by John Patrick
Samuel and Mary sat in an alleyway and caught their breath.
Mary tipped the only remaining coin into her hand. ‘One ha’penny! What use is that?' she wiped her eyes with her sleeve as she spoke. 'We got a load of stuff to get! What’s Dad gonna say?'
'No, look!' replied Samuel. 'We got all this!' He put his hand in the box and pulled out a fistful of crystals and bracelets. 'This is worth a fortune!'
'That’s evil stuff that is. We should get rid of it. Burn it or bury it or somethin’.'
'No, we can sell it… trade it. We can get what we need with this! Come on Mary, what we got to lose. An’ we'll still be gettin' rid of it.'
Mary looked at the lone coin in her hand and shrugged. What other option did she have?
The high street was nothing like they remembered. Dozens of new signs had appeared over shop fronts; banners were draped over doors and suspended from windows. They carried strange images they'd never seen before. There were stars and moons, weird metal heads, serpents and dragons, crude paintings and sketches of wizards and witches. There were signs for physicians, fortune tellers and the makers of potions and remedies. Incense burners were placed on window ledges and dangled over doors, scented smoke drifted across the street. People seemed to be hurrying to get home with parcels and packages or else they were gathered in small crowds listening to the warnings and promises of raucous speakers. On every bit of vacant wall notices were posted. They declared the special plague laws, the closing of theatres and music halls and the banning of public gatherings. Others promised miraculous cures, boasted the virtues of fortune tellers or announced the arrival of some grand-sounding doctor. They were pasted and nailed one on top of another, layer after layer. The notice that carried the most interest bore the skull and crossbones at the top. It listed causes of death for each parish. Week by week the plague numbers had grown but there was argument over how truthful the numbers really were. Were they hiding the truth from them?
'That’s shit that is! I know meself of more people what’s dead from plague than that!'
'We’ve been lucky so far. It’ll come, just you wait.'
'Come on, you tell me how they be dropping' like flies not ‘alf a mile from ‘ere an' yet no one 'ere's hardly gettin' it.'
'They're dirty down there, that’s what the difference is.'
'It’s bloody lies, that’s what's that is!'
And the arguments went on, all day.
Samuel and Mary made their way past the shouts, threats and promises on their way to Mister Wiseman's store.
'Prepare to meet thy God. Armageddon is here! Judgement comes!'
'Only this medicine truly cures plague! Buy it now before it’s all gone! Save yourself while you can!'
'Come hear your fortune. She is the only one who truly knows!'
Onlookers shouted back, heckling, agreeing, arguing, scared.
Finally Mary and Samuel were within sight of Wiseman's store. Across the street a group had gathered at the bottom of the market hall steps. On the third step a middle aged man was adjusting his hat and navy-blue cloak. Before him a skinny, greasy-haired boy in his early teens banged a wooden spoon on a brass plate.
'Ladies and Gentlemen! Your attention please! Your attention if you want to live! Today you are the luckiest people in all England.'
They captured Samuel’s attention; he quickly diverted towards the commotion.
'Sam come back, we’ve got to get the stuff!' protested Mary.
But Samuel was already pushing his way into the crowd. Mary followed, bending and squeezing her way between the onlookers until she caught up with Samuel at the bottom step.
The greasy teenager continued in a monotonous drone: 'We bring you salvation and deliver …deliverance from this terri1ble disease. We bring you the only remedy that is guaranteed to stop plague entering from your home and keeping your family safe. We are… no, we... bring you…'
A voice from behind hissed through a fake smile 'From Europe, from Europe. Remember! Get it right boy.'
'You can’t give salvation!' shouted someone from the crowd. 'Only God gives salvation! ‘Mumbles of agreement followed.
The boy tried again. 'Straight off the boat from Europe yesterday I give you Doctor Le Clerc, personal advisor of Europe’s royal houses, carrying a remedy that has saved lives in thousands of countries. This remedy... is like no other…remedy...' He fumbled for words again. 'It… it comes from Europe… It …'
'He don’t know what he’s talking ‘bout!' shouted someone.
'He’s makin’ it up!'
A few started to drift away.
His master ran out of patience and pushed his young assistant out of the way. His words were polished and spoken with confidence. 'My friends, my friends! Thank you for the kind invitation to speak with you today! I have rushed to you from Dover this very morning. Just two days ago I was in the Royal Dutch household where my remedy saved their Royal Highnesses from certain death.' He held up a small bottle of dark liquid with a hand written label stuck to it. 'This physic, this great medicine can save you and your family as it did to the noble people of Europe! They asked me to go to Paris to save the French Royalty but I said NO! I will go to my beloved London and give my friends the chance to be saved!'
'So why ain’t you at the Palace seeing the King?'
'How much is it?'
'My friends, my friends!' all your questions will be answered. 'I have an appointment with the King himself this coming week, but before then I want to offer you, the people of London the chance to have this remedy, the chance to live!'
'Come on, how much?'
'Just sixpence buys you enough to last your family for two weeks! Sixpence to save your whole family! What a bargain!'
Grumbling broke out again, a few started to push their way out of the crowd.
'But wait! Today, as I love London so much, I will give this away at not six pence, not four pence, not even tu’pence but just one measly little penny a bottle. One penny! Can you believe that! Can you believe it Thomas?'
He turned to his assistant, but Thomas was busy scratching patterns into the dirt on the steps.
'Thomas, can you believe it?' Le Clerc flicked out a boot.
'Oh. Oh No, I cannot believe it. You can’t sell it that cheaply, we’ll be broke.' Thomas didn’t look up from his drawing.
Le Clerc had won back the crowd. More people joined, curious to hear what was going on.
'So how much is he asking for it this time?' asked an onlooker at the rear.
'Just a penny, was sixpence. He’s been selling it to royalty 'e says. Just got in from the port this morning. He's gonna sell some to the king next week.'
The man sneered. 'Got in from port this mornin', has he? That’s funny, 'cause I saw him selling that stuff at Moorfields last week. That time he had just come from the Palace. I bought a bottle - for tu’pence - made me sick as a dog.'
At the bottom of the market steps there were no misgivings. The crowd pushed forward, money in hand desperate to make their life-saving purchase.
'Please don’t all charge up together, form a line here and my associate will take your money and I will dispense the Miraculous Life-Saving Remedy. You're lucky we still have some. What will I say to the king if I have none left for him?'
'Hey, you, charlatan! When did you say you got in?'
Le Clerc peered towards the back of the crowd. 'I arrived from Dover just today my good sir.'
'Is that right? So how come I saw you last week? “Cos I ain't been to no bloody France nor 'olland or wherever else you s'posed to 'ave been!'
Le Clerc started handing out his bottles a little faster. 'Not me sir, your mistaken.'
'I saw you alright. I’d know your crooked face anywhere!'
'My good sir, I resent your implication. I assure you that I, and my associate here, got in from Dover this very morning. Now if you care to join the queue and take your turn you will receive your medicine.'
'Buy that stuff again? I’d have t
o be mad! I bought a bottle of that rubbish off you for tu’pence last week - and all it did was damn-well make me sick.'
The buyers at the front held on to their money and looked to Le Clerc for his response.
'No, no don’t listen to him. He’s a… he’s just jealous. He... he has an inferior remedy and is trying to ruin my reputation. Well it won’t work sir. These people can see straight through you! I’ve never seen you before in my life.'
'Is that right? Well look, I’ve got the proof right here.' The man rustled though his clothes and pulled out an empty bottle and held it aloft. 'Here it is!' He started to push his way through the crowd towards Le Clerc. 'An' I want me money back.'
Another voice joined in. 'Yeh, I saw him in Tower Hamlets last Thursday sellin’ that stuff. He's a bloody liar!'
Le Clerc knew his time was up. He gestured to Thomas to start packing up. The people who’d just bought their remedy started shouting too. Their belief in their medicine was blown; they wanted their money back.
'Ladies and Gentlemen. This is guaranteed to save you from the plague. Why on earth wouldn't you want to keep it? Aren't your families worth one single penny?' Le Clerc backed up the steps as he spoke. But he wasn't convincing anyone. Hands were reaching out for refunds. 'I promise that anybody who catches plague can have twice their money back, that’s how confident I am!'
'Give it back you bloody robber!'
Le Clerc stumbled backwards up the steps. 'Don't be silly! Do you want to die?'
Thomas slipped away down the alley at the side of the market. He was spotted.
'Look, he’s running away!'
Le Clerc took his chance and sprinted up the steps and fled into the market. He entered a maze of small wooden stalls strewn with vegetables and fruit, with stacks of live animals in cages and dead creatures hanging above. Le Clerc dashed between them pushing shoppers out of his way. Behind him the howling mob poured into the market place and sent tables crashing over. Fruit rolled across the floor, chickens squawked and flapped free from breaking cages. The stall owners roared in anger, fists were raised and scuffles broke out. Meantime Le Clerc dashed out from the rear of the market place and was away.
The rest of the crowd on the market steps began to disperse. Samuel saw his chance. He ran up the steps, grabbed the discarded plate and spoon and banged them together with all his might.
'Samuel what are you doing?' shouted Mary 'We've got to get to the shop for heaven’s sake!'
But Samuel wasn't listening.
'People, people, wait! We have something special to show you. Magic things with special powers to save you and…tell you the future!' Samuel tried his best to imitate Le Clerc’s dramatic style. He held up the box of trinkets. 'These are better than them potions.' He put a hand in the box and pulled out a handful of crystals and bracelets and waved them to his audience.
'What you got there boy? What are those?' People began to return to the steps to see what Samuel had to offer.
'These are from.... magical... Scotland... and Wales... and Cornwall and ...France and Spain.' Samuel ran through all of the places he knew.
'How do we they're real?'
'He's probably another fake like the last one!'
'No, no!' shouted Samuel. 'Look at these priceless jewels.' He gazed into the box. The bright red stone stood out. It was the size of a small tomato and seemed to glow alongside the others. He plucked it out, spilling tarot cards onto the steps. He held it aloft. The audience gasped as it radiated a sparkling pink light. They gathered closely around Samuel for a better look.
'What you doing with these cards boy?' An elderly man picked up a tarot card from the floor. It bore the image of the Grim Reaper.
'You want to buy it?' asked Samuel, optimistic he had his first sale.
'Buy it!' the man threw it to the floor. 'Buy it! This stuff is evil! God will strike you down for this. You mark my words.'
But after seeing the glorious red stone, the rest of his audience had no such concerns. They pushed forward eager to see what else he had. They swarmed around Samuel like ants after dropped food. Samuel tried to back away but they surrounded him. Mary tried to push into the crowd but they were too strong, too eager and there was no way in. Hands pushed into the box and started to pull out the bracelets, necklaces, stones and armbands. Samuel tried to pull the box away but they were too many hands. His treasures were being held aloft like trophies, some were falling to the floor sending people scrambling to grab them. Samuel was pushed to the ground.
'STOP!' The voice was loud, and authoritative. 'I order you in the name of God!'
Hands left the box. Trinkets and crystals fell to the floor and the mass of bodies eased away from Samuel.
'What goes on here?' A clergyman dressed in a sweeping black cassock strutted down the market steps. 'What sort of people act like a mob within a stone's throw of God’s house?'
The crowd parted before him exposing Samuel, now scrambling around the floor gathering together his trinkets. The clergyman crouched down and picked up a bracelet from the ground. He dangled it between his index finger and thumb with the same contempt that he had given the mouse he’d found dead in his pantry that morning. The bracelet was made of twine attached to brown circle of leather decorated with a motif. The clergyman brought the bracelet closer to his face and squinted. Burnt into the leather were letters formed into a triangle. They spelt 'abracabra'. The clergyman hissed. He hurled the bracelet onto the floor then kicked the box from Samuel’s hands.
'What the hell are you doing boy?' he roared 'Do you want to burn forever you stupid child?' His face, even his balding scalp glowed a furious bright scarlet. He bent over and grabbed Samuel by his shirt, lifting him so he was suspended in front of his face, his feet six inches from the ground. 'God is watching you right now boy! As we speak he is deciding who lives and who dies a terrible death.' The crucifix around his neck lurched from side to side as he raged. 'You'd better change your ways before it's too late boy. Throw yourself before God and beg for his mercy!' He dropped Samuel to the ground and turned his attention to the crowd. 'And the rest of you are no better! Look at you all! I know your faces, the Bishop will be told your names, every one of you.'
Eyes turned to the ground and the gathering melted away.
He turned his attention back to Samuel. 'You boy. You said some of these evil things came from Scotland.'
'Sorry Sir?' asked Samuel, hurriedly throwing the items back into the box.
'I heard you. You said Scotland. Which one of these awful... things is from Scotland?'
'I dunno Sir.'
'Come on now, boy. You have a chance to make amends. Don’t waste it. Tell me the truth. What here is from the Scotland? I saw a stone, a bright red stone. Is that the one?'
'No, really. I just made it up.'
'Don’t lie to me boy! I am a man of God! Answer my question or you will pay, believe me! You will pay! Tell me, now!'
Samuel didn't have a clue about the origins of his trinkets. He'd shouted the names of anywhere he could think of to make the trinkets sound exotic. But what now? Should he make something up to keep the vicar happy? But would that be worse, lying to a man of God? He looked blankly back at the Reverend, trying to decide which was the lesser evil.
Mary gathered her courage and spoke up. 'We’re sorry sir, we meant no ‘arm, we was robbed. We lost our money and this was our only way to get it back. We thought we might sell it and…'
'Don't try and justify working for Satan!' he snapped 'This stuff is evil and must be destroyed! You will give me that box!'
Samuel clutched the box and backed away from the vicar. He glanced at Mary for guidance. She'd had enough; she gestured Samuel to hand it over. Samuel wasn’t convinced.
A young woman ran up the steps to the clergyman, red faced, sweating and out of breath. 'Thank the Lord I found ya Sir!' she gasped. 'It’s me baby. She’s terrible sick. She can ‘ardly breathe. I think she’s dyin’. Please come Sir. Please! We’re a good fa
mily.' She dropped to her knees before the clergyman and clasped his hand.
'Oh come my child, it’s probably not as bad as you think.' He shook his hand out of her grip and turned back to Samuel.
But the woman wasn’t going to be so easily dismissed. Still kneeling she seized the bottom of his cassock and began to sob. 'Please, please, I beg you sir.'
'Oh for heaven’s sake!' He shook his cassock but she held on. 'Look, you and your family have my blessing. Now go home and pray for your child.'
'But Sir, please Sir, she ain't even christened yet. Please. We’re only a couple o' minutes from 'ere.'
Samuel nodded towards the side alley and then jumped over the small wall and dashed away, still clutching his box. Mary scurried after him.
The clergyman spotted their escape. 'Oi, stop right there!' He tried to dash after them but the woman was still holding on to the bottom of his cassock.
'Please Sir, I beg you.'
'Get off me woman!' He angrily ripped the cloth from her grip and then hopped over the wall to give chase. But the children were already disappearing around the corner at the end of the alley. He knew he had no chance of keeping up with their young legs. He angrily kicked the wall then returned to the main street, scowling at the woman still sobbing on the market steps. 'So' he thought 'the rumours were true. That Scottish stone is in London. And in the hands of children. This was the news the Bishop had been waiting for.'
Mary and Samuel sat in the shade of a sagging willow tree at the edge of the common.
'You should ‘ave just given ‘im all that stuff. That's just gettin us in trouble. I ain't never 'eard no vicar talk like that before' moaned Mary. 'We should get rid of it all. Go leave it in the churchyard or somethin'.'
'But didn’t you see how people wanted it? They was desperate for it. I'm tellin' ya this ‘as gotta be worth a fortune. Let's see if we can trade it. Except for this one, I like this one.' He pulled out the blood red stone and held it up to the sky. 'Look at the glow from it. Is beau'iful it is.'
'I don’t know. You heard what that vicar said. And that one’s odd I reckon. Look at the colour of it. I don’t like how it glows. It ain’t natural. Gives me the willies.'
But Samuel was back on his feet. 'Come on; let’s go see what we can swap 'em fer!'
Chapter 8
