The Remembered (20 page)

'Aye, boot if you culd, you wuld, me luv,' observed Margaret as she smiled and gave his hand a squeeze.
The road through Stamford passes by the All Saints' Church and so Richard had the opportunity of admiring the new steeple in close proximity. The square near the church was a busy place, making it difficult to maneuver the wagon. As they passed through the square near the church, a man on a fine horse rode toward them quickly. It was obvious from the horse and the man's attire that he was a man of substance and stature. Those in the square tried to rapidly make way for the man to pass.
'Oot of me way,' the man would say to those who didn't move quickly enough.
Richard quickly moved the wagon to one side and let the man pass. The man rode up to the church and dismounted. Richard thought that he looked vaguely familiar. As Richard and Margaret continued on their way, Richard finally realized why the man looked familiar.
'That was John Darby, me luv,' said Richard.
'Who was John Darby?' asked Margaret.
'The man on the 'orse,' replied Richard.
'I do nay know a John Darby, me luv,' said Margaret.
''e was a friend of mine when I was a child. I do nay believe that 'e wuld remember me.'
'When did you see 'im last?'
'It 'as been nigh on 18 years. I almost did nay recognize 'im.'
'Well, 'e wuld nay recognize you with your beard, me luv,' said Margaret with a smile. ''ow culd you know sumeone with so much wealth and sumeone so important then?'
'We were children. Wealth and status did nay mean anything to us then,' replied Richard.
'Aye, well it do now,' said Margaret.
It wasn't long after that they reached Easton-on-the-hill and had a happy reunion with Geva and Ralf. Ralf was outside the cottage finishing up some of the daily chores before he went inside for the evening.
'Ralf,' called Margaret as the wagon pulled up near the cottage.
Ralf looked up, but it took a moment before he recognized who his visitors were.
'Margaret, Richard, welcome.' exclaimed Ralf. 'Geva,' he called out. Three children came out of the cottage almost at once and stared at Richard and Margaret. 'Margaret, you luk luvly,' said Ralf, 'boot I wuld nay 'ave recognized Richard if you were nay with 'im, me luv,' he said with a smile as he gave Margaret and Richard hugs. 'Comb inseed.'
Richard's first thought was that Geva looked sickly when he saw her, but Margaret recognized the tired look of a woman with child. When they walked in, Geva screamed with delight and then held her stomach as though in pain and she sat down. Still, she hugged Margaret tightly and it seemed that she would not release her. When she did, she motioned for Richard to come close and to hug her.
'Oh Margaret, Richard, it 'as been so long. It 'as been too long. We 'ave missed you so much,' said Geva as she tried to keep back her tears.
'Who's children are all these, then?' asked Margaret as she looked at the three children that were hiding behind Geva.
Geva reached behind herself and tried to coax the children forward. 'These are our three children,' said Ralf proudly, 'and Geva is with child again.'
'Oh, 'ow wonderful,' said Margaret and she hugged Geva again.
Ralf asked whether they had come back to Easton-on-the-hill to stay. 'Nay,' replied Richard, 'we are on our way to Calais. I 'ear that there is work there.'
'Calais!' exclaimed Geva. She and Ralf had never known anyone that had traveled so far as to France. 'Is it safe there?'
'Aye, it is safe. The King still 'olds that part of France and because of the war, there is work there to repair the church, so I 'ave 'eard,' Richard assured them.
'Is it safe to take a woman?' asked Ralf.
'Aye, it is safe enuf,' replied Richard.
Geva studied Margaret's face to see whether she thought that Margaret agreed. 'I wuld nay go,' said Geva.
'It will be fine,' promised Margaret.
The rest of the evening was spent catching up after years of separation. Late in the evening, Geva and Ralf looked at each other as though they had each thought of something to say, but wanted permission of the other. Finally, Ralf spoke.
'The fourth child 'as been 'ard for Geva.'
'Aye,' agreed Richard. 'Four children will nay be easy.'
'It must be 'ard watching after three children,' observed Margaret.
'Aye, boot it is nay watching after the children that I mean,' replied Ralf. 'Geva 'as nay been well. She must stay in bed much of the dee and 'as nay been well at'all and it 'as been getting worse. She may lose the baby yet.'
Margaret looked at Geva and saw the concern and tiredness on her face and in her eyes. ''ow 'ave you been managing with the children?' she asked.
'It 'as nay been gud. The children 'ardly 'ave a mum anymore. They 'ave to luk after themselves. Whot can I do?'
Ralf stood behind Geva and held her hand. He looked at Richard and Margaret and said, 'Richard, wuld you consider leaving Margaret 'ere to 'elp Geva while you luk for work in Calais? It wuld make soch a difference and per'aps Geva wuld nay lose the baby.'
It was Richard's desire to leave Margaret with them regardless, so he had no objection, but he wasn't sure that Margaret would agree.
'Richard,' said Margaret, 'I shuld stay 'ere and 'elp Geva. It will only be a short while and the baby will be 'ere. You find work and then comb back for me.'
'Aye,' agreed Richard, 'Margaret may stay. It will be safer for 'er 'ere also.'
Ralf looked at Geva and they exchanged smiles. Margaret noticed that Geva's face seemed to relax and her countenance improved.
'I am ever so grateful,' replied Geva, 'you are a God send to me.'
'Aye, a God send indeed,' said Ralf. 'We did nay know whot we wuld do anymore.' Then to Richard he said, 'I will take gud care of 'er. You 'ave been an answer to our prayers.'
The next morning Richard had gathered a few tools, some food and a change of clothing and had placed them in a large pouch with a handle that he could carry over one shoulder. He also took his short blade. When he was young, he had rarely taken a knife of any sort with him when he traveled. But, he felt that times were changing and that there were more dangers about then there had previously been. The winds of internal strife were blowing in England again and sometimes it was difficult to know who was friend and who was not.
He also took his cloak. The weather was still mild, but Richard didn't know how long he might be gone and a good wool cloak was expensive.
He had removed his beard with the blade of his knife that morning also and when Margaret saw it she smiled approvingly and rubbed her hands across his smooth face.
'Richard, you take care and return to me,' said Margaret.
'I will, me luv,' replied Richard.
''ow long will you be gone?'
'I can nay say, me luv' said Richard as he hugged Margaret close. 'It is possibly a fortnight to Dover and then per'aps two dees by boat to Calais. If I find work, I may 'ave to work a munth before they will let me leave to comb and fetch you, per'aps two munths. Then it wuld be at least a fortnight back to Easton-on-the-hill. So, I may be gone at least two munths.'
'I do nay like you leaving, me luv,' said Margaret.
'Do nay cry, me luv,' replied Richard. 'I will comb back for you. Do nay ever forget that. I will comb back.'
Margaret wiped her eyes and looked into Richard's eyes. 'I know that if you are able, you will comb back.'
'Nay, Margaret,' said Richard with emphasis, 'I will comb back. Do nay forget.'
'I will nay forget,' promised Margaret and she kissed him goodbye and added 'God speed, me luv.'
Ralf and Geva stood at the door of the cottage now. Ralf was helping to hold Geva so that her strength would be preserved.
'Richard,' beckoned Geva with an outstretched arm. Richard walked to her side and kissed her cheek. 'God speed, Richard. We will pray for you everydee.'
'God speed, Richard,' repeated Ralf.
Richard hugged and kissed Margaret again and wiped the tears off her face. 'Gudbye, me luv,' he said and he turned to go to the lane. Margaret held on to his hand as if to not let him go, but their fingers lost their grip as Richard stepped away from her.
Richard looked back and waved as he walked the road, then the road turned and he lost sight of the them. The last image that he had was of Ralf and Geva in the doorway, now surrounded by three quiet children and of Margaret standing nearby outside the cottage. He thought about the sight time and again as though he was trying to commit it to memory. In all his travels and in his life experience, Richard had found one thing that was certain and that was that when traveling, there was never any certainty of a reunion. With the assurance that his life was in God's hands, Richard turned his face toward Dover and walked on.

1456

Saint Leonard's Priory, Near Stamford

'Brother James,' said Prior Forman, 'I wuld be in your debt if you wuld create three copies of this important document by tomorrow morning.'
'It wuld be me pleasure to do as you wish, Prior,' replied James.
'Take care with it, we are fortunate indeed to be in possession of soch a document.'
James had been sent to the Saint Leonard's Priory earlier in the year. He suspected that it was at the request of the subprior of the Lenton Priory. James realized that it was no great honor to be sent to Saint Leonard's and he felt that his assignment here was largely as a result of his failure to please the subprior. Despite the fact that James had been at the Lenton Priory for several years and had been promoted to a monk while there, he felt that he had never gained the trust or the personal respect of the subprior. It had seemed to James however that the subprior had appreciated his work above the other scribes though, because the subprior came directly to him with his most important documents. Regardless, the Subprior was a harshly pious man and was strict in his observance of the laws of the priory and the Church. He held all others to the same high standard as well.
There was no subprior at Saint Leonard's, there was only Prior Forman and three monks. The priors historically hadn't stayed very long at Saint Leonard's and while they were there they tended to spend significant energies securing more prestigious assignments for themselves. The reason seemed to be due to the financial affairs of the priory. Its income was so small in proportion to its liabilities that it was difficult to keep the priory functioning.
Even though Saint Leonard's Priory was not a significant priory, James enjoyed being there. The small group of monks fit with his personality better than the larger community at Lenton and he felt close to the other brothers here.
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Lenton Priory
Earlier that same year
As scribe, James had access to the entire library of the priory and often spent his little free time in pursuing the stores of documents. One afternoon he came across documents from the trial of the heretic, Joan of Arc. He was surprised to find that, even though the Lenton Priory did not have the entire transcript of the trial, the amount that they did have was surprisingly large. He had heard the tale of the heretic as a youth and now he was excited to have first-hand knowledge of the details of the trial and he read with great interest.
He already knew the story of the heroic capture of the Maiden by the brave English knights and how she was put on trial by the English-backed hierarchy of the Church. He had heard that she was without virtue and was possessed of devils as evidenced by the voices that she often heard. But what he read challenged everything that he knew, or thought that he knew about the Maiden.
According to the documents, the Maiden was a young girl of the highest virtue. Numerous inquiries had been made into her background and habits and no inquiry turned up anything that might cast the slightest dispersion on her character. James was surprised that so much energy and time could be spent on the life of a peasant girl, even interviewing many witnesses, and still nothing was found that could support the charges that were brought against her.
James began to ask himself why it was that there was such a discrepancy between the truth and the stories that were commonly held amongst the English. It was true that Joan had been an enemy, but the Church should have, in James' mind, sought for the truth and protected the innocent. Instead, the Church appeared to be not only complicit, but the primary force in putting an innocent and virtuous young girl to death, and death by fire none the less. James found that the only charges that could validly be leveled against her was that she wore men's clothing into battle, and continued to do so even during her trial, and that she would not deny the voices that guided her. The Maiden had steadfastly maintained that she wore men's clothing to protect her virtue. She did not wish to call attention to her womanhood, as she was forced to live with and associate exclusively with men in her battle campaigns.
James also discovered several abnormalities in the manner in which the trial had been conducted. In short, the trial appeared to be illegal. It was evident to James that the Church, backed by English authority, intended to burn the Maiden at the stake regardless of the testimony of witnesses and regardless of the truth. James believed that their hatred for the Maiden blinded their spiritual eyes and hardened their hearts.
It took James several days to read and comprehend all that the information available to him regarding the life, trial and death of the Maiden, Joan of Arc. He felt deeply for the Maiden and the injustice that had befallen her. He weeped for the Maiden. He weeped for his country and Church for having perpetuated such an atrocity. As he considered it, he thought about a story that his own mother had told him. In order to protect her while traveling, her father had insisted that she dress as a man. She hadn't considered it heretical. And James, knowing how saintly his mother Elizabeth was, also did not consider it heretical. If it was not heretical for his mother, how could it be heretical for the Maiden. James wondered what kind of world it was that failed to protect its women to the point that forced them to guard their virtue by dressing as men. Which was worse in the eyes of God, he wondered, dressing as men, or losing virtue? Surely, the later was worse, even though the woman would remain innocent of any action.
James also began to discover similarities between the trial of the Maiden and the trial of his own Lord. Wasn't The Lord also tried in an illegal trial by men whose hearts were hardened and who's only interest was the outcome and not the truth? Was not The Lord's capture by His enemies also facilitated by the betrayal of a friend, similar to Joan's capture?
He began to wonder how he could serve a church that could not only perpetuate such a criminal act, but hide the truth from the people that they were to serve. He felt terrible for questioning his faith in the Church and he prayed for forgiveness. He spent many tormented nights worrying about the safety of his eternal soul if he continued to question the Church. Finally, he decided that if he could not get relief on his own, he would go to confession.
The next day, he entered the confession booth and waited for the curtain to open, indicating that the priest was ready to hear his confession. When the curtain opened, James related his concerns regarding the trial of the Maiden and his belief that there were similarities between her trail and the trial of The Lord. He also recounted his struggles with his faith in the Church since reading the documents of the trail.
If James expected to hear sympathetic and encouraging words, he was disappointed. 'You are on the verge of 'eresy brother and 'ave allowed the devil to rule your thoughts. Your eternal soul is in jeopardy and unless you are rid of this devil soon, to 'ell you will go.'
'Whot must I do to rid meself of this evil spirit?' asked James.
'You must subject yourself to 20 lashes after going withoot food for three dees,' insisted the priest.
'Aye,' replied James, but he was confused. He didn't feel as though he had an evil spirit and he knew that his mother was saintly. Regardless, he determined, that for the safety of his eternal soul, he would subject himself to the penance as directed.
It wasn't very difficult for James to fast for three days, he had done so several times previously. He realized that his work in the library made fasting easier for him than it would otherwise be for those working in the fields. He feared the lashings though.
On the third day, James reported to the subprior to receive his lashes. The subprior was not going to administer the lashes, but would be observing to ensure that each lash was given with proper force.
As instructed, James removed his habit and turned his bare back to the brother that had been directed to perform the lashings. The shock of the first lash surprised James and he gasped. The leather that he had been given to hold between his teeth fell to the floor.
'You must nay cry oot,' said the subprior. 'That blow will nay be granted to you and any blow for which you complain will nay count either.'
The brother administering the lashes bent over and picked up the leather and placed it in James' mouth. When his mouth was near to James' ear, he said, 'Forgive me brother.' The subprior heard the comment and reprimanded the brother and cautioned him with lashes of his own should he not be able to administer the lashes in silence.
The next lash was as sharp as the first and every muscle of James' body winched in pain. The brother administering the lashes fell into a cadence and the lashes came at regular intervals. James tried to count, but the pain was too intense. Because of the regular pace of the lashes, James could anticipate the delivery and his muscles flexed in response. After several lashes, he felt moisture running down his back and knew that the lashes had broken skin. James lost consciousness before the twentieth stroke and when he awoke, he was laying face down on his bed.
He received word several days after the lashings that he was to be transferred to Saint Leonard's Priory near to Stamford. There was no explanation, but he expected that there was a connection between his thoughts on the trial of the Maiden and his transfer to a lesser priory.
James spoke with the prior several days before he was to leave and received permission to visit his mother and his father in Lambley on his way to Saint Leonard's. His visit with his mother and father had been very pleasant, but too short. While he was there, he heard his mother humming a tune that sounded faintly familiar to him.
'Whot is the tune that you are humming todee, mum?' James asked his mother, Elizabeth. James thought that her face looked a little flushed at the question.
'O, aye,' replied Elizabeth, 'it is a song that I of'ten sang to you when you were a wee boy.'
'Aye, it sounds familiar, boot I do nay remember the words.'
'The words are probably nay the words that a monk wuld sing.'
'Please do sing them for me, mum,' asked Richard.
'Very well then,' replied Elizabeth and she sang the song that Richard had sung to her so long before. 'Fair Maiden, flower of youth, from whence forth springeth thy charm....,' she sang.
James listened intently and then joined in singing with her a portion of the song. 'Aye,' said James when they finished, 'I remember ever so faintly that song.'
'When will we see you again sone?' asked Elizabeth. 'Stamford is so far.'
'Aye, it is far, boot I will return when I can. The bishop is in Lincoln and Not'ing'am is nay far oot of the way. So we will 'ave occasion to return each year I presume,' said James.
Thomas had finished with a customer in the bakery and had climbed the stairs and entered the room. 'James, me boy, remember that we are proud of you and luv you very much.'
'Aye, father, I luv you and mum very much. I 'ave missed being 'ere with you. Per'aps I shuld nay go to Saint Leonard's and shuld stay 'ere with you.'
'Nay, sone, you belong to the priesthood. You 'ave given your life to God and that is the way it shuld be. Your mum and me will be fine 'ere,' Thomas assured him.
'Aye, it is God's will. Boot, if you need me, you must send word with a brother from the priory. They will occasionally 'ave need to carry messages to Saint Leonard's and they can just as easily carry a message from you.'
'Aye, sone, we will,' Thomas assured him.
James left for Stamford and Saint Leonard's a couple of days later and arrived at Saint Leonard's Priory after walking for three days.
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