The Lady Chapel

1

Corpus Christi Day dawned mild and sunny, answering the prayers of the guildsmen of York, and of all who looked forward to the Corpus Christi pageants. Many saw the dawn, for the plays began with the blessing of the players on the porch of Holy Trinity Church, Micklegate, before dawn, followed immediately by the first performance of the day as the sun rose. Twelve stations had been marked the evening before by banners displaying the arms of the city. Here the audiences would gather. The pageant wagons, over forty of them, would wind their way through the streets, stopping at each station to perform for the waiting people. It would be a long day for the guild members and other players, ending after midnight- a glorious day in which the history of mankind's salvation by Christ's sacrifice would be brought to life, from the fall of the angels to the Last Judgment.

The Mercers' pageant wagon had just left the station beyond Ouse Bridge, heading for the stands in St. Helen's Square. It was the last wagon; on it was played out "The Last Judgment." Young Jasper de Melton trotted along beside the pageant wagon with his greasehorn, trying to take in all the sights and sounds of the day while listening for the creaking of the wagon wheels, his signal to slather on grease. It was an important job for a boy of eight. The large wooden wheels would soon come to a halt on the narrow, uneven streets without constant attention. Jasper was proud of his responsibility — and for the play of the Mercers' Guild no less, the richest guild in York. This was a step toward his acceptance as an apprentice in the guild, an honor that thrilled him and filled his mother with pride and hope for a better life for her son than she had been able to provide as a widow. Kristine de Melton had made Jasper a new leather jerkin for this important day.

Jasper should see his mother soon. She had promised to wait at the station in St. Helen's Square, in front of the York Tavern.

As the wagon trundled toward the square, Jasper saw a red-faced man step close, calling out to Master Crounce. The flaps of the performer's tent opened and tall, lanky Will Crounce jumped down off the wagon, almost knocking Jasper over, and joined the heavyset man, slapping him on the back.

"Why are you not in the pageant at Beverley, my friend?" Crounce asked.

"Me?" The heavyset man laughed. "I have no gift for yelling myself red in the face a dozen times in one day."

The two turned and walked away, heads close together. Jasper was surprised. What if Master Crounce lost track of time and missed his turn in the play? He played Jesus. His absence would be noticed. It made Jasper nervous just to think of it, for Master Crounce was the man who had sponsored him for his job today and was sponsoring him as an apprentice in a few weeks. Dishonor to him meant dishonor to Jasper.

"Boy!" an elderly actor called out. "Wheel be squealing like stuck

Pig" Jasper flushed and hurried to do his job. He must keep his mind on the wheels. He would only get in trouble worrying about other folk.

As Jasper rounded the front of the wagon, hurrying out of its way, he saw that the Mercers were next to perform. Squinting against the sun, Jasper searched the crowd outside the York Tavern. At first he did not see his mother. And then there she was, waving and calling his name. He waved back, grateful that he'd been hard at work when she spotted him. He would hate to disappoint her.

With a grinding shudder, the long, heavy wagon came to a halt. A small band of Town Waits played a flourish, and the actors came out from the tent. All but Master Crounce. Jasper bit his nails. Master Crounce must have heard the flourish. But where was he? The actors moved to their places. At last, just as his fellows had begun to murmur about his absence, Master Crounce jumped onto the wagon from behind and climbed to his perch, a rickety platform that would lower him from Heaven to Earth after his first speech. The crowd hushed as God the Father began. Always they chose an actor with a bass voice for the part.

The player's voice rumbled like distant thunder. God would sound like this, Jasper thought.

"Angels, blow your bemes forthwith, /Ilka creature for to call!" The angels blew their trumpets.

It gave Jasper chills to think that on this day they were given a glimpse of the Last Judgment. He vowed to live a good life so that he might not fear as did the Bad Souls on this day of reckoning-

As the third Angel spoke, Jasper looked up at Jesus, who finally came into the play.

From Heaven, Jesus spoke- 'This woeful world is brought to end. …"

Someone in the crowd giggled. Jasper looked around and saw a pretty woman standing with two men, the heavyset man who had hailed Master Crounce and another. It was the woman who had giggled. The heavyset man glared at her; the other man frowned and bent toward her to say something.

Jasper wondered at the woman's blasphemy. For even though it was Master Crounce who played the role, a mere mortal touched with sin as all men were, yet he was Jesus this day.

But Jasper soon forgot the incident as Jesus spoke the words "All mankind there shall it see," and the platform began its creaky descent through smoke. It was Jasper's favorite part. When the smoke cleared, Master Crounce as Jesus was standing on the main platform, his cowl thrown back. And then Jasper could see his eyes, shining with the sanctity of his role. Master Crounce was transformed by the part. "My apostles and my darlings dear …"

Jasper thought his master wonderful. He loved listening to him. Unfortunately, as Jesus' last words were spoken, Jasper had to begin the circuit of the wheels, greasing them for departure. He strained to hear the last lines:

As Jasper reached the last wheel, he looked up where his mother had sat. She was gone. Jasper was puzzled. How could she leave while Master Crounce still spoke? And then he saw her being led away, supported by two neighbors. Her feet shuffled, and her head lolled to one side. Holy Mary, Mother of God. What had happened? The sight haunted Jasper for the rest of the day. Even the sight of Master Crounce's shining eyes could not ease his fear.

Jasper did not return home until just before dawn the next morning. His mother was asleep; Mistress Fletcher, a neighbor, watched over her. The small, windowless room reeked of blood and sweat; the smell frightened Jasper.

"What happened?" he asked.

Mistress Fletcher's large eyes were sad as they gazed on Jasper. "Women's trouble. Came on her in the crowd. A woman in her condition had no business in such a crowd."

Will she live? the boy wondered, but he could not bring himself to utter the question.

Mistress Fletcher sighed and stood. "I'll be off for a bit of sleep. Be a good boy and lie beside her so you wake if she wakes, eh?" She patted him on the head. "I'll check in after I've fed my own lot in the morning."

Jasper took off his new jerkin; he would need it clean for his interview with the Guildmaster of the Mercers. He tucked the jerkin into a small chest that held his mother's treasures, a carved wooden cup and an elaborately painted longbow that had belonged to Jasper's father. Weary to the bone, the boy climbed onto the straw-stuffed pallet next to his feverish mother and fell asleep.

Though the room had no windows, the sounds of the city wakened Jasper. The walls were thin, letting out the heat in winter, letting in the heat in summer. Bells rang, shutters banged, carts clattered by, folk yelled their greetings to one another, a dog barked as if it were being beaten. Jasper's mother slept on, the blankets pulled up to her chin. Jasper relieved himself in the bucket in the corner, then took the bucket down the outside stairs and emptied the night waste into the gutter that ran down the middle of the street. He would be fined if caught, but it was more important to return to his mother as soon as possible. He would wait to fetch water until Mistress Fletcher returned.

Shortly before midday, Kristine de Melton opened her eyes. "I saw you in your jerkin," she said, her mouth working so little that the words were more guessed than heard. She managed a sad smile. "Proud of my boy."

Jasper bit his lip, a lump in his throat. His mother was dying. He had seen enough death in his eight years that he recognized it. "I was waiting for Mistress Fletcher to come before I went for water. Are you thirsty now? Will you be all right if I go for it and leave you alone?"

"I will stay put." Again the weak smile.

Jasper picked up the water jug and went out, scrubbing his face with his sleeve to remove any sign of tears. He was relieved to meet Mistress Fletcher on the stairs.

"Mum's awake. I'm fetching water," he said.

"Good boy. I'll just go up and see if she needs anything."

In the evening, Kristine de Melton began to toss and sigh. Her fever rose.

"Jasper," she whispered to her son, "go to the York Tavern. Find Will. He has a friend there; he will be with him."

Jasper looked at Mistress Fletcher, who nodded. "I'll watch beside your mum. Go get Will Crounce. He should be here."

The York Tavern was not far. Jasper peeked inside and saw Master Crounce sitting with the fat man who had hailed him from the crowd yesterday. They were arguing. Jasper, thinking it a bad time to interrupt, backed out the door. He would wait a bit, then check again to see whether things were peaceful. He brushed against a hooded figure standing just outside the door beneath the lantern. From the scent, Jasper guessed it to be a woman. He scrambled across the way and sat in the darkness of the overhang.

It was not long before Master Crounce appeared in the doorway, swaying slightly, his face screwed up in anger. Jasper had never seen Master Crounce with such a face. The tall man lurched out the door. Jasper hesitated, frightened, and lost his opportunity. The hooded woman reached out for Master Crounce with a delicate white hand. Crounce turned, gave a little cry of pleasure, and headed away with her.

Jasper did not entirely understand his mother's relationship with Master Crounce, but he suspected. And if he was right, then this mysterious woman had taken his mother's place. So should he follow anyway? What would Master Crounce say? What could Jasper say in front of his master's new leman?

He decided to follow them. Perhaps they would part company soon, and Jasper could then speak with Master Crounce without embarrassing him.

The couple went through the minster gate. The woman must live inside the Liberty of St. Peter. Perhaps she worked for the Archbishop or one of the archdeacons. It was no problem for Jasper to go through. He often did day work for the masons and carpenters. His father had been in the Carpenter's Guild. They paid for the room Jasper and his mother lived in, and gave him work from time to time. The guards all knew Jasper. The one on duty tonight knew him well.

"Young Jasper. Out late, are you?"

"My mum's took ill," Jasper explained. "I'm after help."

"Ah. I did hear. During the pageants, was it?"

Jasper nodded.

The guard waved him past.

Jasper stood still in the shadow of the great minster, listening for the couple's footsteps. They had turned left, toward the west entrance. Odd direction. That was the minster yard, the jail, the Archbishop's palace and chapel. Perhaps the woman was a maid in the palace. Jasper hurried to catch up. He did not know his way so well in this direction. He did not like this place in the dark. The minster loomed high above him to his right, a towering darkness that echoed with breezes and the skittering of night creatures. The two he followed rounded the great west front. Jasper hurried past the towers, stumbling in his fear of being alone in this place best left to God and the saints at nightfall.

As the couple stepped around the northwest corner into the minster yard, a laugh rang out, echoing weirdly. Jasper stopped and crossed himself. It did not come from Master Crounce or the lady, and it was not a friendly sound. Master Crounce stumbled. To Jasper's puzzlement, the woman broke from Master Crounce and ran back toward Jasper, who ducked into the shadow of the great minster so she would not find him spying.

The laughter rang out again.

"Who's there?" Crounce demanded, though his words were so slurred with drink they hardly sounded challenging.

Two men dashed at Crounce from the darkness, knocking him to the ground. One bent over the fallen man, and Crounce's scream dissolved into a gurgle and a sigh. The other attacker reared up, a sword raised above him, and brought it down with frightening force. He stooped, picked something up, and then the attackers fled.

Jasper hurried to his mother's friend. "Master Crounce?" The man did not respond. Jasper knelt and felt Will Crounce's face. The eyes were open. The smell of blood was strong. "Master Crounce?" The boy reached to tug on the man's hand. But there was no hand-only a hot, sickening wetness. Speechless with shock, Jasper ran for the guard.

"What is it, boy? Seen an angel, have ye?"

Jasper gasped and then bent double, retching.

Now the guard was alarmed. "What is it?"

Jasper wiped his mouth with a handful of grass and then took a few deep breaths. "Master Crounce. They've killed him. They've cut off his hand!"

As daylight reached his bed in the York Tavern. Gilbert Ridley cursed and turned over. His head hammered. Too much ale, and oh, how he regretted last night's bitter words with Will Crounce. If he lived through the morning, he would go to the minster and do penance for his sinful pride and anger. Ridley turned over and held his breath as the hammers sent sparks shooting across his vision. Carts rattled by, bells rang. Blast the city. Blast Tom Merchet's excellent ale.

An odor turned Ridley's attention to the center of the room. Something lay there, right there in the middle of the room, ready to trip him. He could not remember what he had dropped there. Meat? He must have left the door ajar. How drunk had he been to pass out before closing off the sounds from below? Ridley closed his eyes, sick to his stomach. It was his bladderful of ale, that's what hurt. He sat up, clutching his head and his stomach, and waited until the room settled around him. That thing on the floor. It looked for all the world like- Oh, dear God, it was a hand. A severed hand. Ridley rushed to the chamber pot and retched.