Hugh had been several hours in the stifling indoors with the group of men. He enjoyed their skill and their particular type of intelligence. They were the best in England and they had come in an instant from all over the country, with their plans and ideas, debating benefits, systems and designs with each other, mostly for the pleasure of achieving the best result, not simply their own aggrandisement in this future construction. Each knew it took more than just he to complete a project of this size, for it was indeed likely to be the biggest of any building ever in the history of the Kingdom. It had even been mentioned it may be the tallest building in the world.
Hugh knew little of what they discussed in their many technical details, although he intended to improve his education in this regard. Above all else, the things he must know were the cost and how long it would take. Beyond that he knew only to listen and observe the presentations of each of these men, to assess the validity of any particular recommendations of which there were already many competing ones. Hugh was confident of his rapid assessment of a man’s character and worth by his tone and his demeanour in particular. And he could tell that however it was that such a band of craftsmen came to be in his house now, they were indeed the finest in the land and he felt reassured that he would at least be building a cathedral that would not likely fall again..
That said, their long discussions had tired him.
Lord, you are cruel with this heat to an old man in these thick robes.
Alone now, Hugh fell back into a large wooden chair, resting his head forward on one hand.
Aargh! Forgive me.
Hugh rose again quickly, aiming to resume his earlier ponderous walk about the gardens a little before leaving. He hoped also to locate some gentle zephyr thereabouts, although the latter seemed unlikely and he wasn’t sure if the heat was more unbearable inside or out. He would leave today, stopping at Torksey to hear of the parish from its priest and from the King’s Thane, both of whom complained interminably. He knew the scene of the crumbled cathedral would wrench at him, and he would put his sight of it off another day if he could. The rebuilding would be years and the principal focus of his Bishopric, he knew now, but he would not leave aside the progression and maturation of Christ’s followers and their cultivation. But he would escape to find some communion with God whence he could and now was an opportunity for that, however brief.
His steady companion merged into step behind him as he came out again into the hot day. Hugh smiled. He’d thought to give the bird some name but none had come to him that seemed right. This creature assumes responsibility for some part of me – my safety and comfort perhaps – why does it? How is it that I have attracted this follower? It follows no other, and it always follows me. I do nothing for it. And I talk to it in a language it knows not.
‘Aha!’ he said gently to the great bird. ‘I have it. You are an Angel come to watch over me. For if not, I shall do some terrible thing perhaps. But that is vainglorious and sacrilegious. I would not deserve such of the Lord’s favour. Well, what shall you do, my friend, while I am not here? Perhaps you will join your brothers and sisters at the lake beneath our poor cathedral. And I will certainly be pleased to see you, although I’m not sure, I’m afraid to say, that I should be able to tell you apart from them upon that great lake. There are so many so you will have to come closer or give me a wink if it is you. Can you do that do you think?’
Man and bird contemplated each other again. Hugh smiled and turned into his walk, noting the bird stepping in behind him yet again, and feeling a great comfort from it, whatever it was that this strange spectacle meant.
Gamel Warriner’s day had not gone well. Caution and thrift were the new drivers of commerce, and he had sold but a few vegetables at the market that day, and received only the smallest weight of grain for his wife’s kneading hands. One solace, such as it was, was that it need feed fewer mouths, but this didn’t sit so comfortably either.
Alard had come with him to Torksey today; and as usual Thomas. Alard was boastful that he had the eldest’s responsibility now until his father cuffed him for the annoyance the boy’s pride gave him.
Thomas did not notice any of these changes in his day or in his life, and he sat at the back of his father’s cart now, legs dangling, grinning and gawping at people moving about the dusty square in front of him. He saw light was dancing all around him and he was enjoying its show. Most of those about were quite used to the strange little Warriner boy and most paid him no mind at all. Some older men and women, perhaps who’d seen others like Thomas in their time, would smile and make some comment or other to Thomas or to his father about him, generally not expecting much by way of reply from either. The boy never disturbed anyone and his parents were well respected and good people. And some even found some good humour in his odd laughter and funny ways, although they were careful how they’d express such in front of the boy’s father.
As did others about them, so also did Gamel and his elder son load their baskets and pelts back onto their cart. Not many about spoke and the usual hubbub of market day seemed remote not for the first time in recent days. There was not much by way of profit to be had by any man lately, and most were as Gamel, with just a few of the necessities they were used to, to take home again, little to show for a day of work. It was not good for a man’s soul any more than it was for his pocket, nor indeed his pride. It would upset the mood of all for a longer time yet, and the upset created no different an outcome in that regard from a poor harvest or a flood or a plague, which is to say that things went backward for most folk. This was a time when things were either the same or they were worse. Rarely if ever were they better and any such idiotic concept as progress was yet to be invented hundreds of years hence and would have been laughed at hereabouts.
Gamel spoke gruffly to his son as they loaded their cart, partly to keep the boy’s head from swelling at his new status, but more from shortness of temper from the wasted day. Young Alard was not the only son kicked or boxed by a taciturn father this day. And the heat made the new hardships more acute still.
Gamel lifted Thomas aside with barely an effort, reaching past him to stow the last of their goods into the cart. Gamel had a great strength anyway but Thomas was so light as to almost warrant being tied down to the cart in even a small wind; he was easily moved about, content to be wherever he was put. He had his face raised to the sun, eyes closed and smiling, and Gamel was momentarily indignant at what would have been idleness in any other, but he quickly swallowed the thought, at once checking his temper, as he did often with the boy, and even on occasion the boy’s mother.
Even though there was not much of the usual flurry about, there was still a stir of sorts, at once quite quiet, but pressing in on the minds and temperaments of those amid it. It carried a nervousness with it and the villagers’ wariness of it caused them all to pack up a little quicker than usual.
Gamel lifted a final basket to the cart next to Thomas and as he did so the boy, with some power, lurched towards him suddenly propelled by some force from behind. Gamel was quick and caught the boy, toppling the basket and its contents in the back of the cart. Thereupon, the wailing of a half gutted pig, or the howling of some partly slaughtered cattle, rang at his ear, and he turned around about, the boy in his arms, expecting some wounded beast had escaped and was now about to hurdle his cart..
Although he could see no such thing, Gamel was all senses, spinning about and then back, confused, and for a moment unable to translate what he was hearing and seeing and sensing into any reality. Thomas was flailing in his arms like a wild dog, threatening to fall to the ground, and then suddenly it was his son’s spasms made him realise that the horrendous sound beating at his ears was coming from the boy. Gamel had heard little or no sound ever from the strange child and this keening now unsettled him so as he had no thought for a moment of what to do and just stood with the boy half upright and thrashing about in his arms.
Villagers all around had halted their activities a
t the extraordinary sound, looking about likewise to see whence the sound came, and then to notice the large man they all knew so well stood helplessly with the idiot boy. Except now this small creature was very different from the harmless one they were used to, and the noise coming from him frightened them. Until now the boy was a defenceless innocent; in an instant he had become another unknown set to disturb their tenuous hold on anything solid in the world. What had got into the child? Was it suddenly mad? Was this a secret Gamel Warriner had kept from them? Perhaps they ought to think differently of this man they knew. They were already edgy from too many omens in recent days and the thought that this was some new devil thing was in more than a few minds.
Gamel understood none of this yet though, and with another second his alarm spiked. When he was almost beyond knowing what to do, a warm wetness seeped through his fingers, clasped as they were about the boy, and the sensation drew him back into himself and into his two strong legs on the ground, and he brought his focus to his own child in his arms and found enough composure to understand. He lowered Thomas to the dusty Earth, not quite letting him go. Long lines of blood percolated over Gamel’s clothes and arms and into the hard clay ground. He was stilled momentarily, his arms beneath his son in the dust, finally making sense of all his brain was telling him as he knelt over the boy and stared at his wide open mouth and frightened eyes.
As Thomas’s bellowing persisted, Alard stood dumbly by frightened by the sound coming from his brother, and now the sight of blood along with it. The warm earth raised such a forge of heat that it grabbed at them all. And it stunk. And the stink pasted their clothes to their skin, and the thick air relayed their fears even quicker among them.
Gamel yelled into the general milieu. ‘Someone ge’ Bennet, Bennet Williams – go on, won’t ya. Someone go!’
There was a slow stirring, and a few youths stepped slowly out of the crowd, and then ran, to find the physician. For the most part, both the bystanders and the actors in the small drama they observed were held in some paralysing clutch, a vacuum where nothing seemed to exist about them, all eyes and Energy and focus hurtling in ultimately to the wounded boy’s larynx and the sound coming from it.
Thomas’s noise eased a little and Gamel found some instinct from somewhere to pull the boy to him and cradle him, with intense unease, and the wailing abated a little more. Gamel saw the whiteness of the boy’s face and prayed the life not to go from him, and perplexed himself further with these actions on his own part, not to mention that he’d never felt any softness for the lad before. All about knew this was a man had lost a lot the last few days. Gamel looked up from his son and stared fiercely around him at the faces of people he knew.
‘Who did this?’ Gamel yelled into the surrounds, sounding a wounded animal himself now.
‘Who did this?’ he bellowed louder.
And people nearby appeared to back away from the sound of accusation, although in truth they could not move.
Returning his face to his son, he saw a bloodstained rock in the dusty clay at the rear of his cart, of such a size no child could have thrown it any distance or with any force. The mystery and shock this new offence brought was beyond the reach of his understanding. He could bring no judgement to it at all, save again an instinct to get his sons a way gone. Gamel stared at the spent missile near him, feeling anew the warmth of his son’s blood stuck already to his fingers.
It could not be clarified in that moment – at least not with ease – as to what Thomas himself felt. He did not know he screamed; he had forgotten that a moment earlier he gazed at the bright sun, all radiant. He could not even be said to know himself that he was alive and living.
An Angel somewhere wept. And another focused a rain of golden Light that he bid find its way into the child’s own Energy.
When a moment later Bennet Williams came running, he apprised the scene quickly. Gamel lifted himself and Thomas to the rear of the cart and bade Bennet take them at least away from the street where so many eyes held expressions he could not begin to speculate upon. He felt such an ill will towards some stranger of a sudden, and was not so frightened about what he knew he could do if he found out who that stranger be, but he knew his attention was best kept to his sons for now.
Bennet took control of the wagon and its lead, as Alard clambered up next to him, and they drove the curious panoply away from the assembled listeners and spectators. The crowd moved silently from their path and Gamel saw they dispersed quite quickly as they left that spot, no doubt to hurry away and tell their version of events to others. He studied them a few moments for some sign of a crime but no such thing showed itself to him, and he was pleased when the cart moved from their sight.
They bumped slowly through a few turns and along some potholed tracks till they arrived at the physician’s own home. The two men lowered the boy and Bennet drew the patient and his father into his house, Alard behind them. He quickly brewed a draught that calmed Thomas further and then brought materials that cleaned the wound, less severe than the deluge of blood had suggested. The two men and the two boys stayed quiet in the small room, hot and stuffy as it was from the inevitable fire, set at a low flame, despite the heat of the day.
Bennet’s wife took the father’s and son’s tunics from them and did her best with the splatters of blood on their clothes, setting them to dry over a stone wall in the sun. She didn’t add any talk to the silence and neither man had yet explained the cause of the boy’s accident. She could see their uncertainty though and kept her tongue in her head for now.
After a while, the boys and the men had all calmed more. The men agreed a story for Alice, and held Alard to it, that it was no missile that had harmed Thomas but some accident where he’d fallen. They knew the woman had concerns enough for her children and their safety at the moment without such news that one, her precious one, was now a target of thugs.
‘Did yi’ see what happened, Gamel?’
‘No’ a thing, Bennet. The boy suddenly flung ’imself a’ me. Ah din’ even hear i’ with ’im makin’ tha’ din t’ star’ with. An’ then all tha’ blood. Ah saw a rock on ground, but ne’er seen ’oo threw i’.’
‘What about you, Alard?’
‘Wer’ all a myst’ry t’ me, sir. Ah ne’er seen nuthin’.’
‘Did yi’ see rock comin’ at Thomas?’
‘Naw, sir.’
‘Well, what could possibly stir someone t’ such a thing? The boy’s ne’er hurt anyone. I tell yi’, Gamel, there’s a nasty air ’bout these last days.’
‘Folk ‘r’ scared, Benne’. An’ folk’ll do all sorts when they’re scared I reckon. Bu’ this ain’ right.’
‘Folk’ll just be lyin’ low ’gain, as they’ve done last week or so. No one wants trouble, but it’s their superstitions create the trouble.’
‘Well, ah’ll be lyin’ low m’self, I’d say. We’ll be get’n’ away, Bennet. Thank yi’ for yi’ kindness. Yer a good man, Benne’, an’ a smart’r one than most.’
Their dried clothes were fetched and Gamel carried his now whimpering boy to their cart. Bennet drew his own horse to the back of Gamel’s cart and rode with them to their home so that Gamel might comfort the boy in the back, and so Bennet might also then reassure the mother on the son. Their way was steady, thoughts of their poor day at the market returning to beleaguer Gamel anew. He would hand the child to its mother and dispense with his caregiver role. It was uncomfortable for him now and he discerned also that he would not – should not – take the boy with him to the town again. It was in Gamel’s nature to go in the flow of things and never to rebel or fight or cause trouble with anyone. Even as he’d been wronged he would forget the event and his ordinary life would resume. If he took the boy to the town again he would be inviting trouble, since clearly it would not be in anyone’s mind now to leave suspicion behind them. Gamel had no mind to remind people of such or make himself its object.
When later Bennet Williams rode back to the town, he felt yet agai
n a pall over the town that was not the sort to hold any promise of cooling rain.
At the home of young Euan Draper, Euan’s grandmother Berta, who kept his house and took care of his two young children since his wife had died a year earlier, sat in a rocking chair slowly and confidently apprising her grandson with the quandaries that seemed to her to have arisen to seize their small village’s regard.
She had stood at the edge of the crowd that afternoon and just as a rock had struck the innocent boy so had Berta been struck with the recognition of events unfolded and unfolding. Had she not forewarned of catastrophe at the dying of the Swan a few days before? And so she beheld a line of events from the past to the present and into the future.
‘It’s not an easy thing this unfold’n’ of time, the way ’as God weaves it all together, in a fine mesh. Folks think i’s all one thing follows ’nother, but naw, i’s all a complicat’d thing.’
It had never in all the history of the universe taken an educated person to be able to see, sense, hear things that were unseen, unseeable, and silent. Indeed, it was education and experience in the ways of the world that obstructed the senses of most to any likelihood of unseen, unheard messages. For those who could tell of it – which was few – some thought it was of God, some of the Angels, and some of the Devil. Others knew it was none of these things but a heightened sense of the finer Energies of the Universe, and an understanding of Nature and her ways of whispering and shining and bending events in history upon each other, laying a clear path heading into the past and the future that anyone may see if they knew how, and if they knew what to make of it.
Not being educated though made it always difficult for one such as Berta to give an explanation to others of what they knew, or more to the point, how they knew what they knew. And so generally, she didn’t bother with trying to explain. She would pronounce what she knew, and if none saw anything in it then she didn’t mind so much.
Angels in the Architecture Page 12
