C.J. Sansom - Revelation

'Who was driving the coach?' Guy asked.

'I cannot remember.' Suddenly Adam broke down, sobbing desperately, tears running down his dirty face. Guy laid a hand on his shoulder. 'Cry,' he said. 'Yes.' And I saw deep sadness in his own eyes, Guy who had been so coldly rational about Roger, who had discussed his corpse's innards with his apprentice. I felt an unreasoning stab of anger.

At length Adam's tears subsided. Again Guy tried to coax him to his feet, but still the boy resisted. 'I must pray,' he said, in tones of desperate exhaustion. 'Please, I have wasted time talking, I have to pray.'

'Very well. But let me ask you a question. Why do you think God visits this suffering upon you? Do you think He has singled you out?'

'No.' Adam shook his head vigorously, though he looked at the wall, not at Guy. 'All should fear the pains of Hell as I do. Burning, in agony, for ever and ever. In our church we know the truth, that is what awaits those who are not saved, who sin.'

'And the other believers, Reverend Meaphon's congregation, are they sinners too?'

'Yes, but they have all received God's assurance that they are forgiven, they are among the elect, the saved.'

'But not you?'

'No.' He turned full-face to Guy. 'I know I am not saved. Reverend Meaphon says it is a devil inside me. I must ask God, beg Him to release me from it. Save me. Now leave me. Leave me!' His sudden shriek made me jump. Adam turned back to the wall, began his dreadful intoning again. 'God hear my prayer I beseech You hear me . . .'

Guy rose and inclined his head to me. I followed him outside. His expression was very angry.

'Will you fetch the keeper here?' he asked me. 'The woman, not that oaf who is in charge;'

'Very well.' I went up the corridor to the parlour. Here all was quiet again, Cissy sewing and the card-players gaming. Ellen had joined them at the table. I saw that Jane's face was red with tears. When she saw me she buried her head in her hands.

'Mistress Ellen, Dr Malton would like a word,' I said awkwardly. The keeper rose, keys jangling at her waist, and led me outside.

'I am sorry for Jane's exhibition,' she said, looking at me seriously. 'She is sorry now. But I am afraid the patients' disturbing ways are a penalty of being a visitor.'

'I understand.'

'We will have to watch her today, or she may hurt herself.'

Guy was in the corridor, looking through the viewing hatch. He turned to Ellen with a smile. 'My friend says you have been kind to Adam.'

Ellen reddened. 'I try to be.'

'He is very ill.'

'I know that, sir.'

'It is vital he is kept locked up, he must not get out or he would make another exhibition of himself. But it is very important he is kept clean, and made to take food even if he struggles. And try, but only very gently, to distract him with practicalities, the need to eat and keep warm and so forth.'

'As though he were mopish or melancholy, and needed to be lifted from his dumps; But it is much worse than that with Adam, sir.'

'I know. But can you do that; Will the other keepers help you;'

'Some will and some won't, sir. But I'll tell Keeper Shawms those are your instructions.' She smiled sardonically. 'He is afraid of Serjeant Shardlake.'

'Good. Thank you.' Guy clapped me on the shoulder. 'Now come, Matthew, let us find somewhere to talk. For once I feel in need of strong drink.'

WE FOUND a tavern nearby. I went to the bar-hatch and returned with a bottle of wine and two mugs. Guy was sitting frowning, preoccupied. 'That boy Adam noticed my colouring,' he said suddenly. 'There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes.'

'Yes. I saw that.'

'That gives me hope, that and getting him to talk, even if only for the shortest while. Because it shows he can be distracted from that praying.'

'It is terrible seeing him. That story of being driven into Hell. . .'

'He is suffering as much as anyone I have ever seen. Despair.' He frowned.

'That place . . .' I shook my head.

'Some, if they have no family to take care of them, are better off in the Bedlam. Otherwise they would beg in the cities or roam as wild men in the woods. Enough do. And Adam would be in danger outside.'

'What did you think of him? His case seems desperate. Hopeless.' Guy pondered again. Then he said, 'Let me ask you something. What do you think Adam Kite feels about himself?'

'That he is abandoned by God.'

'That is what he feels about God. But about himself?'

'That he is unworthy of God's love.'

'Yes. He is a self hater. And there have been self-haters since the world began, people who believe they are unlovable.'

'We must fight such notions with reason,' I said. 'Oh, come, Matthew.' Guy smiled. 'If only it were so simple.

Our minds are ruled by passions more than reason. And sometimes they run out of control.' His eyes went blank for a moment, as they had been when he was sitting in the parlour, as though he were looking inward. He frowned, then continued. 'And why? Sometimes we learn to hate ourselves from early on.'

'I suppose so.' As I had learned, through insults and rejection as a child, that to many my form was frightening and shameful.

'And these radical churchmen must hate themselves more than anyone. Despite their ranting, they feel they are quite unworthy. If they are saved from Hell it is only through God's mysterious grace.'

'When the end of the world comes. Any minute now, a lot of them say.'

'There have always been churchmen forecasting the imminent Apocalypse. Though many more now amongst the radical congregations. And Adam was brought up in that setting. How did his parents say his illness started?'

I told him what the Kites had related to me, that Adam had been a happy, outgoing child, until a while ago he became increasingly preoccupied, and thus descended to his present state. 'They are good folk,' I concluded. 'They are under the sway of their minister, a canting dogmatist called Meaphon, but concern for their son is leading them towards an independent stand, especially Adam's mother.'

‘I should like to meet them.' Guy stroked his chin. 'Something happened, something specific brought this on, I am sure. His dream is a clue. The people he saw from that coach said, "He is so bad, he is being taken to the depths." And I think he did know who was driving that coach in his dream. If I can find out who that was, that may help us on the path to saving him.'

'You can set too much store by dreams, Guy.'

'They are a guide to understanding. A way.' He shook his head. 'Strange to hear that poor pallid creature was once a strong, happy youth. But madness can distort the body as well as the mind.'

'Will you visit him again?' I asked.

'If you and his parents wish.'

'Yes.' I looked at him curiously. 'I did not know that you had worked with the mad.'

'It was part of an infirmarian's duties. And diseases of the mind have always interested me. Perhaps because there are so many different types, and no clear view as to what they are. There are those who say they are caused by an imbalance in the humours, a rush of bad humours to the brain.'

'Like corrupted black bile rising to the brain and causing melancholy?'

'Yes. Others see mental illness as caused by physical disorders in the brain, though no one has ever found any that I know of, apart from tumours, which kill.' He took a deep breath. 'And then there are those, like your friend Meaphon, who see some madness as possession by devils, which must be driven out.'

'And which school do you incline to?'

'I belong to another tradition, Matthew. The tradition of Vesalius, although he has had many intellectual forebears. An approach that starts not with the theory but with the disorder; examines it, studies it, tries to understand what it is. The crazy words and actions of the mad may hold secret clues to what is happening in their minds. And even with the mad one can sometimes use reason, commonsense.'