Many of them were showing the onset of the more serious symptoms, and their pain was all too evident. It was a hard cross to bear for Ralph, but he had no idea what he could do, other than clean their sores, wrap up the worst of the weeping wounds, and try, by his own example, to show how they might each hope to gain entrance into Heaven.
Three were showing no signs of accepting their fate. It was a cause of constant worry to Ralph, for his most urgent and pressing duty was to ensure that they all reached that state of grace whereby they might die at peace with God and the world. Alleviation of their pain was, when all was said and done, only a short-term issue. Their souls were the important thing.
And of them, one was most pressing of all. The other two, Thomas Rodde and Edmund Quivil, had plenty of time to learn the error of their ways and come to thank God. No, the real problem lay with old Bernard.
His speech was difficult for the monk to understand, but Ralph had learned that his life had been full of hardship, for he had once been an important soldier in the service of the King, fighting away on the Welsh Marches, before he had caught this evil canker. Now the body that had been strong and vital, which had held its own in a hundred bloody campaigns, was falling apart, eaten away from within.
Bernard had been struggling against his fate for long enough now, and he was almost ready to surrender, but not easily, and not willingly. To Bernard, life itself was the sacred essential-he simply couldn’t, or wouldn’t, understand Ralph’s insistence that he should give himself up to God with enthusiasm. The old warrior wanted to contest every step, as if taking part in a rearguard action. But his enemy was as implacable as himself, with greater resources and powers. As Bernard failed and gradually sank, Ralph was ever more aware of Death waiting at the side of the mattress.
If only Ralph could have persuaded him to confess his sins, he would have felt that he had achieved something, but the hunched, wretched figure refused. It had now come to pass that he permitted the cleric to dress his wounds, but made it clear that he preferred the company of Rodde and Quivil at his bedside. The three of them had some kind of compact in which they all accepted their status as outcast. It was as if their very difference from the society that shunned them was itself a badge to be worn with pride.
He found it profoundly hard to talk to them and explain how dangerous their actions were. If they wanted to enjoy any peace in the afterlife, they must reject their fixation with the secular world, and prepare for Heaven. Only the week before he had suggested it to Rodde. The stranger had laughed, with a quiet, distracted air. “Look at me, 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.