The Owl Killers

servant martha

aS I KNELT BEFORE THE ALTAR, I heard the chapel door open and close, and the scuffling of steps behind me, but I did not turn. I hoped that whoever it was would say her prayers and leave me in peace. I couldn’t bear one more woman looking at me sorrowfully and asking the same question over and over.

“Isn’t there anything we can do for Osmanna, Servant Martha? Isn’t there anything you can do?”

There was silence in the chapel save for the wind whistling around the rafters. I don’t how long I remained on my knees, but eventually pain and stiffness forced me to rise. When I turned, I was surprised to see Merchant Martha sitting on a stool at the back of the chapel, her head resting against the wall and her eyes closed. I’d never before known Merchant Martha to be content to sit and wait. While she would never actually interrupt my prayers by speaking to me, she would usually stand behind me, coughing and fidgeting, until she’d attracted my attention. I noticed the blood on her forehead. Alarmed, I hurried over to her.

“Merchant Martha, are you ill?”

She opened her eyes. “I didn’t want to disturb you, Servant Martha.”

“You’re hurt. Do you feel faint?”

She waved her hand impatiently. “It’s nothing.”

“The villagers?” It was as I feared; hadn’t I warned the Marthas of the dangers? Still, it gave me no satisfaction to be proved right.

“They’re in an ugly mood, as you said, Servant Martha. This business with Osmanna has got their bloodlust up. And that damned priest is goading them on.” Merchant Martha pressed her hand over the cut on her head. “Something’s brewing. I’ve seen it before. Instead of acting as a warning, a public execution sometimes stirs the mob up and they go on the rampage, looking for more victims. If they do burn Osmanna, it’s my belief it’ll only be the start. They’ll likely take blazing brands from that bone-fire and try to start another here.” She glanced up at the painted box that held the miraculous Host. “Servant Martha, I never thought I’d say this…but we must close the beguinage and return to Bruges immediately. We should start out at first light tomorrow if we can.”

I stared at her, unable to believe what she was saying. “Run away? Is that what you are proposing, Merchant Martha? I might have expected such advice from Kitchen Martha, but I never thought I’d hear it from you. I thought you were made of stronger mettle.”

Merchant Martha leapt up from the stool. “I’d stand fast in the path of a hundred men even if they were armed to the teeth with pikes and spears,” she declared indignantly. “And if they cut the legs from under me, I’d still go down fighting. I’m no coward, as well you know. I’ve faced more than my fair share of danger in my time, and I’ve never in my life run away.”

“I know that, Merchant Martha. That is why I cannot believe you of all people should be suggesting that we crawl back to Bruges and tell them we failed, that we gave up at the first sign of trouble.”

Merchant Martha sank wearily back onto her stool. “There’s been conflict twixt us and the village since that day you took Ralph in.” She held up her hand to stop me before I could interrupt. “Not that I’m saying we shouldn’t have done that, but all I’m saying is this is not the first time there’s been trouble.”

“Exactly,” I said, “and we have overcome it before. There is no reason why we should not gird ourselves to do it again.”

“But this time it’s serious. I can read a crowd, better than you can read a book. They mean to destroy us and the Owl Masters are goading them on to do so. You and I may be prepared to go down fighting, but what about the rest of the women? What about the children? If a mob’s blood is up, they lose all sense of reason and decency-they won’t spare anyone. As Marthas we’ve a responsibility to care for the other beguines. We can’t protect them here.”

“Seek refuge in Bruges, you mean.” I could not contain my anger. “You want us to hide ourselves away like a bunch of frightened nuns. Merchant Martha, you and I became beguines to work in the world, to stand up and fight against its injustices, whether they are perpetrated by Church, King, or baying mob. What kind of example will we set for the beguines now and in the future if we scuttle back to Flanders?”

Merchant Martha’s eyes blazed with fury. “So you are determined we should stay here to demonstrate a principle, is that it, Servant Martha? You’d rather this beguinage went up in flames and us with it to prove our faith. Are you sure it’s faith in God that keeps us here and not your stubborn pride?”

She rose. “Think about it, Servant Martha, but do it quickly. The execution is set for the day after tomorrow, unless D’Acaster intervenes to save his daughter. And from what I’ve heard, a bull is more likely to give milk than he is to save her.”

She turned at the door and gazed around the chapel as if she was looking at it for the very last time. “You’re good at speeches, Servant Martha. Doubtless you think you can turn even an angry mob back with your tongue. And maybe you can. But there’s something else, Servant Martha: the Owlman. If they’ve that demon on their side, all the logic and reason in the world won’t prevail against a creature from Hell. You want proof, go and look at Healing Martha. Take a long hard look, and ask yourself if you are really willing to risk that.”