A Vision of Light Page 10

  “When my son is born”—and he glanced at my swelling belly—“I will have a great christening feast—much greater than this wedding, you may be sure.” Then a little flicker of insecurity passed his face, but only for an instant, as he turned it away. “And you, Margaret, will take greatest care until then. I want nothing to befall my son through your carelessness”—and the friendly smile with the icy eyes showed as he turned his face back toward me.

  “Husband, may I ask a favor of you?”

  “Why, just ask, and if it is proper, you shall have it,” he answered blandly.

  “May I go to church this evening?”

  “Why, to pray for my son? Take Robert with you, for if you return at dusk, the streets are not safe for a woman.”

  “Thank you, and may I have money for a candle as well?” No penny left his hand unaccounted for. It was best to be direct. He was in a rare mood of accommodation.

  “Have two or three candles, if you wish,” he responded, and dug the pennies out of the wallet he wore, and then departed.

  As I went to get my cloak, Berthe asked why I was going out. I looked at her directly, and said quietly, “I go to burn a candle for the hanged woman.”

  “Merciful heaven!” she whispered. “Who told you? Who dared to? He’ll kill whoever talked.”

  “She told me,” I answered. “And he can hardly kill her twice. Every night she hangs in the room where she died. She breaks my heart with her grieving, and I must pray for her soul if I ever want to sleep again.”

  “You see her?”

  “I see her, and in my mind I see her now. Her face is black; her eyes stick out. It is too gruesome to be borne.” Berthe crossed herself.

  “That is just the way she looked when we cut her down, poor lost soul. And she had been so pretty too.”

  “She was his first wife, wasn’t she?”

  “Yes, his first wife, and a love match as well, at least on her side.”

  “Love? That’s impossible! How could it ever be?”

  “She was so pretty, and so young. Her father was a man of consequence, a dyer with city property. Small saw her in church, accompanied by her mother, and behaved so graciously to both that she fell in love with him, and her mother approved. At first they saw each other in church, but then Small sent a go-between to see if he could secure her hand. Her father opposed it, for Small had no particular means to speak of, and he wanted a better match for her. But Small was young and handsome and well spoken, and the women prevailed upon the father to secure the marriage. She was just past thirteen when she entered this house, which her father had bought for them.” Berthe wiped away a tear with the back of her hand.

  “Go on, I must hear.”

  “She was soon with child but, because of her youth, was not strong enough to bear easily. The boy was late and, as you can see, simple. Small was furious. She was soon pregnant again, but he screamed at her and beat her. She threatened to tell her father and flee home to him. Small did not want that, for she was an only child, and her father’s heir. He nearly strangled her that night, and in the morning the baby was born too soon.”

  “What a dreadful thing—but the child was not lost, was it?”

  “Not lost, not right away at least. But it was a terrible judgment on him. For it had no face.”

  “No face? How could that be?”

  “Well, it had part of a face. It had eyes. But where the nose should be, and the top of the mouth, there was nothing but a great hole. It mewled for days, but because it had no mouth it could not take milk, and so it gradually starved.”

  “This is a terrible story. I have never heard of such a thing.”

  “He said she was a witch, for she could bear only monsters. I say he was a devil, who could only beget monsters. But no matter what anybody says, after that she waited until he was gone one day and hanged herself in the bedroom, there. The child found her, you know. And from that day to this he has never spoken. He used to say a word or two, and sing, too, when he had a mind to, but now he only stares.”

  “Thank you for telling me, Berthe. It makes it easier for me. Now I understand why she said others pray for her.”

  “She said that? Poor girl. Her father died of grief, you know, and that left Small wealthy, for he deprived the widow of everything in court.”

  So the mystery was explained. What honest parents who knew this story would ever place their daughter in the hands of such a man? If he wanted heirs, he must go far afield for another wife, to a country place, where the news couldn’t travel. In this town, surely, all decent parents must close their doors to him. Oh, mother, you shifted me from the kettle to the fire when you wed me to wealthy Lewis Small in place of poor Richard Dale!

  So I took myself to Vespers, to kneel before the statue of the Virgin to light my candle and pour out my grief. All Saints’ was far larger than the little painted stone church of my childhood. The guilds had decorated it with many chapels and shrines. Offerings of silver glittered among the reliquaries and painted statues of the saints that lined the nave. But most beautiful of all, in my mind, was the statue of Our Lady that had been commissioned by the Merchants’ Guild. I often went to the Lady Chapel, for there was something in the face of the statue that reminded me of my own real mother. No matter what my trouble, it seemed to float away in her serene presence.

  In the fading twilight the Lady Chapel sat in a cloud of silence that, like a solid thing, seemed to make the world outside fade and vanish. The last slanting rays of the sun through the rose window illuminated the high, shadowy arches of the church with shafts of colored light, which fell at last in bright, circular whorls upon the floor. In the half-dark where Our Lady stood, a forest of little candles lit before her flickered and shimmered. The sweet scent of beeswax and incense swirled about the carved hem of her gilded garments. Nearly the size of a living woman, she looked at the world with a gentle, solemn expression, the long ripples of her hair descending from beneath her heavy crown, cloaking her shoulders and sleeves. On one arm she held her plump and placid Son, and beneath her tender, bare feet lay a trampled, half-human demon, writhing in its death agony: Sin itself, unable to touch the Immaculate One, conquered by the force of love. The carved wood of her floating garments was richly painted and gilded. Only her face, hands, and feet were the naked wood, pale and polished, like living flesh. Her eyes, inset ivory and lapis lazuli, caught the glancing flickers of light, shining as if alive.

  I had bought a very fine candle, and joined it to the melting forest before her. With all my heart I prayed that she intercede on behalf of the hanged girl, for cannot Our Lady perform any miracle she desires? As I prayed, I felt the bleak feeling in my heart dissolve. The shadows lightened around her, and as I gazed into the serene face, I thought I saw something—a trick of the candlelight, perhaps. The living eyes blinked and turned their gentle gaze on my upturned face for a moment, before lifting to stare once more outward to the souls that entered the Lady Chapel. As surely as if she had spoken, she had given me my answer.

  The next day I began my duties with a calm detachment that was quite unlike me. The vomiting had long ceased, and I felt new energy. I had slept well in the night, and the dark shadows under the rafters contained no secret shapes at all, except for a little spider descending silently on her silken thread. There was a great hubbub in the house, for the returned mules were being stabled, the servants and the two apprentice boys were loading the new goods into the storeroom below, and a very large dinner was in preparation by way of a celebration. In the morning the silent child had wandered off, but was retrieved with ease, sitting in the gutter only two streets away. Very little trouble had marred the journey from London. There had been no attempted robberies, and the only event of note was that one of the grooms had taken ill on the return trip and been left to recover at a guesthouse on the road. Lewis Small was expansive, almost generous, and gave out rewards to those who had brought his goods safely home.

  After dinner one of the apprent
ice boys had to be put to bed with a bellyache from too much gobbling. When Small had finished his lecture on the sin of Greed, I took the boy an infusion of peppermint, where he lay alone in his bed below.

  “Mistress Margaret, I do hurt so, and I am very hot.” He could barely speak, and he lay all curled in a ball, on his side.

  “Don’t worry, now, I’ve brought you something,” I said soothingly, as I passed my hand over his forehead. He was burning hot! This was no child’s disease, but a dangerous fever. I resolved to wait with him awhile, and got cloths wrung out in cold water to place on his head and body. When I had done what I could, I left him, promising to return soon. And when I had finished my few errands and returned, I noticed, as I bathed him in cold water, that huge swellings had grown on the back of his neck and under his arm. He was nearly incoherent with fever now and asked me for his mother. It was then that I saw the black spots, like ugly black blisters, that had begun to form on his body. There were, as I searched, only one or two, but it was clear that before nightfall, they would be accompanied by many more. This looked like a thing that could not be dealt with lightly, so I sent word to my husband, who was out courting a client, that he should return at his earliest convenience. He returned in a fury with me for cutting short his work.

  “Husband, something very important has happened. One of the boys has a fever, and I think there is a dangerous sickness in this house.”

  “What sickness is this, that the loss of an apprentice should interfere with my business?”

  “No sickness that I have ever seen before, but a very swift one that ravages within hours.”

  Small lifted an eyebrow.

  “Come with me to see, for this is not a light matter,” I said. “I have already sent for the priest.” Small lit a candle, the better to inspect, for the downstairs room where the apprentices slept had but one tiny window and was dark even at midday. As he held the candle high above the bed, it was clear that the poor boy had breathed his last before the priest could even arrive at the house. The circle of light from the candle, as Small moved it slowly the length of the corpse, revealed clusters of black spots, marring the skin of the belly above the coverlets and making of the face an unrecognizable mask.

  “I know this thing,” he said evenly. “You did well to inform me, wife.” He moved with a swift stride to his storeroom. “Follow me, wife, and do everything exactly as I tell you.”

  At the door of the broad storeroom he paused, candle held high, and smiled his terrifying smile.

  “Lads!” he cried. “I’ve neglected a happy duty! Take the finest of this new shipment from London to the house of William le Draper as my personal gift to his daughter in honor of her marriage! And take these sables, here, to William himself, and tell him that it is my gift of love, and that I wish all differences between us to be resolved in Christ’s name. Hurry, hurry! And mind you make sure that you show them to him personally!”

  Then he grabbed my wrist hard, blew out the candle, and dragged me swiftly to the chamber above.

  “Get your traveling cloak and things,” he said, proffering an open saddlebag. With his key he opened his great chest and took gold from within, loading a moneybag and the hollow heels of his wooden pattens with gold coins. Strapping on both clogs and money belt, he took his cloak, sword, and buckler.

  “Where are you taking me?” I asked, shocked at this sudden silent whirl of activity. He gave me an icy look.

  “It is not you I take, Mistress Small, but my son.”

  In a moment we were downstairs and in the stable yard. The chickens scattered away from his angry feet, as he hurried to roust the stableman to saddle his ambler and my riding mule. Small himself tied on the saddlebags as the old man helped me to mount, for I was very cumbersome.

  “Have a care, Mistress Margaret, and return soon to us,” said the kindly old man. “And to you, too, Master,” he added as a respectful afterthought.

  As our mounts clip-clopped out of the stable-yard gate, Small rode ahead in silence, his jaw set as hard as a statue’s. His face did not relax until we were well beyond the town gate, in the open country.

  “Where are we going,” I ventured to ask, “and why so swiftly?”

  “Why should you care where you are going, if it is your husband’s will? Yet I will tell you this: There’s a man deep in the countryside who’s in my debt, and there will we go for a while, until we can return to our household.”

  “But it is not seemly to leave so quickly, without farewells, dropping all obligations,” I fretted.

  “I am the judge of what is seemly in this case,” he answered, and he flashed his terrifyingly cold smile. “If you listened better and talked less, you would know what I knew in an instant. Those skins from London are tainted. They are plague goods, and have brought black Death himself within our house.”

  “Sweet Jesus!” I blessed myself. “Then the wedding gifts—?”

  Lewis Small’s smile was so sweet that it was almost tender as he replied, “I believe in sharing my good fortune with friends.”

  With horror I imagined William’s smiling daughter stroking the soft pelts on the eve of her wedding, perhaps in the company of her bridesmaids, friends, and relatives, who had come to admire her gifts. The gift of death itself! Her honest father, who, deceived by the Christian message, has already received the sables in his hand, may be resting, for he feels a bit unwell, and does not want to mar the festivities. In the meanwhile our own boys, the unwitting messengers of death, have decided to stop off at a tavern on the way home, for who will notice a quick drink, taken on the sly? The taint of death leaves the tavern, and like the flames of hell, sweeps through the city. At our own house the priest has called, and in blessing the poor corpse carries home to the church the dreadful gift. What a perfect and efficient mind Lewis Small had! At one stroke he had taken vengeance on his enemy, and on the world as well for the loss of his goods.

  We plodded on in silence and did not stop as night fell, for there was a bright moon, and Small wanted to ride all night, to put distance between the town and ourselves as quickly as possible. The stones on the narrow track glittered under the cold stars. As dawn broke, I complained of hunger, for I am as ravenous as a wolf when carrying a child, and Small said we should ride on, for there was a village not far.

  He was right, for soon the dusty track wound through the alleys and past the common of a little village, no bigger than the one where I was born. Where the ale stake was hung to signify refreshment, we stopped briefly, turning away all questions as we ate and drank.

  As we left I heard the goodwife say, “Poor girl, he is returning her to her parents for bearing another man’s child.”

  “No,” said another old woman, “for she herself told me that they are returning for the blessing of her old mother, who is dying.”

  Before midday I could go no farther. I am not a person to ride day and night without sleep, even now.

  “Please, husband, just a moment’s rest, for the sake of the child.”

  These words were the only key to his heart, and he dismounted, tethered his horse, and aided me to dismount and lie down beneath a tree by the side of the road.

  “Have you water? I am very thirsty,” I asked, for I felt suddenly very weak. He searched for the leather bottle he had brought with him. But then, suddenly, he turned on me with a suspicious look. With a swift step he returned and knelt, feeling my forehead.

  “Why, wife,” he said calmly, “you seem to have a fever. Lie here and rest, and I will hurry and fetch help from the next village.” He tethered my mule to his saddle and mounted with a single smooth movement.

  “Remember, I’ll soon be back,” he called, and he smiled at me. And by that smile I suddenly knew that I would never see him again, and that no help would be coming from any village. As I closed my eyes against the now painful light, my last memory was of the jingle of harness and the soft clop-clop of hooves in the dust, as he departed forever.

  BROTHER GREGORY N
EVER LOOKED up. As he put a neat little curlicue at the end of the last letter, his face was stony. Margaret could see his jaw clenched tight, and she began to fret to herself. Maybe he was going to quit and go away after all. Brother Gregory was so prim and easily offended. He was probably getting ready to quote some unpleasant Authority and make her regret that wretched Voice another time. Just thinking about how horrid he was probably going to be caused her to give her needle a vicious jab through a French knot in the embroidery she was working on, sticking her finger. As she nursed the sore finger, she couldn’t help thinking how hard it is just to plan how to say a thing, even without anticipating a lecture on what is proper. And after all, how can you get to the point of a story, which is at the end, without going through the middle?

  “Have you seen many ghosts?” Brother Gregory turned and looked at her speculatively.

  “No, just that one,” said Margaret into her embroidery.

  “Too bad,” said Brother Gregory. “I knew a lay brother once who had regular warning visitations. They were most convenient, especially around planting time.” He couldn’t help watching the needle as it moved up and down among the spreading foliage in the embroidery frame. A spot of blood lay half hidden behind a leaf. She looked innocent enough—but who would ever have supposed that, like some whited sepulchre, she was already twice married? Had the first one died, after all? He’d probably soon enough find out that she had proposed to the second husband over the coffin of the first, like the woman in the joke. Found some old fellow who’d let her run wild, and bewitched him with rolling eyes and tight lacing. A pity. Discipline wears off quickly in women and hounds. They need consistency if you’re going to get any permanent results. I’d tell her, he thought, for her own good, but she’s probably not capable of hearing it without some infantile outburst. Inadequate Humility. The disease of the modern world.

  “I suppose it’s to be expected that you don’t know much about demons,” he said. “It requires special study. Observation is not enough.”