied to his satisfaction.
He turned to me. ‘You may go, Sylvia Honeyeater. If I am not mistaken we shall hear more of you,’ he said. He extended his hand and I moved forward and knelt to kiss his ring, but the table was too broad and I was too short to reach him on my knees and so was forced to lean across it to kiss the bright stone. Rosa went to do the same but the archbishop withdrew his hand. He had not for one moment indicated during the inquiry that he had seen Rosa’s presence at my side. She was a peasant and therefore rendered invisible.
‘Thank you, my Lord Archbishop,’ I replied. I was suddenly aware that I had, whether well or badly, reasoned our way out of our predicament and the thought of my own impetuosity now almost overwhelmed me. How had I dared to have an opinion and to sound it well, when my duty as a woman was to remain silent in the company of a man as high-lofty as a bishop much less an archbishop? Gulping down my fear I said, half in a whisper, ‘There is one more thing, my Lord.’
‘One more thing? What is it?’ he asked impatiently.
‘My Lord, the two nuns,’ I indicated Rosa at my side, ‘and Rosa, they are innocent – like me they suffered only from the effects of the contagion.’
‘Yes, yes, I suppose so.’ He turned to the clerk. ‘Prepare the papers.’ He pointed at Rosa. ‘Her and the two who weep so hysterically.’
The bishop then spoke up. ‘My Lord, with your permission the two noble women would like to return to the convent of Disibodenberg.’
Ha! I thought. He wants that female viper back behind the convent walls for his own comfort.
‘How know you of this desire?’ the archbishop shot back.
‘They have dedicated their lives to be brides of Christ; the Lady Angelica is my sister.’
The archbishop sighed. ‘Very well, you may give the directive yourself.’ He turned to me. ‘What about you, my child?’
‘I think not, my Lord,’ I said quietly.
‘Why, when God has so blessed you with signs, would you not become a nun?’ the archbishop questioned.
‘I wish to work among the poor children, my Lord. Prayer and contemplation in a convent is ill-suited to my temperament. I have worked with Father Hermann and Nicholas of Cologne among the street children. I would like to return to this work.’
‘Nicholas, the boy preacher?’
‘Aye, my Lord.’
‘He is not serious about a Children’s Crusade, is he?’
‘I do not know, my Lord.’
‘May God have mercy on your soul, Sylvia Honeyeater. Like the poor it is not an endeavour that in the end will bring you much profit. What of your study?’
‘I will miss it greatly, my Lord.’
‘Four languages, that is quite enough! It does not serve a woman well to know too much lest her head grows too large and her paps shrink for lack of womanliness. You are a comely wench and my advice to you is to find a rich man to marry and then to please him well.’
‘Yes, my Lord, I will pray upon it and ask for guidance,’ I answered.
‘Yes, do that, it is God’s wish for every woman,’ he said absently. With Rosa at my side we turned to go and as we reached the door to the anteroom I heard him call, ‘Bring wine and food. It has been a busy and well-concluded day, and just as women must weep so men must eat.’ Laughter followed from the mice.
The following day I took up my Father John bag and my beloved stave, now restored to me, and made the journey on foot to the monastery at Disibodenberg to report to Brother Dominic. I would, I told myself, tell him all about the inquiry and what each person had said. I confess in retrospect to being somewhat pleased with my performance and wanted him to know that he hadn’t wasted his time by tutoring me. It was vainglorious and unworthy but at the time it seemed appropriate, couched as I intended in the context where I would be crediting him for my precocious performance.
But my tutor was not as easily gulled as the archbishop and his council. ‘Aye, child, you have learned your lessons well, but you are nevertheless most fortunate to have answered to a pair of dunderheads and a committee of mice. The present bishop of Cologne is well-known for a philanderer and when it comes to ideas has a thinly populated mind. Your new archbishop, Count Leonardo of Mentz, I knew in Rome where he spent his time with horses, arms, soldiery and banqueting and is more taken up with sophistry than earnest inquiry. He and his family are good friends of Pope Gregory, that ambitious lawyer who cares little for matters spiritual and even less for intellect, who now demands a crusade to Egypt from the Emperor for his own nefarious reasons.
It is fortunate that the archbishop thinks so well of you and you would do well to keep his lordship on your side. Like all men of power who seek only solutions, whether righteous or wrongful, that further their ambitions, he makes a good friend and a bad enemy. Although they are birds of a feather, that poltroon bishop who excommunicated you would do well to guard his back.’
I then told him of my decision not to return to the convent and thanked him for his generosity and his teaching. ‘Father, you have shown me the path to wisdom and I will strive to keep my feet upon it all my life.’
The old man shook his weary head. ‘Sylvia, you have traversed wisdom’s rocky road with a sureness of foot and it is I who must thank you. Before you came I had sunk into a well of deep despondency and your presence has kept me from total despair. There will come a time when men will once again think for themselves, but in these dark times it is such as thee who must carry the torch of reason and burn the true light of our Christian belief. I am old and will soon die, but I am content to leave this mortal coil knowing that you are among the few who may carry our faith forward, constantly seeking the truth no matter what the cost. If we are blessed with the unr
emitting mercy and compassion of Christ, then our belief in His true teaching must constantly be tested and tempered by reason. The word of God rests separately in the heart of every man. Each must consciously decide what His will is for himself and not blindly accept the dogma of the Church. True faith is not for the lazy and compliant – it is a vigorous and strengthening habit practised by a thinking mind, nourished by the heart and tempered by the spirit.’
Knowing myself unworthy of his lavish praises, I wept. As I departed the monastery of Disibodenberg I knew that I might never again meet another such as the beloved Doubting Dominic. He had taught me so much of how the rich and vainglorious think and had, at the same time, managed to instil in me a little wisdom and a small courage in the extent of my mind. I grinned through my tears. He had also helped me develop some perspicacity as well as cunning. I also now wrote fluently in Latin.
Two weeks later I was to hear of my blessed tutor’s passing, that he had died in his sleep with a manuscript, one of his own, clasped to his chest, after the previous evening calling for the last rites. The following day with my bag and stave I left Cologne as soon as the gates to the city opened to walk back to the monastery to pray at Brother Dominic’s grave. Arriving at the great wooden gates in the late afternoon I rang the clangorous bell. The same little monk who had appeared at the peeping window when Father Hermann had first brought me by mistake to the gate appeared almost at once, his tiny face seeming even more grumpy and stupid.
Seeing I was female he sighed heavily. ‘What do you want?’ he demanded.
Adopting a suitably supplicating tone I answered,‘Good Brother, I wish to pray at the grave of Brother Dominic.’
‘Who?’
I realised that even tiny men can bully. ‘Brother Dominic, the great scribe and scholar from Rome, who died here four days ago,’ I answered.
‘Never heard of him, go away!’ he said in a peremptory voice, withdrawing his shiny, fat little face and slamming shut the peeping window.
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