Sanctity of Hate

17

Oseberne struck his son.

Adelard fell backward and just caught himself before his head hit the edge of the table. Shocked at the blow, he put a hand to his cheek, then stared at the blood mixed with tears on his fingers.

“How dare you lose that precious object?”

“The cord must have broken…”

“When did you last see the cross?” Oseberne turned his back to his son, lifted the pitcher, and poured himself a cup of wine. He offered none to Adelard.

“I had it just before Brother Thomas arrived to question me. I know because I kissed it so God might give me strength and a swift tongue.”

“Afterward?”

Adelard began to weep. “I do not know! Maybe I lost it in the street when I went to join those seeking to kill the Jews.”

“A silver cross, lost in the street, to be picked up by some villain.” Oseberne spun around and pointed a shaking finger at his son. “Do you have any idea what that cost me?”

“I shall repay you!” The young man knelt and stretched his hands toward his father. His eyes were wide with impotent misery.

“That cross was my gift, so that you might stand without shame in the choir of monks at Tyndal Priory next to sons of higher birth.” The baker gulped his wine and poured another cup. “Repay me?” he roared. “You owe me a far greater debt than the cross. The priory is your best hope of advancement on earth as well as in heaven. And have I not worked hard for this? Do I not deserve an obedient son in God’s service, one who would spend his life praying for my soul?” Sneering, he continued. “Dare you be so ungrateful as to force my soul to suffer in Purgatory when it could be quickly freed from its agonies by filial devotion?”

“And my mother’s soul,” Adelard whispered.

“A wife who took nun’s vows? She’s in Heaven and has no need of our prayers.” Oseberne wiped a hand across his mouth. “And now you think you can crawl into that priory like some freedman’s son.” He looked heavenward. “Prior Andrew may not even accept you. I would not blame him, careless and ungrateful wretch that you are.”

Adelard covered his face.

“And all you do is whine.” His face red with anger, the baker grabbed a handful of his son’s hair and pulled his head back. “Ever since those cowards failed to punish that family of Jews for the crimes they have done and hope to commit, you have been bleating like a woman with her courses.” Bending down, he spat in his son’s face. “You are unmanned. Why?”

“I have sinned!”

“That you have. Most certainly against me for losing the silver cross, a crime you failed to confess until I discovered it.”

“Another evil yet.”

Letting go of his son’s head, Oseberne stared at the lad. “What else could be so heinous? Surely you have not lain with some pocky girl and seeded a bastard?”

Adelard shook his head, exuding a horror that matched his father’s disgust. “Worse! I have gone against the teachings of the saints and God.”

Oseberne stepped back, both worried and perplexed. “And what will this cost me?”

Staggering to his feet, the young man looked longingly at the wine jug.

His father ignored the hint. “Out with it! What have you done?”

“Brother Thomas told us all, as we gathered about the inn stables where the Jews stay, that when St. Bernard of Clairvaux preached the crusade, he forbade good Christians to harm those Jews living there.” He raised a trembling hand to keep his father from interrupting him. “And the good monk also quoted from a letter written by Pope Gregory, stating that the tales of these people drinking the blood of Christian children were untrue.”

Oseberne waved the words away. “Blasphemy.”

The son murmured a weak protest.

“At my most charitable, I shall say that this monk is sinfully ill-informed. The priest who taught me was firm in the belief that the world shall never be truly Christian until we sweep the earth clean of all unbelievers. What difference is there between those infidels who stole Jerusalem for their wicked purposes and the Jews who killed Our Lord?”

Adelard mumbled in confusion.

“Shall you trust Brother Thomas, a man who lacked a faith strong enough to keep him in his hermitage? Dare you take his word over mine, a man taught by one so holy that he never removed his hair shirt even when his skin rotted and dropped from his body?”

“I have always followed your teaching, but you have also directed me to take holy vows and enter Tyndal Priory so I might pray for your soul’s peace after death. There I shall meet Brother Thomas again, a man who may well become my confessor.”

“Then find a holier one than he for that. Seek a man who reeks with contempt for the world. Brother Thomas spends too much time with the secular sons of Adam, and for this reason, amongst others, I doubt his virtue.”

Adelard opened his mouth to speak, then drew back in fear as his father bent so close that he could count protruding nose hairs.

“Does scripture not demand that you honor, obey, and treat me with due reverence?”

His son nodded.

“I do not doubt that Brother Thomas has some benighted reason for spewing blasphemy and suggesting his foul lies were uttered by holier men than he. Did you ever see for yourself any proof that these letters came from the pope or the saint?”

Adelard shook his head.

“The Devil is clever with his tricks, often quoting events and letters that are only the spawn of hellish fantasy.”

“Aye, but…”

“Have you heard these tales before Brother Thomas spoke of them?”

“Never.” The young man began to bite at his knuckle.

“Then you do not know if they ever existed. Oseberne straightened his back and folded his muscular arms. “I would say that your greatest sin is to question my teaching.”

Wiping his hand on his robe, Adelard protested that he had never doubted his father.

“Have I not warned you about the wicked nature of women, creatures that caused Adam to be cast out of Eden and to this day lure his sons into sin? And have you not learned the truth of my teaching through your own observations?”

“Of course, but then why urge me to join an Order run by Eve’s daughter?” The youth stepped back as if fearing a blow for daring to ask.

Although Oseberne’s eyes narrowed, he only raised his fist at his son. “She is the daughter of a baron who found favor with King Henry. Her brother stands by King Edward’s side. If you serve her well, she may speak favorably of you to her well-regarded kin. In such cases, men have been granted small monasteries to lead. Or else I may profit from any favor you earn by gaining more business. I have offered a donation of bread to the hospital. Perhaps the priory will buy more, rather than having nuns bake when they should be praying for a soul.”

The young man lowered his head, the gesture suggesting he was humbled. A renewed sniffling reinforced the impression.

Oseberne smiled down at his eldest son, his eyes glittering with the expectation of an abject apology.

Suddenly, Adelard straightened and marched toward the door. “I must seek Brother Thomas,” he said, “and question him further about his meaning and ask for proof of his allegations. Surely you agree that I dare not reject the words if they prove true, but if he lies, the village must hear of it. The Jews cannot live if Satan protects them.”

Oseberne stared, rendered speechless by the unexpected intensity of this son’s gaze.

Adelard swung open the door and left the house.

Just as the door closed, Oseberne threw a pottery cup against the wall. It shattered into tiny pieces of clay and scattered across the floor, dotting the rushes with drops of scarlet wine.