Brother. Look at these sores and wounds. Do you really think that me saying to God, ”I am sorry for whatever I might have done,“ will win me a place in Heaven? I don’t even know what I’m supposed to have done to offend Him!”
“My son, His will is not for us to understand,” Ralph had answered, but he knew he was fighting the wrong battle, for he didn’t believe it himself. He wanted to; he wanted to think that the passport to Heaven was the simple acceptance of guilt, but his logical, educated brain couldn’t quite adopt it as a principle. If God Himself had chosen to cause this disease, and had selected these men to make this cruel example, Ralph had a sneaking suspicion that it was not they who should be demanding forgiveness.
Even without the certainty of conviction, Ralph carried on: “Look at all the good people around here. They all pray for you, so that you may save yourself, for they all know that a single soul saved is an unending delight to God and the angels. They want you to admit your sins to God so you can be taken to Him. They are all willing you on, for your own good. They pray for you. Can’t you confess? It would make you a great deal more comfortable.”
“You think these people are all keen to see me saved?” At that, Rodde began to laugh. “I hope, Brother, that you manage to keep your naivety. But don’t be too depressed when you’re let down, will you?”
Ralph bit the end of his quill at the memory. He stared into the distance with a wrinkled brow before throwing the feather down with a gesture of impatience. The sad, hurt and vulnerable expression on Rodde’s face had made him want to fall at his feet and pray for him on the spot. More than other lepers, Rodde seemed to feel the hideous reality of his doom. Ralph had noticed before the signs of education, the marks of a man brought up in a higher station, and he was given to reflect how much more terrible it must be for a man who had a bright future to accept God’s judgment in this way, rather than a dull serf who could only expect hard work and a short life. It made Ralph even more sympathetic.
And Rodde’s difference was what attracted others to him. It was his learning that made Bernard ask for him. The two would whisper together about strange lands and peoples that Ralph had never heard of. They were a curious pair, the old dying man on his mattress, the younger one kneeling, gripping his ever-present staff.
Edmund Quivil was similar, in that he too couldn’t believe that he would soon be gone. He too stood apart from the other lepers in the camp, and feeling himself a rebel, naturally attached himself to Rodde and Bernard. These three comprised the incorrigibles-the ones who would never conform. Except there were only the two now. Poor Bernard had died as night fell, and soon Ralph must go and prepare the body.
He sighed. Next, he knew, it would be Joseph’s turn.
There was some kind of commotion outside, and it was intruding on his thoughts. Muttering to himself, Ralph carefully snuffed the candle-such lights were too valuable to waste-and made his way to the door.
As soon as he opened it he realized it was more serious than he had thought. Torches burned, and by their light he saw little groups of lepers standing fearfully, staring toward the gate. As Ralph gaped, he saw Rodde stumble in, falling to his knees just inside the compound. What Ralph had taken to be some kind of sack, rolled from Rodde’s back, and grunted as it hit the ground. Only then did he recognize it as Edmund Quivil.
Running over, he knelt beside the two. Touching Rodde’s shoulder, he murmured softly, “Who did this to you, my son? Who would dare?”
The eyes opened, and Rodde gave a twisted grin. “Our friends the townspeople. You remember-the ones who pray for us, and will us to find peace with God. It was them, Ralph. They found us in the street, and chose to welcome us by throwing cobbles at us. They are good friends, Brother. No doubt they will pray for us at the next mass they attend.” 16
M argaret entered the hall at her husband’s side, and as soon as she was through the door she peered at the main table, seeking Jeanne. There was no sign of her, and Margaret hesitated when she realized Jeanne had not yet come. She was half-tempted to go and fetch the guest of honor. Simon’s grip reminded her that she couldn’t. Not in front of all these people.
Baldwin had arranged a feast to celebrate Jeanne’s visit, and had insisted on having his servants and retainers in his hall to dine with him. The place was filled. Baldwin’s table at the top, on the low dais he had recently installed, was set out, and Baldwin had his seat in the middle, his sideboard with its two shelves filled with his most elegant and costly plate. It was all of pewter, and Margaret was sure that none of it would be of a superior enough quality to impress Jeanne, but the fact that he had set it out made a statement. Jeanne already knew that Baldwin lived the life of a rural gentleman, and the fact that he had ordered his best and most costly goods to be displayed could only impress her with the importance he attributed to her.
However, Margaret was worried. She knew all too well how much Baldwin had looked forward to the young widow’s arrival. Although he had spent but a short time with Jeanne, when all of them had been staying with the Abbot of Tavistock, he had soon become smitten with the elegant lady from Liddinstone; Margaret had quickly agreed with Baldwin’s early opinion that she would make a suitable wife for him. It was saddening for her to see how this visit, which Baldwin had arranged with the intention of asking Jeanne for her hand, was so quickly becoming a disaster. If she could, she would have counselled Jeanne to send her maid away immediately, for Emma was the problem.
But for now, Margaret had thoughts only for the knight. He sat at his old table, waving her and her husband on with every indication of pleasure. The servants were waiting, one with the bowl of water and towel, the panter with his loaves of good white bread, Edgar with his jugs and bottles, Wat waiting anxiously to run to the kitchen and tell them to bring the food to table as soon as the last of the guests should appear. But there was no sign of Jeanne.
“Margaret, my dear, please sit here. Simon, you take your place at her side.” Baldwin peered toward the door, and noticed Hugh sidling in and seating himself beside one of Baldwin’s cattlemen. That was all, then, apart from Jeanne.
Then he heard a whispered comment, and a light step, and suddenly the door behind him that led to his solar opened, and in came Jeanne.
He had never seen her look more lovely. Her face was framed by her red-gold hair, which was plaited and coiled under a light veil, setting off her regular, if slightly round features. She had a pale complexion, and this was perfectly complemented by the fine scarlet tunic she wore, with simple white embroidery at the neck and hem. Her face, with its mouth looking wide and stubborn, the upper lip more prominent, was at first glance grim, and Baldwin felt a quick tug at his heart, as if at a premonition, but then, when her clear blue eyes met his, and she recognized his appreciative wonder, her face broke into a smile.
Margaret, watching them closely, felt a rush of elation at the way that Baldwin quietly led his guest to her chair and sat her down. It was as if he was walking in a dream, entranced by his guest’s loveliness, and she almost wished there were musicians to play some light, airy and above all cheery tunes. It would be a fitting accompaniment.
But the scene was ruined as Emma came out and glowered at the assembly. She took in the seated men at their benches with a sneer, before studying the upper table. All at once the light of battle shone in her eye.
Edgar went to her side and was about to escort her to a seat near the dais, when she froze him with a look. Instead, she went to her mistress and stood at her side, where she could not be ignored. “My lady, I understand I am to be seated at the common mess there. Was this your wish?”
Jeanne threw a harassed glance at the indicated seat. “What is the matter with it, Emma? It is near me here in case I need-”
“It is not for me to sit with common farmers and serfs!” she whispered furiously, bringing her mouth close to Jeanne’s.
“I do not see any threat to you by sitting there, Emma. Go to your place and eat!”
“Very well. But no good can come from it. Remember, Mistress, that I warned you and it was you yourself who insisted I should sit there,” the woman said, and swept down off the dais to her seat.
Baldwin noticed that the exchange and her common neighbors didn’t affect her appetite. Emma set to with gusto, carefully selecting the best lumps of meat from the stew, the best slices from the cuts presented. Such behavior showed an appalling lack of manners and would have been frowned upon in the meanest household. To his way of thinking, Jeanne was perfect in every way-she was his ideal woman-but now he found that while he wanted a marriage contract with her, when he conjured up in his mind the scene of domestic bliss that she represented, he couldn’t leave out of the delightful prospect the human contagion that was Emma. Where there was peace, she would bring enmity; where there was calm, she would bring strife; where there was comfort and ease, she would inevitably poison it.
