C.J. Sansom - Heartstone

OKEDEAN CHURCH was small, crowded with the people of both villages. Here, as in Reverend Seckford's church, they evidently cleaved as much as possible to the old ways, the church smelling heavily of incense, saints still in their niches. I wondered what Hugh's parents, the reformers, would have made of it. Hobbey, Dyrick and I took places at the front of the congregation in accordance with our rank, next to a stocky, middle-aged man and his haughty-looking wife, whom Hobbey introduced to us as the owner of the neighbouring manor, Sir Luke and Lady Corembeck. Sir Luke, Hobbey said proudly, was a justice of the peace who would be attending his hunt tomorrow. For the first time I heard deference in his voice.

The vicar gave a sermon calling on all to pray and work for the defence of the country, for the men to attend practice with the local militia. I looked at the Doom painting behind him, Christ on a throne in judgement, his face serene, angels guiding the virtuous to heaven while below the pale and naked sinners tumbled into a lake of fire. I remembered Feaveryear saying soldiers and sailors who died in battle without finding salvation must end in Hell. What had he been running from last night? Where was he?

After the service Hobbey paused for some more words with Sir Luke in the doorway, the servants and villagers walking past us. Lady Corembeck addressed Abigail a couple of times, but she answered in monosyllables, sunk in apathy. At length Hobbey parted from the Corembecks with much bowing, and we walked down the path to the lych gate. Then we saw that a group of about thirty Hoyland villagers were waiting just outside the church, whole families blocking our way. Ettis was at their head. I heard a sharp intake of breath from Hobbey.

Ettis walked over to stand boldly in front of him, his square face set hard. Fulstowe stepped to Hobbey's side and put his hand to his dagger.

'No need for that, Master Fulstowe,' Ettis said quietly. 'I want only to say something to your master.' He indicated the villagers behind him. 'See those people, Master Hobbey. Look hard, you will see some that your steward here has been pressing to abandon their land. My support is growing. We intend to bring a case in the Court of Requests.' Dyrick looked at me suspiciously. Ettis continued, 'So be warned, sir, keep your men off our woodlands, for they will shortly be subject to legal proceedings. I tell you this before all these people here assembled, including Sir Luke Corembeck, our justice of the peace.'

Abigail marched up to him. 'Churl and knave to torment us so!' she shouted, right into his face.

Ettis stared back at her with contempt. Then David ran past his mother and stood before the villagers, his face red. 'Hedge-pigs! Lumps! Cattle! When I am lord here I will drive you all out, you will all beg, beg!'

Some of the villagers laughed. 'Get back to the nursery!' one shouted.

David looked round in helpless frustration. Then he gave a strange, puzzled frown. His limbs started to jerk, little flickering spasms, his eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed on the ground. The villagers took a step back; there were frightened murmurs from some of the women. Abigail put her hands to her cheeks and uttered a gasping groan. On the ground David was twitching wildly now, like a puppet.

'What's he doing?' someone called out.

'He's possessed, get the priest!'

Then someone said, 'It's the falling sickness,' and Abigail groaned once more.

It was; I had seen it in London. That dread disease where those afflicted seem normal most of the time but can be struck down, out of the blue, to lie jerking on the ground. Some believed it a type of madness, others a form of possession.

Abigail sank on her knees and tried to still her writhing son. 'Help me, Ambrose, for pity's sake!' she cried. 'He'll bite his tongue!' I thought, so this has happened before.

Fulstowe unbuckled his dagger from his belt and thrust the leather scabbard between David's teeth. His lips were flecked with white foam now. I saw Dyrick looking on, astonished. Hobbey stared at his son, then at the watching crowd. He called out, in a voice full of rage and pain, 'Well, you have seen! Now in God's name go, leave us!' Next to him, Hugh stood looking blankly at David. No pity, nothing.

The villagers did not move. A woman said, 'Remember that carpenter who came to live in the village—he had the falling sickness!'

'Ay, we stoned him out!'

Sir Luke Corembeck came to life. 'Disperse, I order you!' he called.

People began to move away, though they looked back at David, with fear and loathing. He lay still a moment, then sat up, groaning. He looked up at his mother. 'My head hurts,' he said and began to cry.

Hobbey came over to him. 'You had an attack,' he said gently. 'It is all right, it is over.'

'They all saw?' David asked in horror. His face wet with tears, he looked wildly round. Hobbey and Fulstowe helped him to his feet. Hobbey clasped his son's arm.

'I am sorry, David,' he said gently. 'I feared this would happen one day. It was the fault of Ettis and his people.' He turned to Sir Luke. 'Thank you, sir, for dispersing them.' At that moment I had to admire Hobbey's dignity. He swallowed hard, then continued, 'I fear, as you have seen, my son has the falling sickness. It comes on seldom, a little rest and he will be as normal again.'

'Ettis and his churls caused this,' Sir Luke said. 'Jesu, it is a fine day when yeomen defy gentlemen.'

We followed the family back down the lanes, Fulstowe and Hugh each with an arm under David's shoulders. I knew this was very serious for the family; among both gentry and villagers David would now be seen as tainted. I gestured to Barak to hang back.

'What about that?' he asked.

'My guess is they've been hiding this for years. Dyrick didn't know—he was amazed. Dear God, that couldn't have happened in a more public way. David Hobbey may be a churl, but he didn't deserve that. By the way, I think there is more to Feaveryear's going than Dyrick said.' I told him what I had seen from the window the previous evening. 'I saw him running as though he'd seen the devil. And Dyrick looks very worried about something.'

'Maybe David had an attack yesterday, too.'

'No. He was standing at the butts with Hugh. Whatever happened, Feaveryear ran to tell Dyrick about it. And now he's gone.'

'When Abigail said after Lamkin was killed that you couldn't see what was before your eyes, she must have meant David.'

I shook my head. 'No. She meant something else. She of all people wouldn't draw my attention to David's condition.' I looked at the group ahead of me: Abigail hovered behind her son. 'Feaveryear's lodging is hard by yours. Did you hear him go?'

'I heard a door slam just after dawn, then his quick little steps. I thought he was going for an early prayer.'

'What made him run like that, I wonder?' I knew his disappearance was important, but not why.

THE WOOD WAS delightfully peaceful in the early morning. The birds sang lustily in the trees; a squirrel watched me from the branch of a beech, its bushy red tail bright against the green leaves. I was sitting on a fallen log beside an oak tree in a little glade, comfortable in the loose jerkin and shirt I had donned for the hunt. Behind me, though, I could hear the murmuring voices of the breakfast party on the the other side of the trees, while stealthy rustlings deeper in the park indicated Master Avery and his men were checking the deer tracks. But I had had to get away from them all, just for a minute. Soon enough we would be riding pell-mell through the hunting park. I reflected on all that had happened on the previous day.

WHEN WE HAD returned from church David had been taken upstairs to lie down, protesting all the while that he was quite recovered. Hobbey asked Dyrick to follow him to his study. I was on my way upstairs when Dyrick appeared once more and asked if I would attend Master Hobbey.