A Vision of Light (34 page)

“A true miracle! God has sent a Sign!”

“Yes, all virgins are to be saved.”

“No, I think it means the end of the world is at hand.”

“How many angels did you say?”

“At least twenty, all with golden wings. One had a brazen trumpet.”

“Yes, the trumpet means the end of the world, definitely.” I shrank into the corner. I feared someone might recognize me, but I needn’t have worried.

“A virgin, you say?”

“Yes, a holy virgin, falsely accused. Clad in robes of white samite with golden borders. She had long golden hair down to her ankles. The angels just carried her away to heaven, for she completely vanished, without a trace.”

“Goodness, that’s amazing.”

“The best part is what happened to the accuser. Devils rose out of the earth and grabbed him, pulling him into the fiery pit, which opened and then closed around them. They left nothing but a hard black stone, which is what he had instead of a heart.”

“Mpf,” whispered Hilde, her mouth full of food. “I always suspected as much—about the heart, I mean.” Brother Sebastian had a pleased expression on his face.

“Altogether a highly satisfactory, first-class miracle, Margaret, don’t you think?” he gloated, beneath his breath.

“Shhh!” I warned. The others tittered behind their hands. We paid and sneaked quietly out, deciding it would be wisest to sleep by the road tonight, out of the range of gossips, rather than sheltering indoors.

The next morning the party took counsel. The players wanted to continue traveling rather than go directly to London, after all. It seemed that Tom had a problem with an important fellow in the London Saddlers’ Guild that he’d not bothered to tell anyone about before. He was waiting for things to quiet down before he returned to the City, and he judged that the fellow hadn’t really had time to cool down enough yet. I looked at my toes and said, “I don’t really want to go to any more fairs for a while. I know you understand how I feel about it.”

“Margaret, you’ll soon recover. Maybe you should train dogs next time. You just aren’t good at selling things,” Master Robert consoled me.

“Still, my dear children all,” intoned Brother Sebastian, “I myself feel the magnetic pull of that veritable navel of the universe, I mean, if you discount Jerusalem, Paris, and Rome—that is, namely, the mighty metropolis of London. There I have my winter business, and it will not be harmed by an early start. Therefore I propose that we break up this delightful party, and that we four continue on to London, where you might rejoin us, if you so desire, at a later date.”

“Break up? That’s really too bad. We were doing so well with Peter—the fortune-telling, that is—it’s really a pity to stop so soon.”

“It is a great pity, and we shall miss your excellent company. But London is a city paved with gold. It beckons, you understand.”

“But how will we find you?” said Parvus Willielmus.

“Inquire at the house of Sebastian the Apothecary in Walbrook for the whereabouts of Brother Malachi—you’ll always be welcome.”

“Brother Malachi, my dear Sebastian, who is he?” asked Hilde.

“Why, myself, of course. That’s my London name. I borrowed Sebastian’s for the road. He did not give his permission, but he would have if he’d known about it, I’m sure.”

“Oh, Sebastian, dear—I mean Malachi—you’re a man of such parts,” she murmured fondly.

“I live a cosmopolitan life, my dear, one that will be my joy to share with you.”

“You won’t leave me, will you?” I asked anxiously.

“Why, Margaret,” he answered simply. “Would we abandon Peter? Or Moll? You’re part of the household as long as you want to be.” I was dreadfully relieved. I would starve in a minute without my friends. I just wasn’t competent to get a living by myself.

And so we parted from our friends of the road with many embraces and tears, and promises to see each other another day. They set their faces west, and we toward London. We were full of hope.

“What is London like, dear Malachi? I have never lived in a city,” said Mother Hilde.

“It spreads as far as the eye can see,” said Brother Malachi, spreading out his arms. “Every convenience, every comfort, that might be imagined is there, seven times over. Within the walls lie nearly two hundred churches and over thirty thousand souls—that is, if the late pestilence has not reduced the numbers sadly. You cannot imagine the clamor of the bells—not just one miserable parish bell, but hundreds and hundreds of them, rolling across the city in waves! Foreigners toil and travel incessantly to bring exotic spices and luxuries to her door. A constant round of pleasure—parades, plays, and festivities of the most exquisite nature—entice and delight her residents. All this, dear Hilde, I lay at your feet.” He bowed as if laying a gift at her feet. She laughed. I loved to see Hilde laugh. She had earned whatever joy she could find, I thought.

M
ARGARET PEEKED SIDEWAYS FROM
where she sat on the cushions of the window seat, her hands in her lap, resting on a piece of neglected mending. She wished to watch and enjoy Brother Gregory’s growing annoyance as he finished writing. There is nothing more delightful than secretly annoying someone who tends toward the kind of pomposity that Brother Gregory liked to display in matters of religion. By now Margaret knew her subject well. A red flush was climbing up the back of his neck. He turned suddenly and stood up over her, and growled down at her in an irritated voice, “I suppose, madame, you are trying to inform me that you and the ‘Blessed Maid of Sturbridge’ are one and the same creature.”

“I’m only telling you what I saw and heard. I believe in trying to be exact,” she replied sweetly.

Brother Gregory fumed as he walked about the room with his hands behind his back.

“You are an utter disgrace. I suppose you take a percentage in the sale of relics.”

“Oh, never that, I assure you. Of course, some time later, I did catch Brother Malachi scooping ashes out of the fireplace into reliquaries. He said he got the idea from the way the dead coals were raked up and sold as a cure for palsy. He did very well with them for a while. That was before he changed to selling teeth.”

“Don’t tell me about it, for I don’t wish to hear more.” Brother Gregory clamped his mouth shut in a tight line.

A perfect day, thought Margaret. I have got a large part of the story done, and annoyed Brother Gregory in the bargain. I suppose now I’ll have to get back to work. Today they were making soap, and while it is not a difficult process, Margaret liked to supervise it closely to make sure that it did not come out too strong. There is something very nasty about soap that peels the skin off the user. Later, the tailor was coming to take her measure for the new dress and surcoat that Kendall had ordered for her. He had decided that it would be nice to outfit Margaret and the girls for the Christmas season.

“I have a piece of dark green velvet that will make your pretty eyes shine, sweetheart,” he had said, giving her a squeeze around the shoulders. And although Margaret was never much concerned with clothes and considered it a great bother to stand still for the tailor, who was she to refuse such a gracious offer from the man she cared for so much? Kendall was outfitting his household, as well, and it was on Margaret’s shoulders that the business of making these arrangements fell. Then, of course, there was supper; but there was always supper. When it is served in a large household, it is a job for a field marshal. Margaret reluctantly put her book out of her mind, even before Brother Gregory had quite left, and when he bade her farewell, she looked a little blank before she remembered that she needed to answer what he appeared to be saying.

“—I was telling you that I have business out of town for two weeks,” he repeated with exaggerated patience.

“Oh! Well, that’s all right. I’ll practice in between,” she said, as if she had still not fully comprehended what he was saying. Then she suddenly realized what was going on, and said with a new note of alarm in her voice, “You’ll be away? Oh, my goodness, not long, I hope.”

“Two weeks, as I have told you.”

“You will be back to help with the book, won’t you?” I’ve gone too far, and now he’s really angry. How will I manage if he really doesn’t mean to come back at all? The thought stabbed through her.

“Yes, I will. My business away shouldn’t take too long. It’s just some family business. It will take two weeks.”

“Oh, I see, two weeks. That’s not long.” She sounded relieved.

“Exactly,” said Brother Gregory, pronouncing the word with dry precision. One cannot be too careful in dealing with persons who have a naturally lower capacity for comprehension.

CHAPTER SEVEN

D
URING HIS FORTNIGHT’S ABSENCE
Brother Gregory had made the best of an unpleasant time at home with a cheerful distraction. He had allowed his Curiosity free rein to follow the flash of remembrance he’d had about the odd, gold-shining eyes. Now he was all a-bubble with a new piece of knowledge that would force Margaret to admit she’d been entirely wrong in her argument with him. It was only a pity, he thought to himself as he trudged down to the river, that the raging quarrel at home couldn’t be resolved as perfectly. It was all doubtless waiting until he should see God, which really shouldn’t be all that long a time to wait, now, since father always managed to add immeasurably to his Humility in one way or another.

Brother Gregory did not realize how much he was capable of missing the house on Thames Street and its occupants, until he rounded the corner and saw it there, looming ahead of him like the brightly painted superstructure of a galleon. Directly in front of him, lounging in the slime of the gutter, was a great sow, eyes half closed in ecstasy as her piglets sucked at her teats. One little rebel had not joined in the family meal but was rooting happily in a great pile of stable muck that nearly blocked up the street.

And not raked up yet! thought Brother Gregory with annoyance. A person can hardly get through! It wasn’t like this in the old days. There’s no order anywhere now. Pigs loose! Trash! Now you can’t get an honest workman to do anything! Greed, it’s just greed! Nothing is right since the plague. Greedy workmen, runaway serfs, crazed women who need to write books! Things are just coming apart! So intent was Brother Gregory in his worry and in negotiating his way around the pigs and the rubbish, that he failed to hear the shout of “Gardy-loo!” from above. A brawny servant woman’s arm appeared from a window in an overhanging second story across the street. A heave—and warm liquid splashed about Brother Gregory, wetting his gown down one side. Gregory shuddered and jumped aside too late, stubbing his sandaled toe on an uneven paving stone in the process. He was so distressed, he did not even have time to reflect on the anarchy that allowed each householder to pave the little portion in front of his house with whatever material, at whatever height, that suited him.

“By the Body of Christ, you fool woman—!” He shook his fist at the closed shutters above.

“Why, Brother Gregory, I thought you disapproved of vain oaths?” Roger Kendall had been approaching his own doorstep from the opposite direction when he had seen the mishap to Brother Gregory two doors down. He was flanked by the clerk who assisted with his accounts and an apprentice boy, who sniggered.

“I do, I do,” responded Brother Gregory ruefully. “It was a weakness of the flesh; I’ll have to do penance for it.”

“I see your sleeve and hem are quite wet. You shall come in and be set right.” Master Kendall’s voice sounded annoyingly cheerful.

“I’d best go home; I’ll need to wash up,” grumbled Brother Gregory. He was inspecting his sleeve with a black look on his face. “The day started out well enough, but who knows what Fortuna has in store for us before it’s over?”

“If this is the farthest Fortune’s wheel puts you down, then you’re a lucky man indeed. But you’re not leaving my house until you’re as tidy as you came.”

“But I’m not
in
your house,” protested Brother Gregory.

“You are now, friend.” The door was opened from within, and Gregory was whisked inside. Handing his clerk a packet of papers Roger Kendall called a servant to him.

“Tell my wife that Brother Gregory has had a mishap in the street, and have her send Bess to draw a bath.”

“This is very inconvenient. I’ll go now,” complained Brother Gregory.

“On the contrary; it’s quite convenient. More so than just about anywhere else in London. We have a marvelous tub, just for bathing, with a little tent about it so you won’t take chill. It’s almost always set up. My wife is the bathingest woman you can imagine. I tell her that her skin is bound to come off, and then what will she do—but she never stops. Bath, bath—once, even twice a week! She’s not vain about her jewels, as you may have noticed, but this bath thing makes up for it. Rose water, oil of almonds, there’s no end to what she wants. And linen! She keeps an entire laundry in constant business with all her linen changing, I tell you. ‘Loosen up a little, dear, there’s health in good dirt,’ I tell her. ‘Health for beans and posies, but not for people,’ she says. Well, maybe she’s not all wrong. There’s been less sickness in the house since she came. Or it may be her praying. She has a funny trick with that—have you noticed? Her face lights up.”