Michael JECKS - The Leper's Return

“By the way, Dean, about these fairs…”

Baldwin settled and resigned himself to waiting until the two priests had finished their business. Now they were talking about the two fairs Stapledon had granted the town. He was alarmed at the drop-off in tolls. This involved a great deal of poring over old parchments and rolls of figures, each of which had to be brought in by troops of monks and canons, until Baldwin was becoming thoroughly irritable. He waved to the panter for food, and soon had a large mug of watered wine and a plate of cold meats.

It was half an hour before Stapledon motioned his clerks away and peered at Baldwin. His eyesight had been failing for some years, and he needed to use spectacles now, which gave him something of the appearance of a bemused owl. “You’ve been very patient with us, Sir Baldwin. My apologies for keeping you waiting so long, but it’s so much better to get these things out of the way when one can. My time isn’t my own any more.”

Baldwin dismissed the apology as unnecessary. “My Lord Bishop, we should apologize for turning up unexpectedly.”

“What can I do for you, Sir Baldwin?” Clifford asked.

“Peter, I wanted to ask you about a girl in the town,” he said. “It’s Cecily, the daughter of the dead man. I understand she’s very generous to the poor, including the lepers.”

“Yes, I believe she has assisted with a few good works. Why?”

“Since her father has been killed, we have been trying to find a reason for his murder, but it’s possible it was only a robbery that went wrong. I am fairly certain that a lot of Godfrey’s plate has gone missing. Similarly, I have to wonder about the dead man’s last words.”

“What were they?”

“Apparently, ”So you’d defile my daughter, would you?“”

“What has she to say about this?”

“She says nothing. She is adamant that she was struck down by a man at the window, and knew nothing of her father’s death.”

Stapledon sipped his wine. “And you do not believe her.”

“I wouldn’t say that, my Lord – I simply don’t know. But it does seem odd to me that she should walk into her hall and be instantly attacked. Most thieves would run away on hearing someone approach. And those words – they allow for some intriguing speculation.”

“Obviously he came upon someone trying to rape the poor girl,” said Clifford.

Simon stole a morsel of Baldwin’s meat. “That’s what it sounds like.”

“What do you mean?” asked the Dean.

“If it was a simple attack of that nature, why say ”defile“? If it were a rape, wouldn’t he have said just that? ”So you’d rape my daughter, would you?“ Surely it’s the form of words that would come most easily to a man?”

“I’m not so sure,” said Stapledon. “One hears such stories nowadays: of nuns being raped in their convents, women being taken from their homes, their husbands murdered or tortured to show where their valuables are stored. These villains are bestial. If this poor man came into his hall and found these men had knocked his daughter down, and were trying to rape her, perhaps he used the first words which sprang into his mind. Defile is a very strong word, but when used against some of the footpads I have seen in my own court…”

Baldwin gave a slow nod. He too had seen some of the very dregs of society before him when the court was in session. How, he wondered, would he have reacted to seeing one of them pawing his daughter? If he had a daughter he would adore her, he felt, just as surely as Simon doted on his; and if he ever found a scruffy, degenerate, drawlatch of a man fondling her youthful body while she lay unconscious, punched in the face by her attacker, Baldwin was sure he would use stronger language than “rape.” But then he would probably have used stronger language than “defile” too. In fact, he thought, he probably wouldn’t have used any language at all: he would have grabbed for his sword or a club, and expressed his feelings more forcefully.

“So what do you want from me, Sir Baldwin?” the Dean enquired.

“Anything you can tell me about her, about her father, or anyone else who might have a bearing on this horrible murder.”

“Well…” The Dean gazed into the middle distance thoughtfully. “Her father was quite a strong character, I always thought. He wasn’t very forthcoming, and not particularly popular, but he always struck me as a resolute man.”

“When you say he wasn’t very popular, in what way?”

“Oh, he upset quite a few folk. Used to refuse to give alms to certain people. He was quite cruel toward lepers. Insulted them and once even threw stones at one who stood too close to his gate. But nothing serious, the leper wasn’t hurt. Still, his attitude to those who weren’t as healthy or wealthy as he, was quite off-putting.”

“Did he often lose his temper?”

Clifford glanced at the knight. “He did on occasion, but usually only when it was something that bore on his daughter. I think that was why he was so harsh toward lepers, because he feared that one of them might attack her.”

“Why should he think that?” Simon interrupted.

It was Baldwin who answered. “Because many people think that lepers have an insatiable appetite for sex.”

“Yes,” Clifford nodded. “Some think leprosy is a sexual disease, acquired by those with abnormal lusts, and shows the nature of the soul within. Others think it’s caused by perverted parents, and is actually the proof of some kind of moral deviance. I think Godfrey thought so, and wanted to keep such people from his daughter.”

“And stop them defiling her,” Simon mused.

“It’s possible,” Baldwin agreed. “And what of her, Cecily?”

“Oh, she’s a treasure. Where her father was hard and unswerving, she seems generous to a fault. She shows every sign of compassion and tolerance. I have tried to broadcast St. Hugh’s opinion: that lepers are here to show us all the way to redemption, demonstrating by their worldly suffering what is to come; they are set before us by God as a reminder, so that we may always tread the right path. That was St. Hugh’s view, and I believe in my heart that it’s the correct one. Mistress Cecily is one of the few people of the town who has taken my words to heart.”

“God be praised,” murmured the Bishop.

“And how does she evince this care for the ill?” Baldwin probed.

“She’s spoken to the master of the lepers about making a small but regular donation to assist the house, and also to offer a chantry.”

Simon stared, his mouth falling open. “She wants to pay for regular mass in the lepers’ chapel?”

“Yes. She won’t stretch to a new altar for them, but she said she will be pleased to give them money annually if they will celebrate a mass in memory of her father, both on his birthday and on the anniversary of his death.”

“That is extremely interesting,” Baldwin noted. The rich often endowed a chantry on their favorite church so that they might be remembered and prayed for while they remained in Purgatory, but the knight had never known it to be paid to a lepers’ place of worship. “Why should she ask for that, I wonder?”

“Because she wanted to save his soul, Sir Baldwin,” Clifford said sharply.

The knight gave him a half-apologetic grin, for the Dean knew that he had little faith in the Church as an institution; after the betrayal of his Order by the Pope, his trust had been shattered. “No, Peter, I think you miss my meaning. It appears highly curious to me that she should endow this little chapel with funds, specifically to pray for her father, when she must have known how he felt about lepers. It is almost a studied insult to do so, surely? Why not give you the money to hold masses in the canonical church here, rather than at the lazar house?”