Michael JECKS - The Leper's Return

“Not for you, pervert!”

“But we need food and drink, same as any man, sir. Couldn’t you…”

“Leave me alone! You sickening bastard, you should never have been born. You make me want to vomit – aye, and all others who are normal!”

The leper stared at him, and opened his mouth to speak, but as he did so, the smith reached down and picked up a large cobblestone, weighing it in his hand. The light of a kind of madness was in Jack’s eye, and the leper was suddenly afraid. He looked away nervously, certain that at any moment the heavy stone would crack against his head. There came a loud thud, and when he looked to his side, he saw the dent on the wall where the cobble had struck.

“Don’t ever talk to me again, or next time I’ll smash your skull!” Jack hissed malevolently, and walked on.

Neither he nor the leper noticed the man leaning against the wall of the inn. Neither of them knew he was a guard at Matthew Coffyn’s house – nor that he had overheard their argument. At the moment he wasn’t greatly interested in what had passed between the leper and the bigot, but if the guard, William, had one conviction, it was that any piece of information might become useful. He had docketed and stored the exchange in his mind before the smith was swallowed up in the crowds.

Thomas Rodde leaned on his staff and rested while he waited. The old man at the gate had refused to let him enter until his master had agreed. It made Rodde give a fleeting smile. As if anyone who was healthy would want to walk into a leper hospital!

The sun was warm on his tattered tunic and robe. It was good to feel the heat. For so many months now he had been living in the north, where the sun was insipid compared to the south.

Thomas could remember hot, balmy days in the southern lands. He had gone there with his father several times when he was apprenticed to the craft, visiting places of pilgrimage in far-flung countries like Castile and Rome. But that was before he had become leprous: that life was over. Sometimes he recalled it with a kind of wonder, like a magical dream in which reality could be suspended for a while, but he tried to avoid thinking about how he had lived. There was no point: he was determined not to torment himself with wondering how things might have been, or how he might have developed. After all, he could easily have died in a foolish accident at any time. It was as likely as his managing to live to a ripe old age.

“There they are.”

The old leper pointed along the road. Thomas turned to see Ralph and Quivil approaching. The man with the monk was staggering as if drunk. His eyes held a frantic terror. Thomas had once seen a horse fall after jumping a wall. It had put a fetlock into a rabbit hole. Afterward it had stood shaking, the leg shattered, with eyes rolling in shock and fear. Thomas clenched his teeth. He had seen the same panicked horror in too many eyes over the last years.

Brother Ralph noticed Thomas Rodde, a bowed figure clad in the tattered clothing that denoted another leper, but he had no time to think about him yet, for at the gate Quivil halted, eyes wide, like a horse refusing a jump. The monk spoke gently. “Quivil, come inside. You know you…”

“No! No, I can’t! This is all a mistake.” He shook his head emphatically, his feet planted firmly.

“You have to come in. You know that.”

“I… I can’t. I’m all right now. It’s all an accident. I have to go home.”

“Edmund!”

Ralph spun to see the same young woman who had summoned him from the chapel. She stood behind them in the road, and the monk realized she had been waiting for them.

“Mary?” Quivil cried, and was about to go to her, when Ralph gripped his arm urgently.

“You mustn’t! Quivil, think, man. You’re a leper: you are defiled – you’re already condemned, do you want to ruin her life too?”

“No, it’s a mistake, I’m not ill,” the leper groaned, but the insistence was gone from his voice.

Mary Cordwainer covered her face with her hands. Her body was racked with tortured sobs. “I didn’t believe it, I thought you’d be all right.”

Quivil stood still, as if turned to purest marble. His fists clenched in his despair. When he spoke, he heard his voice rasping with the hurt he had to give her, his woman. “Mary, I’m dead. I’m nothing. You must look after yourself.”

Ralph slowly released his grip. Quivil stood shaking, his eyes screwed tightly shut, then they opened with an almost audible snap, and he lurched through the gate and into the grounds of the leper hospital. The girl gave a small cry, and sank to her knees, head bowed, face hidden in her hands. Ralph wanted to go to her and comfort her, but he thought better of it. There was nothing for him to say; no words of sympathy could compensate her. He shook his head, and was about to follow Quivil, when Rodde stepped forward.

“You are the master of the hospital?”

Ralph hesitated, then gave a nod. He already had one extra mouth to feed, and didn’t need another.

Thomas Rodde saw the wariness in his eyes and smiled. “I have need of a place to stay, Brother, and would be grateful if I could make use of your hospitality, but I won’t be a burden to you. I can pay for what I eat.”

“Where are you from?”

Rodde saw the doubt in the man’s face and grinned. “I used to live at a hospital in the north, but it was sacked by the Scots. I have a letter here, though.” He held out a note. The brother took it warily. It was rare for a leper to move far from his birthplace, and Ralph wasn’t sure about this confident man. The letter was from the brother of a small lazar house near Carlisle, and confirmed that his hospital had been destroyed by marauding Scots. It also mentioned Thomas Rodde by name and stated that he was not expelled.

Ralph handed the note back with relief. All too often wandering lepers were those who had been evicted from their old hospitals for disobedience. Their sins had to be extensive for them to suffer the punishment of homelessness and loneliness. “Of course you’re welcome. Christ Himself orders us to aid travellers.” It wasn’t the money that made Ralph make up his mind, it was the edge to the calm voice, as if the stranger was close to the end of his tether. Ralph motioned toward the hospital. Thomas picked up his bundle, swinging it over his shoulder in a practiced movement and walked slowly inside.

“Brother, may I speak with you?”

Ralph was surprised to see that the girl had recovered her composure. The tears still marked her cheeks, but she stood resolutely at his side. He managed to raise a wan smile. “Yes, my sister, of course.”

At his home, Matthew Coffyn grunted as he swung down from the saddle. It had been a long journey, and his back and legs ached as if he had walked the whole way. He led his horse to the thatched stables that leaned against the side of his hall, running from the door to the solar block. The window of his bedchamber gave out over the stable roof, and he glanced up hoping to see his wife, or at least the glow of a candle, but there was nothing visible. He watched while his grooms fetched the large trunk from the back of his cart. The light was fading, and he was glad to be back before it was fully dark.

His servants lifted the great box and staggered with it over the threshold and into the hall. They waited while he unlocked the door to his storeroom, then half-dragged, half-carried it inside. Coffyn relocked the door once they were out again, and sent his bottler for a pint of wine.

It had been a good trip. Coffyn disliked travelling, he was happier running his affairs here in Crediton, but for the last four months, through the summer, he had left his home and his wife to sell his cloth at fairs; it was a relief that this was the last of the year. There wouldn’t be any more during the winter months.