Angels in the Architecture

by Sue Fitzmaurice

  There had been a time when his exchange with others was less perfunctory. As a youth, he had the same boisterous vitality of his sons; and although brief, his courtship of the young girl Alice provided an excitement, an impulse to dream and a thirst for something more; accepting all along that such an attitude was not to be entertained for long.

  Gamel’s view was not black and white. On the contrary, it was full of colour, natural colour. Alice and Thomas were not natural though. They did not fit comfortably into the spectacle of Gamel’s world. They demanded nothing of him, but their presence was ill-fitting in his otherwise predictable, unvarying existence, and it tugged on some part of him, in a way he could not fathom. Of course he loved them, after a fashion, as he imagined all men did their wives and children – which is to say, it was assumed and unspoken. It did not require imagination or consideration. Largely it carried just the daily responsibility to feed and shelter those in one’s care.

  Gamel knew his wife to be deeply religious. He himself understood and accepted with little thought the structure of the Church’s rule and laws in his life, as did most people. But this invoked no more sensibility in him than some vague foreboding. His obligations in this regard inhabited the conventional framework of his existence, where God and the elements were due equal attention in the matter of living and in the business of husbanding animals and crops. More than the extent of her piety though, which alone seemed more elevated than he could comprehend, Gamel’s wife displayed a grace and dignity that seemed all but to raise her to the plane of the Virgin, and far from engendering pride, it created a fear in her husband, a disquiet that this was an unholy contrivance, perilously disagreeable to the Church. As well, a cowardly misgiving tormented Gamel, and provoked an awareness of his own oafishness, next to the finer person of his wife, that he would sooner not scrutinise. The idea of intellect or scholarliness was nowhere near Gamel’s thoughts, neither was his own lack of such, nor even of any education at all, since no one of their class had any such thing. Nor was he an idiot such as his son, nor unenlightened in his awareness of the elements and their role in his life, and his role in theirs. But he was uncivilised and his view of the world did not go deep.

  Gamel would not have said he was embarrassed by the ubiquitous presence of the idiot boy, not as he knew some men might be who felt their maleness established in the world by the birth of only strong sons. Nor was he so blighted by any oppressive manipulation of Godly intent as to think the boy represented a chastisement for unknown wickedness. If he thought about it at all, which he did not, then he may consider the boy a challenge from God to rise to some height of communion with Him. But the possibility of any such consideration lay, if it existed at all, buried in some dank cellar of his being at the bottom of steep dark steps at the end of a passageway his mind never negotiated.

  The pressure this woman and boy unwittingly and unintentionally applied to his being caused Gamel to resent them. Whereas he knew somehow that he should exert a greater regard for them, and because this task was instead so mountainous as to seem beyond him and so out of the usual as to be unrealisable, instead he daily pushed them from his thoughts and from the agenda of his obligations. Because of the increasing force with which he barred thought of them from the closed door of his mind, over many years, he felt the crushing insistence of their knocking as a fearful darkening of the corridors of his mind and soul, through which the ordinary meaning and clarity of life’s purpose had hitherto flowed. His consciousness responded though with an even greater reliance on structure and defined boundaries.

  Gamel’s one concession to his seventh son was to roughly but silently protect him – to the extent he could – from danger, and from the cruelty of others. If the boy needed more kindness than this protection, Gamel knew that sufficient of this came from the child’s mother, and he left it at that.

  Gamel’s natural inclination was towards a monofocus, a blinkered view. So when the earthquake struck Torksey and Lincoln and their surrounds the picture immediately before Gamel held just the faces of his wife and sons and he single-mindedly pursued that vision to secure his family whole.

  Halting his cart that day outside the rock wall that partly enclosed his tiny stone and thatched hut, his wide shoulders had sunk perceptibly in relief as the sight of the unfallen structure presented itself exactly as it had when he’d left it a few hours before. He’d known already that the fearsome spectacle his sons had witnessed was receding, and relief likewise registered on their faces.

  Alice had heard the wooden wheels of the cart coming near that afternoon, had let out a small cry of gratitude, and crossed herself as she’d gone to greet this other half of her family; little passed between husband and wife. Alice had asked of the state of the village, to which her husband had simply responded, ‘’Tis hard t’know, Mistress, ’tis hard to know’, thinking himself of the spectacle of the swan, now much more distant in his memory than just the morning ago. Alice knew she would hear little more. She’d lifted her youngest from the cart, half cradling him, although knowing he was the least affected, if at all, by this unnerving episode. She’d seen instantly the terror that had passed through the boys that day and knew the task to soothe and placate them was hers.

  In the late evening quiet she sat beside each of them as they slept and prayed for the darkness to pass from them. She placed a hand on each in turn – on a shoulder or chest or head – and closing her eyes, appealed to the Spirit that lighted all things to fill them with His tender grace. She made herself a willing conduit for the spirit-light to melt into her and then through her into these young men and boys.

  She had no mind to hurry. Things took time as warranted. She may have sat a minute or an hour with each lad and not known either way the time past. This was her time where she was alone with God, able to fulfil her part to bring these souls to God and ensure their strength, and their safety in Heaven.

  She did not view her ability to transmit the Light as an art or skill on her part, more as a consequence and reward for her own piety and diligence in keeping faith in every moment, for it was in every moment she had long since understood she must dwell with the Power, and she felt a favour assist her to do so. Alice knew that Light dwelt in all things, some things more and some things less.

  It was not a magic or an illusion or a madness that Alice could see it, but it was as though a secret, and it would have been ill-wise to speak or share it, as the Church held more superstition than the ancient fire-stories of elv’ish doings and fairy folk.

  When she came to her husband though, asleep as he was, meaning to take some of the darkness from him likewise, she found she could not touch him, and she felt his darkness push aside the promise of the Light, like a repelling magnet, and she had no power herself to contend with this.

  So it was that Alice’s boys grew lighter from this outpouring of Energy, but Gamel Warriner was left with his darkness and with no escape from it.

  Two days had passed since Gamel had returned to his home from Torksey, and there being no apparent reason to do otherwise, the family had continued their customary daily toil. Nothing was said of the terrifying quake and little was heard of it either, save snippets of prattle and idle talk, the beginnings perhaps of malice to come.

  The weather was unseasonably warm and still and hinted at more stirrings from the ground, although no more came by then.

  On that Wednesday morning, as the Warriners tended their holding, a galloping rider drew up near where Gamel worked with some of his boys, and leapt from his mount. Gamel emerged through scrub, a hefty log balanced comfortably on his shoulder. Seeing the rider, he let the front end of the log slide gently forward and down, to make a quiet thud on the hardened mud. Thomas, sitting on the ground nearby, blinked. The rider was Gerard Archer, a young man of the age of Geoffrey Warriner, a villager of Torksey and well known to the Warriners. Gerard Archer brushed dust from his shoulders, and the front of his tunic, and slapped his cloth hat on the side of his leg before pla
cing it back atop his head.

  ‘Mr Warriner, Mrs Warriner,’ tipping his hat deferentially, an almost nod to some of his boyhood friends standing there, inquisitive as to Gerard’s visit following the quake, and curious for news.

  ‘Gerard,’ Gamel acknowledged, an arm akimbo, the log leaning against him.

  ‘Ah, Master Warriner. Thar’s ben qouit’ a catastrophe, sir, a’ Lincoln. Almost whole a’ cathedral’s fall’n, from the shakin’.’ The attention of Gamel and Alice Warriner there in that small yard heightened, and their eyes waited on the messenger.

  ‘I’s a soight to see, sir. Most of it rubble. An’ more ’n a handful a’ folks under i’ all. An’ there’s more’s collapsed in village an’ all. I’s hard t’see, Mr Warriner, ’tis.’

  ‘I’s a tragedy to be sure, young Gerard. I thank ye for comin’ to tell uz this. What other news then?’

  ‘I’s all a tangle, sir. Is family missin’ from most and no knowin’ how some’ll get by. Some wells is cracked jus’ t’add t’troubles. Mos’ men are ou’ cuttin’ wood an’ stone already, t’fix wha’s broke. Lot a’ work t’be comin’ t’all of us. Lot a’ families needin’ help. ’Ard times my mam’s sayin’, ’ard times.’

  ‘Yer’ve come far t’tell uz this, young Gerard,’ Gamel said.

  ‘Aye. ‘N ‘fraid I di’n jus’ come to tell ye this, sir. There’s more I’ve been sent t’tell ya, sir. There be a call for builders ‘n’ masons, ‘n’ Father Taylor’s sendin’ me all o’er t’ask fer ’elp, fer some a’ yer boys, sir. ’Specially Gree ‘e’s said, t’be goin’ t’city t’ be rebuildin’ i’. There’s call fer ’undreds from roundabout.’

  Gamel was silent, watching the bearer of this news. Young Gerard, anxious at the big man’s response, avoided looking into his face now that his news and mission was told. Alice had stood from her shady position a short distance away and walked nearer. There hadn’t been much thought of the effects elsewhere of the quake, and she was shocked now to hear of such destruction and sadness. Registering an order to send some of her own away was puzzling her now, and she wondered if perhaps she’d properly heard what their visitor had declared.

  Dem Warriner, working a soil row at a garden to one side, stopped his hoeing and looked from his father to his friend to his mother and back again, unsure of the announcements that he’d heard. Was there to be more that would upset the day-to-day of his existence?

  Husband and wife felt a burden slowly descend from this request; increasing in itself the longer they stared at its bearer. Men spent lifetimes engaged in such construction and a son that went to aid this undertaking could just as likely be killed in a fall from some great height or else anyway never return at all, and the loss of any workers from a household, especially strong grown sons, meant an increase in others’ work. Gamel was lucky to have so many strong sons, and although not afraid of hard work, he nonetheless could foresee a struggle ahead with the absence of any of them. To say nothing of the distance to Lincoln, a journey he himself had only ever made twice in his whole life. Any inkling of a daydream he might have remaining from his own youth that saw for his sons a different life from this drudgery was an absurdity he did not consider. But to commit one to never return, to be tied the rest of his days to an existence completely unknown to himself and others like him, for this he was afraid. For this there was not a ready answer or reaction.

  ‘Father Taylor y’say?’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  ‘An’ y’been goin’ all o’er tellin’ this?’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  ‘An’ i’s for buildin’ and carvin’, y’say?’ Monotone responses from a man taking his time to ponder something bigger than himself.

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  Not another boy knew to speak for the moment, nor even move, such was the energy pending in their father.

  A long wait among all. ‘’Ow many a’ my boys wanted then?’

  ‘Well, i’s Gree, as everyone knows is carver, Mr Warriner. But i’s muscle as much thar wantin’ I ’spect too, sir.’

  ‘’E’s no’ carver. Jus’ a bit a’ whittlin’ e’s good fer. I’s nuthin’.’

  ‘Aye’, avoiding the gaze still. ‘Jus’ same, sir, i’s Gree ‘as been mention boi Father, an’ i’ be that you go’ seven boys as everyone knows, Master.’

  ‘Six boys I go’, young Gerard Archer. Six.’

  ‘Aye, sir. Six. Course.’ Gerard glanced to the strange creature most everyone looked away from and saw that he was smiling for no reason and apparently at nothing. It gave Gerard an eerie feeling and he looked away, hoping none detected this in him.

  Thomas sat cross-legged on the ground at his mother’s feet, closely examining a small collection of pebbles, which he then lined up very precisely in a straight line, each pebble just touching on its neighbour. This was something he did much of the time. Occasionally, he halted to stare at nothing and no one.

  Efforts advanced from within the Nothingness about him, to apply another sort of pressure to the little boy, and it drew his attention, after a fashion.

  ‘So, ’ow many’s want’d by Friar then? Is thar’ a number y’been bound t’give t’ me, Gerard?’

  ‘Aye, ‘i’s three, sir.’

  ‘Ow’ many?!’

  ‘Three ’tis, Master Warriner, sorry.’

  Gamel knew there was no recoiling from this demand, the Church standing as it did at the pinnacle of law and order. Neither though could he have expected as exacting a bid as this. Each for their own reasons, Gamel and Alice fought against unfamiliar and hostile inclinations in that moment; Gamel to refuse, Alice to bid her husband refuse, both impossible.

  ‘Three! Three!’ An inability to accommodate his internal uproar and silent remonstrations with the Church rooted Gamel Warriner to the earth. He had no argument with the Church. His obligations were as plain as solid engraving on walls, rutted into his brain, and encompassing at once this small house, his wife and sons, and delineating his immediate duties. With this decree a wall was breached, and unable to defend his keep from the particular adversary Gamel felt beaten, and this did not sit well.

  Alice’s suffering from the loss of children, one after another, had never diminished, and she felt again an unbearable ache from one shoulder to the other and down to her belly. The weight in her chest pushed her down on to the earth just as she’d risen a moment earlier. She scanned her sons thereabouts, one older one and two younger, and Thomas, not even counted as a son to his father apparently, but of course she knew this at heart. It would be her eldest boys, of course, who would go to Lincoln, so far away. Already she prayed for their safe keeping. Simultaneously, she reproached herself for her selfish nature. There was nothing so great as service to the Lord, and to build a Church! My word, but that was a noble undertaking, surely.

  Gerard stirred restlessly. ‘Oi’ll be on to next farm then, sir. Father’s wantin’ t’see lads off quick. Reckon ’e’s feelin’ obliged t’Bishop ‘n’ all. Oi’ll be tellin’ ’im then, will oi? Tha’ Gree ‘n’ them’ll be on way for ’im, t’Lincoln ‘n’ all?’

  A chasm of inevitability filled a long pause. Gerard Archer stood in his own disquiet, wondering if he may endure a lion’s roar or a bear’s from the big man before him. Gerard knew that the division of a family in this way was no comfort to any father, although as a young man he thought it an adventure to go to the city and indeed hoped to go himself, although he was only one son in his family and thought his own father would most likely be allowed to object to such.

  ‘Aye,’ slowly, ‘you be tellin’ ’im then.’ Gamel was stern, staring the young man back to his mount.

  Gerard Archer thought better of showing the recognition he had of the despair across Gamel Warriner’s face. He made a barely audible acknowledgement towards Gamel and Alice and strode quickly to his horse, leapt on, and gee’d the animal away as fast as he’d come. A cloud of yellowy brown dust inflamed the air, dissipating slowly as the Warriners looked in the direction of Gerard’s
trail.

  Still no Warriner moved; parents weighted as they were. And the boys there, noting that anchor, knew it was not theirs to make the first movement or word, excepting to look cautiously towards each other and then away. Alice likewise waited for her husband to speak. Thomas cocked his head to one side and back again, as if he too was waiting for someone to say something, but this was simply coincidence.

  ‘Dem!’ Gamel called around gruffly to his second eldest boy. The small explosion of his name put the boy on alert. ‘Go ‘n’ get yer brothers!’

  Dem Warriner put aside the hoe he’d leant on the last few minutes and hurried away to the fields where he knew Gree and Thurston were repairing a stone wall shaken down in parts two days prior. Dem knew this injunction from the Friary implied some prospect of adventure, unheard of to him or his brothers, and he was scarcely able to control his eagerness as he bolted away.