Unholy Innocence

by Stephen Wheeler

  Samson’s lips tightened. ‘It is precisely because you take such a perverse view of these matters, Walter, that I want you on the case. That and your medical training which I am sure will be decisive. I am confident your approach will get to the truth unswayed by – how shall we say? - religious hysteria. And your reputation as a neutral in these matters…’ here he put up his hand to forestall my protest ‘…will help dispel any accusation of bias on the part of the abbey which must be seen to be impartial. If we lean too far one way we will seem to be favouring the King; too far the other way and the King will feel aggrieved and step in. Neither would be a good outcome from our point of view.’

  ‘I see.’

  He nodded. ‘I’m glad you do. Now, as our resident expert on the subject of boy martyrs Jocelin’s input will prove to be invaluable to you. Here’s his work on Saint Robert.’ He shuffled together the papers on his desk and held them out for me to take. ‘You have my full authority to examine all the evidence, call as many witnesses as you think fit, come and go as you please.’

  ‘Oh, but what of Earl Marshal’s restrictions on movement?’ I said hopefully.

  Samson waved an impatient hand. ‘The Earl isn’t here. And besides,’ he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, ‘no-one believes all that nonsense about the King’s hay fever. This murder must take precedence now. You have my permission to forgo all other duties, including your office devotions where necessary, until this matter is resolved. Be thorough, be fair and above all be objective. Let no-one sway or influence you to any precipitate conclusion. Then come back and tell me that this miller’s brat has nothing whatever in common with the blessed Robert but is merely a stupid child who managed to get himself killed. Dominus vobiscum.’

  *

  ‘He doesn’t like the Jews much, does he?’ I said to Jocelin as we strolled back to his office. As Guest-master Jocelin had his own room in the Court of Hospice, not confined to a common cell like the rest of us choir monks.

  Jocelin grimaced. ‘Th-they opposed his election. He also blames them for b-bringing the abbey into debt.’

  ‘Oh, but that was financial mismanagement on the part of Abbot Hugh, surely?’

  ‘But Hugh was old and easily manipulated,’ countered Jocelin. ‘The J-jews took advantage. There’s no doubt.’

  We walked in silence for a minute.

  ‘You admire Abbot Samson, don’t you?’ I said at length.

  ‘I think he has done many good works.’

  ‘Including expelling all the Jews from the town?’

  ‘Th-that was as much for their own protection as anything else.’ He smiled. ‘Don’t judge him too harshly. One of the reasons he chose you to investigate this matter is the fact that you have a Jewish b-brother and so will be sympathetic.’

  ‘So he does know about Joseph? I wasn’t sure.’

  ‘Of course. Abbot Samson has the welfare of all his flock c-constantly in his mind. How can he d-do that if he does not know all that there is to know about each and every one of us?’ He stopped by a panelled door set in an arched alcove. ‘Here we are.’ He took out what was the largest iron key I had ever seen from somewhere under his robe and began laboriously unlocking it. I could see now why no-one had ever seen his famous chronicle and possibly why Samson placed so much faith in him. Security was evidently one of Jocelin’s valued qualities. He pushed the heavy door open for me to enter ahead of him.

  The room was small and made all the smaller by shelves lining every wall upon which were stacked piles of papers and books of every size and description spilling over onto every available surface. As well as many religious tracts I could see works by Virgil, Horace and Ovid among others that I could not recognise. This was a scholar’s room indeed, an impressive library that put my own modest collection to shame.

  ‘You have been to the university?’ I asked running my finger along the nearest dusty shelf for this was surely a don’s study.

  He bowed shyly. ‘Alas, n-no. I come from a very poor family.’ He hastily cleared a pile of papers from a bench so that I could sit down.

  ‘A local family, judging by your accent.’

  ‘Indeed. I am a Saint Edmund’s man body and soul. My f-family still live here – in the lower brackland in the north of the town. Do you know it?’

  I did. I’d had many a pneumonic patient in that area of heathland and wood. A poor area indeed. Jocelin had done well to escape it.

  ‘Master Samson t-took me under his wing when I first entered the order twenty-six years ago. I owe everything I am to him. “He grew and the Lord b-blessed him”,’ he smiled.

  I smiled back. I could see I would have to be careful what I said to this man for I had no doubt it would all get back to Samson, the bad as well as the good.

  As though reading my mind, Jocelin chuckled. ‘Do not worry. I am indebted to Master Samson b-but I cherish truth more. After all, we are all here but for a short span, are we not? The f-future is merely the present continued and the work we begin here on earth will carry on after we have p-passed over. So it follows we must apply ourselves as honestly as we c-can in all we do while we are here. Is that not so?’

  I was taken aback by his sudden descent into philosophy. Clearly Jocelin was a man of learning. Such people, as I knew from my student days, value intellectual integrity above personal relationships. Perhaps he wasn’t quite the lick-spittle I had taken him for. In that regard he had something in common with Joseph, both men coming from humble backgrounds, albeit worlds apart, and both self-taught. Alas, neither was likely ever to rise very far in this world where men progress mainly through patronage and rank.

  ‘Well,’ I said dropping heavily onto the bench, ‘since we have been thrust together in this buggers’ clinch, I suppose we’d better get on with it. What can you tell me of these boy-martyrs?’

  He coloured at my coarseness, which made me smile inwardly. I could see there were some aspects of our association I was going to enjoy.

  ‘Beyond what Samson has already said, not m-much. They all had injuries similar to those suffered by Christ at his Passion. Th-that’s the basis of the complaint against the Jews - that they are taking the boys in order to mock Christ.’ He went to a corner of the room, dug out a sheet of parchment. ‘This is the account of Harold of Gloucester’s d-death.’ He started to read: ‘ “On the 18th of March anno domini 1168, the body of a ten-year-old boy was found in the River S-severn at Gloucester, much mutilated, with traces of burning on the flesh and the garments, thorns in the head and armpits, marks of m-melted wax in the eyes and ears, and some of the teeth knocked out…” ’

  I stopped him there. ‘Burning, did you say? Melted wax? Teeth knocked out?’ I shook my head. ‘This is a strange kind of crucifixion.’

  ‘The G-gospels tell us that Christ was t-tormented in many ways prior to the final act,’ said Jocelin. ‘Who can tell what was d-done to little Harold? But it’s the timing that was the k-key in this case. The murder was supposed to have taken place on Friday, March 17th of that year. The boy was reportedly stolen by the Jews at the end of February and hidden until the day of the m-murder. The date is close to the time of the Jewish Passover.’ He looked up. ‘The legend is that without the shedding of human blood the Jews will not be able to obtain their f-freedom or return to their homeland – that is what Samson was referring to. It’s what all Jews ultimately crave – “Next Year in Jerusalem”,’ he grinned.

  I shrugged. ‘So?’

  ‘S-so every year they have to sacrifice a Christian child in mockery of C-christ’s P-passion so that they might avenge their sufferings on Him. It was because they killed Christ that they had been exiled from their own country and made s-slaves in a f-foreign land.’ He smiled rather embarrassedly. ‘We-ell th-that’s the th-theory at any r-r-rate.’

  I noted with interest that whenever Jocelin was embarrassed or unsure of something his stutter grew worse. I was beginning to warm to him.

  ‘Do you believe all that?’ I asked him seriously.
He shrugged non-committally, so I let the question hang for now. ‘Samson also mentioned the Norwich case – er, William?’

  ‘Ah yes.’ He took down another large manuscript roll. ‘This is the most d-documented of all the boy-martyr cases. It was written up in great d-detail some years after the event by Thomas of Monmouth, a Benedictine monk at our s-sister house in Norwich. In this case the mutilated body of a twelve-year-old boy was f-found in woodlands outside the town. William was a tanner’s apprentice and much used to visiting the houses of Jews in the course of his trade. B-brother Thomas details what was done to the boy, his injuries and abuses, straps and gags and so on, a-and various marks in mockery of Christ’s injuries.’ He looked up, frowning. ‘I have to say, however, that n-none of this was mentioned in any contemporary report.’

  ‘You sound doubtful.’

  Jocelin gave a pained look. ‘Thomas was writing a g-generation after the event. He was also m-much encouraged by his Bishop who gave him great latitude in order to encourage the c-cult of Saint William.’

  ‘So you think he may have been guilty of…embellishment?’

  ‘Well, B-bishop William was very keen for him to write his history.’ He reddened perhaps recognising similarities with his own account of Robert of Bury.

  ‘Why would the good Bishop wish to do that, do you think?’ I queried gently.

  Once again Jocelin squirmed on his chair. ‘The official r-reason is th-that the b-body would become an object of v-v-veneration and worship.’

  ‘But?’

  He thought for a moment. ‘I suppose the cynical view would be that such an object would bring pecuniary b-benefits to its possessor.’ He lowered his voice and leaned forward. ‘There was even an attempt to get the b-body removed to a priory in Sussex, I believe.’

  ‘For the purposes of veneration and worship, of course, not for the pilgrim’s penny it would attract,’ I suggested, tongue in cheek.

  ‘Naturally,’ agreed Jocelin.

  ‘Nevertheless, the boy was undoubtedly murdered.’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘By someone.’

  ‘Well – yes.’

  ‘But you are not convinced that it was the Jews?’

  Jocelin thought carefully for a moment before he replied. ‘I come back to the point that the only real connection with the J-jews is that all these m-murders took place around the time of the Passover, which is also close to Easter, naturally, since it was at the P-passover festival in Jerusalem that Christ was c-crucified.’

  ‘It’s June now,’ I reminded him. ‘Easter was two months ago.’

  He nodded. ‘And the Jewish P-passover was in the week beginning April the 8th,’ he added weakly. ‘I looked it up.’

  ‘So it could all be circumstantial. And the fact that this murder was nowhere near the time of the Jewish Passover festival must be a mark in their defence.’ I thought for a moment. ‘Tell me something else. Why were all the boys so young? Pre-pubescent, Samson said. Robert was twelve, William was also twelve and Harold ten. Why so young?’

  Jocelin sat back and made a cat’s cradle of his fingers – a typical scholar’s pose. I’d seen Joseph do the same a thousand times. ‘I think it is their purity that is important. We have to remember what martyrdom is. At base it is an injustice d-done to an innocent victim. A child-martyr, especially one so very young as these boys were, p-pure and unsullied, offers the ultimate representation of the s-sufferings experienced by a faultless human being. This, after all, is what made Christ – Christ.’

  I nodded then asked the crucial question again: ‘So do you believe these boys really were martyrs?’

  Jocelin looked at me and I could see he was now in deadly earnest. ‘I believe sincerely with Brother Thomas that by the ordering of Divine Providence these Holy Innocents were predestined to their sacred role from the beginning of time. I believe they are pure and unspoilt and free of sin; that they have been absorbed into the Heavenly Host and even now sit among the Blessed Communion of Saints. If I have doubt it is that they themselves would choose to be made mock of and to be put to death in scorn of Our Lord’s Passion. Rather, I believe they were martyred for God’s own purpose the which we cannot know and will for ever remain a mystery.’

  I held my breath while he said all that, and without a single stutter I noticed. ‘But without being martyred for their faith – by Jews - they would not have been recognized as saints,’ I suggested.

  ‘Their miracles would have been p-proof if that’s what is required by doubters. That is why I wrote Robert’s history, to show that he had been ordained for his role at birth and c-continues to reveal himself to us even today.’

  ‘Very well,’ I said impressed with Jocelin’s evident knowledge of the subject. ‘Tell me what you know of our own Robert of Bury.’

  Jocelin’s face cleared. He looked much more relieved. ‘Now I’m on m-much f-firmer ground. I studied this case in great detail and h-have in fact written my own history of the miracles of St. Robert which I entitled, Miracula multa et magna apud Aedmundum per beatum puerum Robertum.’ He beamed. ‘R-rather a neat title, I th-think you’ll agree. Th-that’s the piece Master Samson gave you to read.’ He pointed to the thick wad of papers I had dumped unceremoniously on the floor next to where I was sitting.

  ‘I’ll read them later,’ I smiled, lifting the pages reverentially from the floor and placing them on Jocelin’s crowded desk. ‘For now, could you just précis the more pertinent points?’

  ‘Well, it’s the familiar story,’ he said, warming to his subject. ‘Robert was a twelve-year-old boy murdered once again during the Passover week – actually on Good Friday anno domini 1181. N-notice this time it really was during the Jewish Passover week.’

  ‘Unlike this fuller’s boy today,’ I interjected pointedly. ‘And the marks on the body in this case? Similar to Christ’s?’

  ‘N-no record survives.’ He frowned. ‘As Samson said, it was a time of great confusion.’

  ‘I see,’ I said. ‘Continue.’

  ‘Well, the J-jews were immediately suspected although no individual Jew was ever charged. But what interested me, and what I was most c-concerned to do in my book, was to chronicle the m-miracles performed by the saint after his death.’ He licked his lips. ‘For example, imagine a light shining above the martyred boy’s shrine in the darkened crypt when there was no possible source of illumination, and a nun, blind since childhood, looking towards the light, is s-suddenly able to see again. Th-then there was the instant of the girl with a crooked finger.’ He held out his own hand to demonstrate the scene. ‘I remember she placed her hand on the saint’s t-tomb, thus, and -’

  ‘Yes,’ I said rising and tucking Jocelin’s manuscript under my arm. ‘This is all very interesting, brother, and I will read it – later, I promise. But I think for now we should see the body of the murdered boy, don’t you? It has lain untouched for eighteen hours and it is another hot day.’

  ‘O-oh, y-yes, o-of c-course,’ said Jocelin, reddening deeply and rising so swiftly he nearly knocked over his stool.

  ‘You know where it is? The boy’s body?’

  ‘Y-yes. Master Samson g-gave me the location.’

  ‘Right then,’ I smiled. ‘Shall we go and find him?’

  Chapter 7

  THE SUSPECT

  Before we left the abbey I made a quick detour to my cell in order to drop off Jocelin’s history of the life of Saint Robert. Despite his enthusiasm for the subject this sounded like a hagiography and, exemplary though the life of a twelve-year-old boy-saint doubtless was, I needed a different kind of inspiration to solve this murder. Besides, the murder was already eighteen hours old and I had seen enough dead bodies in my time to know that putrefaction begins much sooner in warm weather. As every student of medicine knows, this is because of a build-up of black bile occurring in the body after death which is hastened by warmth. However, I could not but reflect that if this boy truly was a saint then we should know soon enough for by Samson’s lights
his sins would be washed away upon achieving beatification and his remains should therefore be no more corrupted than those of Saint Edmund. Or maybe Edmund’s degree of sainthood was of a higher order than that of a mere miller’s boy. It was an interesting hagiological point which I might take up with Samson at some later time.

  For now, though, I couldn’t spend hours picking my way through Jocelin’s neat but indecipherable script. That delight would have to wait for later. I just hoped I didn’t forget I had it. It would be a tragedy if it got mislaid. Armed only with a wax tablet and stylus for making notes we set off into the town to find the murdered boy. Jocelin had with him a heavy-looking hessian bag slung over one shoulder and filled with….Heaven alone knew what it was filled with; manuscript paper for yet another book, I shouldn’t wonder.

  ‘Where exactly is the body?’ I said, looking at the houses we were passing. It was a highly select neighbourhood, not one I’d normally associate with street violence.

  Without slowing his pace Jocelin opened his notebook. ‘We are looking for the house of Isaac ben Moy.’

  I groaned. ‘That’s a Hebrew name. I thought there weren’t any Jews in Bury any more. I thought Samson got rid of them all.’

  ‘He did,’ replied Jocelin. ‘Well, n-nearly all. It appears Isaac ben Moy has a brother-in-law. Benedict of Norwich. You’ve perhaps heard the name?’

  Indeed I had. Benedict of Norwich was one of the richest money-lenders in that city - indeed, one of the wealthiest in England. He had made loans to the dowager Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine, no less, as well as to the abbey. Joseph had sometimes hinted that one or two of the wealthier Jews of Bury had been exempted from the general exclusion in 1190. It now appeared that this relative of Benedict’s had been one of them. I don’t know why I was surprised. Where money is concerned even the most stringent rules can be broken. Samson may have blamed the Jews for getting the abbey’s finances in a mess in the past but without their loans few large projects - Samson’s west towers of the abbey among them - could be carried out.