The Owl Killers

father ulfrid

yOU SHOULDN’T HAVE COME, FATHER.” Ralph pulled the blanket tighter round his shoulders.

Inside the cottage, the air felt chill. Dampness seeped up from the beaten earth floor. The fire in the hearth was banked down with turfs to save fuel and barely any warmth from it oozed out into the one room that served as kitchen, living, and sleeping quarters for the family.

I ducked under bunches of dried herbs and onions that hung from the rafters. “Joan said you were not able to come to Mass, because you had the ague. But I’m glad to see you’re recovering a little.”

Ralph was sitting hunched in the chair in the furthest corner of the room. I was more than a little surprised to see him out of bed. I’d suffered marsh-ague once myself and I’d not been able to lift my head from the pillow.

“She shouldn’t have troubled you,” Ralph muttered angrily. He glared at his wife, who stood with her back to the bolted door. I turned to catch her mouthing something at Ralph that I was not intended to hear. There was no obvious sign of fever upon him, but it was hard to see his face clearly by the feeble light of the single rush candle that was burning. Although it was only mid-afternoon, the shutters were tightly fastened.

“And…” I hesitated. “I saw your little daughter Marion in the stocks this morning.”

Joan buried her face in her hands. “There was no call for D’Acaster’s steward to put her in the stocks. She’s only a bairn. I know she shouldn’t have gone out so early. But she’s so small it’s the only way she can glean anything, otherwise the bigger ones push her aside and take it all. I don’t know how we’re going to pay the fine… as if I haven’t got enough to worry about. What with Ralph being…being sick…” She trailed off with a frightened glance in her husband’s direction.

“I believe the fine’s been paid,” I told her. “I heard the leader of the house of women paid it.”

Joan gaped at me in disbelief. “Why?”

“I understand they are women of great charity. She must have taken pity on the child.”

“We don’t need charity from the likes of them,” Joan muttered angrily. “I’ve told the bairns a dozen times never go near them. It’s dangerous to go mixing with outlanders.”

“On this occasion I think you should be grateful, Joan, and I trust you’ll not refuse the Church’s charity.” I uncovered my basket. “I’ve brought you a little mutton, Ralph. I though Joan might make a broth of it for you, if you couldn’t take solid food.”

Joan darted forward to take the meat. “You’re a good man, Father, no matter what they say.”

“And what do they say, Joan?” I asked grimly.

“Nothing, Father,” she said hastily. “Village tattle. Me and Ralph, we take no notice.”

“All the same, I’d like to hear it.”

Joan plucked at her skirt. “Tongues wag; you know that, Father. I heard tell that your last position was in the Cathedral at Norwich, a good living by all accounts. People have been wondering why you left… to come to a parish like this.”

“And do they have an answer?” The band was tightening around my chest again.

“They say… well, some say, that you were banished here on account of…” She looked desperately at her husband, but he did not come to her rescue. “On account of being caught… begging your pardon, Father, in bed with… with a nun, that’s what they say.” She caught up the bottom of her sacking apron and covered her face with it, too mortified even to look at me.

My breath came out in a great snort of laughter. They both looked at me in surprise. “No, no-I can assure you I was not caught in bed with a nun. Or caught anywhere else with a nun, for that matter.”

My chest still ached despite the relief. Once it set in, the pain would take hours to subside. Every day since I’d come to the miserable little village I felt as if I was being stalked by a beast which any moment might pounce on me. Every time I looked into the villagers’ eyes I wondered if somehow they’d found out, if the Bishop’s Commissarius had deliberately let it slip. It was the kind of thing he’d relish doing if it served his purpose.

Joan was watching me, evidently waiting for some kind of explanation.

“I was not sent here because of a nun. I came here because, like Christ, I wanted to serve those in need of me. I didn’t take holy orders to fawn on the wealthy that come to the Cathedral.”

Joan’s tired eyes smiled. “That’s just what my Ralph told the neighbours. He said to them-didn’t you, Ralph-he said you’d not been sent here as a punishment. Stands to reason, Ralph said, if you’d been caught doing something like that, they’d have flogged you bloody or worse.”

My shoulders jerked and the scars on my back suddenly burned again against the rough cloth.

I forced a smile. “It is good to know I have some friends in Ulewic.”

Ralph seemed so drawn into himself, it was hard to tell if he was even listening. I’d never seen him so miserable. Normally he was such a cheerful man, full of life, no matter what his hardships. I couldn’t understand what had brought about this sudden change in him. I looked around for a stool and drew it up close to him, but as I did so, he drew away from me.

Joan’s hand darted out as if to pull me back, but she stopped herself. “You don’t want to be getting too close… in case you fall sick, Father.”

“Christ will protect me,” I assured her.

“Is it true what they say about Giles, Father?” she asked anxiously.

I glanced at Ralph; was that what was distressing him? I had not thought the two men to be friends, but it was possible Giles was… had been… a relative. I had still not managed to unpick the tangled web of who was related to whom in this village.

But I did not need to ask what whispers Joan had heard. The whole village now knew that one of their own neighbours had been tortured, then paraded in the saint’s effigy for their entertainment. And the Owl Masters had made quite certain that every man and woman in Ulewic had learned the name of the man who had screamed out his dying agonies in the flames. I shivered. A sour bile rose in my throat. Damn Hilary and damn that bastard, Phillip. It wasn’t me who should feel guilty. It was their fault, all of this.

“May they burn in Hell!” I blurted out; then, seeing the look of alarm on Joan’s face, I tried to control my anger. “An evil deed was done, a great evil, and the men who did it will pay for it, if not in this life then in the next.”

Joan’s brow was creased with anxiety. “But no one knew that poor lad was inside Saint Walburga. My brother was there and he swears he didn’t know.”

“The Owl Masters knew. And no doubt others besides,” I said sternly.

“But you won’t… You’ll not use book and candle against us, will you, Father?”

I studied her carefully before I replied. “I am prepared to accept that most of the villagers were ignorant of what they did, but you all know now. And which of your neighbours will it be next time? It might even be one of your own family. You villagers must stand together and shun the devilish rites of the Owl Masters.”

Joan glanced uneasily at the door, as if she feared someone might be listening. “But if the Owl Masters could take a lad just for making love to a maid, then…”

“If anyone threatens you, Joan, you must come to me at once. The Church will protect you, I promise you that.” I jerked my head towards the door. “Leave us now. I need to hear Ralph’s confession, if he’s to receive the sacraments.”

She nodded and dropped an awkward half-curtsy and, with another anxious glance at her husband, opened the door just wide enough to slip through, before quickly slamming it shut behind herself.

I pulled a fat wax candle from my scrip and lit it with the smoking rush taper, placing it on the corner of the rough table. Beneath it I laid a tiny silver box containing the precious Host. Ralph made his confession in a dull low voice, his face turned away from me into the shadows. He confessed nothing that he had not confessed before-pride, sloth-I did not really believe him guilty of either, but he judged himself more harshly than most men.

Ego te absolve a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.

I picked up the guttering candle, to move it closer to Ralph as I prepared to place the Host in his mouth, but my sleeve caught on the edge of the table and the candle tipped. A few drops of hot wax splashed down onto Ralph’s hand.

“Forgive me, Ralph! Did I burn…”

I realised he hadn’t flinched or moved his hand. Three drops of white wax lay on his skin, but he hadn’t felt them fall or burn him. He saw me staring at his hand and looked down. With a belated cry, he swiftly covered it with the blanket.

I lurched backwards. I didn’t mean to, but Ralph saw me recoil and the expression on his face changed to one of fear. Now I understood only too well what really ailed the poor man. Christ have mercy on him! In that terrible moment of realisation I could do nothing except stand there, the candle trembling in my fingers. Ralph hunched into the shadows, his chin almost touching his chest. Neither of us spoke. There was nothing I could say which could comfort him now.

I gathered my wits and hastily finished what I had come to do. Then I extinguished the candle and returned it to my scrip. I knew he was willing me not to pronounce the dread word and I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I think we both believed that somehow if the word remained unspoken there was still hope. At the door, I turned and made the sign of the cross.

“Dominus vohiscum.”

There was no answering movement or amen, only a desperate pleading in his eyes.

Outside, I leant heavily against the closed door. Joan stood talking to the old widow Lettice, who had perched her massive buttocks on the wall of the well, and had evidently settled down for a good gossip. At the sound of the door closing, Joan’s gaze searched my face. Her eyes held the same tortured plea as Ralph’s.

But before I could say anything, Lettice heaved herself off the wall and came bustling towards me. “How is he, Father? The poor dear man. I was just saying to dear Joan here, I’ve got just the thing for the ague, my old mother’s recipe, made from the best white poppies. My late husband, God rest his soul, used to swear by it. In the end he drank it whether he was sick or not. He said it was the only cure for his headache. He was a martyr to headaches.

“Mind you, it’s a queer time of year to be getting the ague, but then seasons have turned arse up ever since those outlanders came. Outlanders always bring trouble. When I was a lass, some friars came to preach in the village, wild-looking pack. Holy beggars, they called themselves. Owl Masters soon got rid of them, but after they’d gone, a cry went up that three bairns were missing. Whole village searched for them, but we never found so much as a hair. I reckon the outlanders snatched the bairns to sell in London or France or some such wicked place. Those women are from France, aren’t they? Shouldn’t wonder if they haven’t given that husband of yours the evil eye, Joan, and that’s what ailing him. I’ll soon tell you for sure.”

Lettice reached round me to grasp the latch. I saw the stricken look on Joan’s face. Grasping Lettice firmly by the arm, I pulled her away from the door.

“He’s sleeping now. Let him rest. But if you’ve an hour to spare there’s a family that could do with your help.”

Still keeping a firm grip on her plump arm, I began to march her down the street. I might be able to divert Lettice for today, but she’d be back. I wondered just how long Joan would be able to keep that door shut against Mistress Lettice and the rest of the village.