Angels in the Architecture (36 page)

Father Taylor
joined the Thane’s men to question the villagers, not since he supported him, but rather since he was concerned the Thane’s bullies would cause more trouble. He knew also that his actions would place him within the esteem of the people, and this he preferred.

And so he took to the dusty street again, calling not to accuse or bully but to measure the temperament of his faithful and gain a trust in the status quo and
the Church’s protection and the day-to-day goings-on of village life. Once again when he reached the Jew’s house he intended, as before, to bypass it, but a thought flew past his mind that a visit might show his mercy and an inclusiveness that certainly would do no harm, and so he rounded into the Jew’s yard.

Jacob Yazd
himself felt his position had become precarious. Already word had reached him from cousins in Lincoln that fights were being picked, goods stolen, and accidents that were not accidents were occurring, always to other Jews, young and old, and men and women. There had been suggestions even that the King would turn a blind eye to such abuses, that harming Jews would not be punished under the law, and that perhaps even the King himself plotted against them. Or that his Lords did so. Jacob worked to protect his family every day. He would not allow his children to go further from his yard than he could see them, and his wife he begged to always stay in. He kept a satchel of coins, some knives, a small menorah and candles, and other small items to trade, always ready but hidden from sight. His family slept in their clothes and sandals, and he had rigged his cart in such a way he could hitch it to his horse with speed.

Despite these preparations, designed in part to give his family
comfort, Jacob did not think he would fare well if any rash young village youth took it into their head to find some nearby scapegoat.

So when the local priest came to his door, he first wondered whether this was fortuitous or whether it might bring with it an attention he shied from.

The priest, having made a short journey of large faith, stood now without a word in his head to say to the Jew.

‘You’re welcome here,
sir,’ offered Jacob, bowing.

‘Thank you, my son.’ The priest’s bewilderment lay upon him still.

‘May I offer you wine, sir?’

‘No, no. Thank you. I thought only to see if you are well.’

‘We are quite well.’ Jacob bowed a little again. ‘You are very kind, sir.’

Both men paused, both staring and smiling at each other, one as puzzled as the other,
and Father Taylor looking around also at the interior of the Jew’s house, not so much different from any other – cleaner, in fact – with some items unusual to one of peasant stock: rugs, items hanging about the walls, and fine candlesticks.

‘And your
business, Master . . .. ah . . ..’

‘Yazd,
sir.’

‘Of course.
Master Yazd. Your business – it goes well?’

‘As well as may be expected,
my Lord.’

‘Yes, indeed. These are difficult times. I do worry.’

‘As do I, sir.’

The men paused again, looking at each other.

‘Well, that’s all. I’ll be on my way,’ the priest said.

Jacob bowed again.

Father Taylor turned to the door and was halfway out when he turned again. ‘There is a ,,,’ He struggled for the words, looking down at the smooth threshold. ‘...a ... a madness ... that infects people. You mustn’t mind it.’

‘I understand. Thank you,
sir,’ Jacob replied, thoughtfully.

The priest paused in the doorway. Unsure of what he was saying, he knew just the same that this man was an unfair target for others’ fears. Even
the Church had taken aim before now. Even
he
had, God forgive him.

He looked once more at
the Jew, turned and left the small house. Pondering the exchange, Father Taylor went on to the next house, the memory of this visit remaining all the while in his mind.

Jacob Yazd
told his family that day at lunch that they were blessed with the protection of the Church in this town.

A feeling of sudden momentousness
made Alice look up from her sweeping and she saw Thomas’s stones in a small half circle on the ground. Looking about her, she thought it odd that he would go away from her sight. She leant her broom to the wall, unperturbed and peered back inside their hut, although of course he could not have passed her through the only door. She walked to one side of the stone wall and back to the other, looking to find the boy. She turned to the wall at the front of the yard and went to the gate, open upon its old hinge, threatening perhaps one day to fall. She bent a little across the wall, turning her head this way and that, but Thomas was not anywhere there. Perhaps he had wandered to the fields where his father and brothers worked at a wall. Perhaps he had heard some shouting or other from there and wandered off. She felt sure this must be and thought she may as well go back to her broom. She would check again properly when she was done.

The news of the second dead swan had not
reached Berta Draper, and so no more of her predictions had as yet come to hand, although folk knew it was only time.

Berta herself dozed off in her rocking chair, a light breeze brushing through the door before her, taking away some of the fuzziness the hot day put in her head. She wasn’t quite asleep
, but she wasn’t awake either. She did notice, in her soporific state, that there was no noise about, not a thing at all, which seemed unusual but a special blessing on such a hot day and when one was as old and weary as she.

Berta dreamt of men on horseback, tall and triumphant. There were children running in streets in her dream, shouting and playing. A town was at joyful prayer. Golden dust swept around a battalion of warriors and their king rode at the head of this throng, proud and chivalrous. There were churches and steeples, a massive white
-pillared colossus, and a pious people at work. Other kings appeared to pay homage to the divine. There were gardens planted and tended, and a gold-domed shrine atop a mountain.

Berta saw all of her dream; aware of the beauty of all she saw, and for a time revelled in it. When she woke
, it had all gone, except she was left knowing the future held both strife and joy, and that all seemed about usual. She thought perhaps she’d withdraw herself from the pronouncement of foresights and attend less the glowers that accompanied them. It made no difference to anyone that she prophesied a thing. Furthermore, she suspected that the nomenclature of
witch
, which they all used, was not one that would always keep one’s soul attached well to one’s body in this world.

Aye.

And she got out of her rocking chair with a view to some busy-ness that would put her head nearer the ground where her feet now were. 

It was a familiar voice she heard calling a little tentatively from her door, but one out of place, so she had to turn to see the priest’s face there to put the sound with the vision. 

‘Ah, Mrs Draper,’ Father Taylor greeted her, bowing just a little.

‘Father, Sir,’ Berta replied with an obvious confusion.

‘Things are a little unsettled about and I thought I’d visit some of our townspeople; perhaps offer some calm.’

‘Now there’s a wise thing,’ Berta responded approvingly.

‘I know you have a heart for the people of this village, Mrs Draper, and I know you have a gift of sight also, but I’m wondering if... perhaps... it would not be a bad thing to...

‘...t’keep me mouth shut, Father.  Aye.’

‘Well, yes... It’s just, you see...’

‘Oh it’s alright, Father. You’ll not be causing any offence to likes of me. And it’s as I can see things at times, that I knows now is not a good time for it. I shall be keeping m’self to m’self, Father, you’ll be pleased. An’ you’re doing well to take yourself out and around to folks; it’ll give ‘em some faith, and they could do wit’ some, for sure.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Draper. I was hoping you’d understand. These recent events... there is a lot of suspicion, and I do fear it will bring itself to some unfortunate actions on the part of some.  Perhaps.  We shall see.’

‘Aye, we will, Father, we will. An’ you’re stronger than you know, Father; I can see it in ya’.  It’s all very well we have those big
men in the city Church, but it’s local people that trusts local people, and you’re one of us, and I thank ye for what ye do.’

‘Well, Mrs Draper, I, ah...’

‘Oh, you know me and the Church we don’t always see things the same way, but it don’t matter any when people are good to each other just the same. I got some healing ways that maybe one day you’ll come for, who will know; but you can keep people from fear, and fear is the most dangerous cause of the most dangerous things, Father; so you keep on wit’ yer visitin’ and we’ll all be better for that.’

Expecting as he had been some cross and possibly even unintelligible words from the old woman – indeed he’d hoped she may not even be in her house this day – Father Taylor was, for the second time today, both delighted and a little baffled by this meeting.

‘Thank you again. I’m... you’re very kind, Mrs Draper,’ he said.

‘We all have our place in this world, Father; I won’t begrudge anyone his path. I know yours is not an easy one. People need ya, Father; you can be sure of that. They needs all the he’p they can get in their miserable, small little lives. Not so many can see a little further than theyselves; don’t matter whether they be peasants or bishops – some see, most don’t. I figure you ‘n’ me we both see a few things, Father, so’s it’s our job to he’p those that can’t – give ‘em a bit more ‘surance that things are safe and no need to be goin’ and gettin’ in any bother. 

‘Yes, indeed. You’re quite right. And I thank you again, ma’am, and I’ll be on my way. I’m very pleased to have seen you. We understand one another more than I had realised.’

‘You can depend on me, Father,’ and I’ll tell my son you called, and he’ll be pleased to know we’ve the Church watching over us, and he’ll be sure an’ tell others he meets too.’

Father Taylor smiled more than he thought he could at this strange woman and backed out of her small house, tipping his hat as he did so.  And when another few villagers in the lane saw him emerge, they wondered too that their priest would be paying a call to another house they wouldn’t expect to see him in, and they were only a little suspicious until they heard that most every house in the town had seen the priest that day, and then they felt a little comfort. 

Thomas walked with a kind of joy that had to do with being somewhere that he hadn’t been before. The forest didn’t seem strange to him though. He was quite comfortable in it and it was cool and it smelt nice.  He actually wondered why he had not been in the forest before, and it was unusual for Thomas to wonder such things. And then he wondered about that.  But that hurt his head too much so he looked sideways very sharply and the feeling went away.  He kept walking straight though and lost his footing down a small ditch, which had once been full of water but now had just a muddy trickle at the bottom.  Thomas wasn’t hurt but he rolled in some mud; enough that he thought it was quite good fun so he rolled in some more until he was fairly well muddy all over.  He sat in the small ditch for a while, looking up at the treetops and all around and out of the corner of his eye.  After a while he remembered he needed to go somewhere and he got up and out of the ditch and carried on.  Mostly the ground in the forest was hard and dry, and a little bit soft every now and then where there were a lot of leaves or some moss on it.  Either way it wasn’t hard for Thomas to walk on.  Thomas didn’t have a discernible direction, not one he could have said or even indicated, but there was one.  Direction wasn’t a linear kind of thing for him; nor was time, or even light though that was supposed to travel in straight lines.  In Thomas’ world, direction was something that could be touched, and light was something that could be heard, and time mostly went in circles, and it could go both ways around a circle too.  So what the forest felt like to him, and why he was there, wasn’t something
that could be explained or understood easily, but Thomas himself was as certain of it as day and night.

He glanced sharply to the other side of him, seeing if the light was where he was used to seeing it. He wasn’t surprised to see another person standing there to his side, but he was surprised at the sort of person it was, because he looked very like a tree.  Thomas stood still and continued to look at the figure that looked like a tree out of the corner of his eyes. This was easier than looking at the figure straight on – when he looked at most things straight on he got so much information about the thing he was looking at that it would confuse him and he would have no idea what he was looking at at all.  He wasn’t sure if the figure was a part of his direction, and so he considered that a while, and when he realised that wasn’t any part of the reason he was here, he looked to the front of him again and took a step forward. 

When that step ripped every ounce of certainty from him, his first thought, in that very split second, was that this wasn’t supposed to happen; that some error in the fabric of time itself had undermined the enormous steps he’d taken to get this far, and that more than one tragedy hung on this unexpected turn of events.