Paul Doherty - The Straw Men

‘Father,’ she smiled dazzlingly over his shoulder at Cranston, ‘Samson and I would like to be shrived. We wish to confess, to be absolved.’

Athelstan raised his eyebrows at the thickset, heavy-limbed young man who came to stand beside Rachael.

‘We need to be shrived.’ Samson’s voice was a thick, rustic burr. ‘I have not confessed since Easter, Maundy Thursday.’

‘Together?’ Athelstan joked, gesturing further up the transept to where the shriving chair and mercy pew stood just before the Lady altar.

‘Separately.’ Samson’s moon-like face broke into a smile.

‘Brother,’ Cranston declared, ‘I shall go elsewhere. I too need to be shriven but, there again,’ he wryly added, ‘that would take at least a week.’

Athelstan led Samson up to the mercy pew. Athelstan turned the chair slightly; they were now hidden by the creeping darkness and lengthening shadows.

‘In the name of the Father and of the Son. .’

Athelstan began the sacrament with the usual blessing. Samson immediately blurted out his litany of sins: his anger, the fights he’d been involved in, his resentments, drinking too much ale and lecherous doings with certain young ladies. ‘I even have very lustful thoughts about Rachael and Judith. Father, they plague my mind both day and night.’

‘Along with every other man who meets them.’ Athelstan smiled. ‘Even priests! Samson, Christ knows our weaknesses, but what have you really come to confess?’ Athelstan tried to control his breathing; he sensed both of these young people wanted to unburden their conscience of more than just petty sins.

‘The murders, Father,’ Samson whispered, ‘the killings, the attacks, the hangings and the decapitations.’

‘You did not cause them.’

‘We had a hand in it, Father! We journeyed to Ghent. We stayed at the convent of Saint Bavin. We heard the rumours. We know Master Samuel was closeted with the Oudernardes. We are not stupid, Father. We may not know the secrets, but we believe that our stay at that convent is an important part of the horrid happenings which dog our days.’

‘But that’s not on your soul, Samson. Samuel must answer for that.’

‘There’s more, Father. You were correct: we are Gaunt’s spies. We travel the shires. The village people trust us. They take our pledge. We take their money and their secrets, then betray them. We pretend it’s Samuel’s doing but we are all guilty. That’s why Boaz left our company — he was sickened by it all.’

‘And where did he go?’

‘I don’t know, Father; perhaps deeper into Essex to join the Great Community. Father, I am finished with the Straw Men. I want your absolution and, as soon as I am able, I will be gone. These are my sins.’

Athelstan pronounced absolution.

‘And my penance, Father?’

‘You have punished yourself enough, Samson. Give glory and thanks to God. Do as much good as you can, as often as you can, whenever you can, to as many as you can. Now go, and be at peace.’

Rachael came and knelt at the mercy pew. Athelstan smelt the strong herbal perfume which she must have dabbed on while waiting. She recited the usual benediction in a whisper then paused.

‘Rachael?’

‘Father, Samson persuaded me to confess, to be shriven. He has probably told you the reason. All these killings, the Warde family, the spicers in your parish.’

‘What about them?’

‘How gruesome it was, that killer moving from chamber to chamber. I understand you also buried one of your own parishioners this morning. Father,’ she continued in a hiss, ‘we, me, Samson and the others, had a hand in all of this. We discussed our trip to Ghent, our visit to that convent. Samuel was spying on behalf of his master. I’m sickened by it.’

‘As was Boaz?’

‘I know nothing of that. Judith was his friend. Father, I am certain that we are all in danger from both the Upright Men as well as My Lord of Gaunt.’

‘What!’ Athelstan turned in the chair. ‘Your own patron?’

‘We not only work for him,’ she whispered, ‘but also for the Upright Men. Father, think — we are nothing but strolling players. We need licences to wander the roads, to enter towns and villages or seek the help of the local parson.’

‘I understand,’ Athelstan murmured, ‘that without those licences you could be driven from any village, harassed by any sheriff’s man or bailiff. Indeed, you’d be nothing but vagrants to be whipped from pillar to post. Gaunt’s protection may open many doors,’ he didn’t wait for an answer, ‘but of course you are frightened. .’

‘Not me, not Samson.’

‘Very well. Master Samuel,’ Athelstan drew in a deep breath, ‘like everybody else fears the Great Day of Retribution. Samuel is worried that Gaunt might be toppled so he sits and secretly sups with the Upright Men?’

‘More than that, Father,’ Rachael murmured, pushing her face closer, ‘the Great Community of the Realm is very powerful especially in the shires around London. If the Upright Men want, they can make our life very difficult out on some lonely trackway.’

‘And so Master Samuel has reached an accommodation with them. What proof do you have?’

‘Father, we know that Samuel was on Gaunt’s business in Flanders. I do wonder if he told the Upright Men about this. I have no real proof, Father, just a feeling. Isn’t it true that, if you betray one cause, you will betray another? Isn’t that why the Crown executes those guilty of treason?’ She shifted the Ave beads around her fingers. ‘But what does it matter, Father? Perhaps we should be called the “Judas Men” not the Straw Men. There again, we are aptly named, bending to any breeze which blows. Betrayal and treachery are our stage; we mouth words we don’t mean. Father, I know Gideon is growing tired, while I’m with Samson on this. Once the Tower gates are open, we shall be gone.’ Her voice lightened. ‘Father, Samson and I are close. When this business is over we shall become betrothed. I just want to confess the deep resentment I feel. We are mummers, nothing more and nothing less. The games of princes should not concern us. Now, Father, please, your absolution.’

Athelstan replied with the same penance he had given Samson. Both mummers then left the chapel.

Athelstan sat staring at the slender wax taper burning merrily in front of the Virgin’s statue. He reflected on the confessions he had heard. He sensed both penitents felt they had become squalid, dirty, polluted by the treachery swirling about them, the brutal deaths of their comrades, their confinement here. Athelstan moved uncomfortably on his chair. Yet something was very wrong here. Undoubtedly traitors flourished in both camps — that was a hard fact of city life. Cranston constantly talked of how the great lords of London were in secret negotiation with this faction or that. When the great revolt did occur, many merchants didn’t want to see their beautiful Cheapside mansions pillaged and burnt or, even worse, be hustled out into the street for summary execution. Many of those who fawned upon Gaunt bowed and kissed his ring but kept one hand on their dagger and an eye on the main chance. So, if that was true of the powerful, why not the Straw Men?

‘“This is London and everything is up for sale”.’ Athelstan quoted the famous proverb. ‘“Even souls. Yet what doth it profit a man if he gain the whole world but suffer the loss of his immortal soul?”’ Athelstan gazed at the shadow-wrapped statue of the Virgin. ‘Sweet Lady,’ he prayed, ‘please help me because it is not just as simple as that, is it? There is something else, another play here, something I’ve missed, something I’ve glimpsed out of the corner of my eye but cannot recall.’