Priscilla Royal - Sanctity of Hate

Thomas closed his eyes and again begged God to ignore all his faults and sins just this once. To quell the riot, he needed far more strength than any sinful mortal owned.

“Even if the Jews did not kill our townsman, they are a vile people whom God hates for killing His son.” The man who spoke waved a thick cudgel.

A few cheers greeted those words.

“Dare you claim to be more learned in the faith than the saints?” Thomas raised his voice so all could hear, but his tone remained calm.

There was a hesitation, then a few scattered “nays.” Perplexed, most grew still and stared at the monk.

“Or perhaps you think yourselves wiser than a pope who may speak on God’s behalf?”

Even Adelard now shouted his denial of such blasphemy.

“Then hear this tale.” Thomas stopped and waited until he was sure he had the crowd’s complete attention. “Saint Bernard of Clairvaux himself once stood before a group of Christian men, like you, who had gathered to slaughter the Jews in their city. He condemned their intent and preached forbearance, for the holy Church has forbidden us to persecute or kill the Jews.”

Such profound silence now prevailed that even the birds could be heard singing from the trees.

Adelard stared at the monk in disbelief. “Brother, this cannot be!”

Thomas was sweating but his voice remained strong. “For the sins these people have committed, they have been dispersed throughout all lands and made subject to the will of Christian rulers. In this land, our kings have put them under their protection from the days of the first William.” He raised his hands for silence as some expressed outrage. “And King Edward, our liege lord and a man who wielded his sword in Outremer against all infidels, has done the same, knowing it is the will of the Church and in accordance with the expressed desire of Pope Gregory X.”

Adelard’s eyes lost their glitter. His shoulders slumped.

“As Saint Paul himself said, we may not slay the people of Israel. They shall, in good time, be saved when all the Gentiles have seen the truth of God’s teaching. Were the Jews to be slaughtered, the final days could not come, the righteous never allowed their reward, nor the remaining penitent loosed from Purgatory by the coming of our Lord.”

A few cried out in dismay, and two within the monk’s view visibly shook. Thomas hoped he had instilled enough terror to douse their anger.

“Would you deny the souls of your loved ones the chance to be freed from torment sooner?” He swept his hand to encompass the entire village. “If you do not care for the pain they suffer, or for the agony you shall also know in time, then kill this family. If you fear God, lay down your weapons and return to your work as good Christians should do.”

The baker’s son reached up and touched the monk’s robe. “If this be true, as you have said, there is much I do not understand, Brother.” Tears began to slip down his cheeks, making streaks of white in the dust cast up in his face by so many feet. “I have never been told any of this.”

“We are all imperfect and often ignorant, my son,” the monk said directly to him. “It is only sinful to remain willfully blind to knowledge. Seeking truth and wisdom is never a transgression. As for the Jews, remember also this teaching. How can we do violence against those we call enemy ? Are we not enjoined to love them?”

“Must we let these people live then?” The breath of the man who asked was foul.

“God demands it.”

“And if they did kill a Christian?” The same man’s eyes narrowed.

“The king’s law shall rule on the killer’s fate. Were you to proceed, as you intended, you would either commit treason by disregarding the king’s will or you would be committing a graver sin by going against God’s own commands. For the safety of your souls and your necks, I beg you to turn aside from this wicked purpose and return, in peace, to your homes.”

The man with the pitchfork lowered it.

“Have faith that God’s anointed king and our lord on earth shall seek justice for Kenelm’s death. Indeed, Crowner Ralf is diligently pursuing the truth. As all of us know, he is a good man and a loyal subject of King Edward.”

Thomas took a deep breath. Folding his arms into his sleeves, he tried to think of what more he could say to these men but failed to come up with any stronger arguments. Then he heard a commotion from the back of the crowd.

Ralf was approaching. Beside him walked several armed men, little Nute…and Oseberne?

Not believing what he saw, Thomas rubbed at his eyes.

The baker leaned over to say something to one of the men, then abruptly turned toward his own house.

How had Oseberne left without being seen?

Voices around him drew the monk’s attention back to the throng. Although there was a low grumbling amongst them, they were dispersing. With gratitude, Thomas glanced upward and almost wept with relief. The oration and the crowner’s timely arrival had worked.

Adelard, however, had not moved. His head remained bowed. With a groan, he now turned around and trudged slowly back to his father’s house.

Perhaps the young man has learned something, Thomas thought as he watched the youth walk away. He ought to speak with the hopeful novice now, for this might be the time to uproot Adelard’s irrational zeal and plant the seeds of a gentle compassion in him instead.

The monk jumped down from the trough.

A tug at his robe stopped him from following the baker’s son.

Cuthbert knelt at the monk’s feet. “Thank you, Brother. At the risk of your own, you saved my life!”

Thomas protested that he had done nothing so brave.

Grabbing the monk’s robe, the man kissed the hem. “They were threatening to tear me to pieces, if I did not let them into the stables. They even swore they’d kill my family in front of me before they let me die!”

Thomas grasped the trembling sergeant, pulled him to his feet, and whispered soothing words in his ear. Out of the corner of his eye, he realized that the crowd had disappeared, leaving behind a haze of dust over the road.

Near the path to the stables, Ralf was speaking to a small group. The armed men, who had come with him, lounged against the wall of the inn but stepped aside to let Nute run in to seek Mistress Signy.

A few houses down, Oseberne greeted the distraught Adelard, grabbed him by the shoulder, and tried to pull him toward the house.

The young man shouted at his father, tore himself loose, and ran down the road toward the priory.

Thomas hesitated, then turned back to comfort Cuthbert.

The sergeant was no longer there.

The crowner slapped the monk’s back. “I heard how you saved my sergeant and quelled the mob, Brother. ’Tis a pity you cannot change allegiance to a more earthly lord. King Edward could use your talents.” He jerked his head at his men who were now slipping into the inn. “In truth, those lads I pulled away from the fields wouldn’t have raised a hand against kin and friends. They only came after I let the sun fall on a pretty coin and promised a jack of ale.” He snorted. “My brother shall return the coin. I am willing enough to pay for Tostig’s finest.”

“I was grateful to see you,” Thomas said and hoped his friend did not see him tremble. The fear he had held back now struck him with especial force. “Nute deserves praise for his courage and swift feet. I did not want to put him in danger but had no other way of sending a message to you.”

The monk glanced over the crowner’s shoulder at the baker’s house. Or so I believed, he said to himself, and tried not to resent how Oseberne had barred the door and failed to say that he would summon the crowner. Instead of sending Nute through the mob, Thomas could have given the child safe haven inside the house.