Josselin pointed an unsteady finger. ‘Not all, Reverend,’ he said. ‘Else there would be no need to place men in gibbets. Where is the rock upon whom these good people depend? Thou art great, O Lord God: for there is none like thee. I hear you lock yourself inside your church.’
‘God is with us,’ Mompesson growled.
‘The plague is with us, Reverend,’ Josselin replied. ‘God, I am not so sure. Perhaps he stays away? Else how did Elks come to earn such trust?’
Mompesson retreated, shadow falling upon his face. ‘If what you say is true, then he deceived us all.’
Josselin snorted. ‘He deceived you, you say, though his deception was clear enough. You saw the gibbets, did you not? Now will God punish you for it, do you think? Does God punish everyone in this village for your errors?’
Mompesson thrust his head through the window, red-faced, the skin upon his neck pulsating in rhythm with his heart. ‘You are not a man of God, sir. I have heard stories of your heroism and applaud you for it. But you are not a man of God, nor will the people of this parish mistake you for one.’
‘I make no claim to be a man of God,’ Josselin shrugged. ‘You are the one who makes that claim.’
He turned away, distracted by the low murmuring of gathering villagers. Mary Hancock stood twenty paces away, watching wide-eyed.
‘And in the cage, four clerics,’ Josselin muttered, too low for the villagers to hear. ‘Come to spy upon me.’
Mompesson’s brows lifted in surprise. Josselin blinked, as if struggling to see straight. He attempted to smile, lips wet and eyes hooded.
He beckoned Mary Hancock. She walked towards him with short tentative steps. She was alone this morning.
‘Good sir,’ she exclaimed, eyes bright, falling to her knees. ‘How blessed are we that you should visit us in our hour of need.’
‘Think nothing of it,’ Josselin grinned. ‘Have we met before?’
‘No, sir,’ she replied. ‘Though I remember you. Everyone knows of your bravery at the Siege of Colchester.’
Josselin’s smile faded.
Mary Hancock didn’t seem to notice. ‘You proved Hugh Elks murdered Elizabeth Braine besides, I remember that too.’
‘Aye,’ Josselin replied, pensive. ‘So I did.’
Mary Hancock looked up at Mompesson, then at Josselin. ‘May we now leave Shyam?’ She clasped her hands together. ‘Many took the oath to stay, yet it seems we are punished for it. Perhaps it is God’s will that we leave.’
I held my breath.
‘God’s will?’ Mompesson spluttered from his window. ‘You presume to interpret God’s will? Get thee back to your house, Mary Hancock. Get down on your knees and pray hard. Pray you might be forgiven your ingratitude, that you and your family are all living. Is that not proof enough of God’s good intent?’
Mary Hancock bowed her head, yet maintained her gaze upon Josselin.
Josselin pursed his lips and frowned in concentration, scratching at his scalp. ‘I think we must remain in Shyam just a while longer,’ he said at last. He scanned the faces of those that circled him, eyes glinting and sharp.
Of course, I realised, heart sinking. He could hardly sanction the opening of the parish boundaries, when it was the quarantine that helped him avoid capture.
Mary Hancock’s shoulders slumped, and she stared at the ground.
‘Just a little while longer.’ Josselin laid a hand on her head. ‘Perhaps not very much longer.’
‘On whose authority do you issue instructions?’ Mompesson barked. ‘I am reverend of this parish. You are but a visitor!’
Josselin cocked his head, as if paying the Reverend’s words due respect. ‘A visitor, you say?’ he said at last. ‘More prodigal son. What say you, Smythe?’ He turned to the bald man.
Smythe nodded slowly. ‘More than a visitor, I would say,’ he replied, avoiding Mompesson’s eye.
Mompesson scanned the gathering audience. There were nearly fifteen people now, almost a quarter of the remaining population. I stepped backwards, fear gathering in my chest as I sensed the presence of plague.
‘Every man took an oath,’ Mompesson reminded the group, solemnly. ‘That no man would leave here, that we would trust unto God.’ He paused for affirmation, but no one spoke. ‘God tests us.’ He slammed his fist suddenly into the palm of his hand. ‘If we give way unto temptation, then we are surely condemned.’
‘I agree, Reverend.’ Josselin waved a hand like he bestowed a royal favour. ‘An oath has been sworn, and God would not forgive you were you to break that oath. But that was the only oath that was sworn, was it not?’ He sought confirmation from those about, readily granted. ‘None here swore to hunt each other with dogs? None here swore to kill each other and display each other’s corpses for all to see?’
‘I told you,’ Mompesson replied through clenched teeth. ‘Those were Elks’ decisions.’
‘Then rest assured, Reverend,’ Josselin bowed his head, ‘I shall make different decisions. Meantime we shall maintain the quarantine and imprison only the spies.’
He scanned the faces before him, spotting Marshall Howe stood attentively at the back, shovel on his shoulder. ‘Be not merciful to wicked transgressors, spies and traitors.’ He waved his mug in the air in Howe’s general direction.
Howe nodded.
A tired face appeared at Mompesson’s side, the face of a woman, red hair drawn back behind her shoulders. Her eyes widened and she buried her head upon his shoulder.
‘I will see you all tomorrow,’ Mompesson’s voice boomed, before he drew a curtain across the window and disappeared from view.
‘What is tomorrow?’ I asked Smythe.
‘Since the plague, there are two services a week,’ Smythe mumbled, scowling.
‘For which we must all be present,’ Josselin added, hearing our conversation. He placed an arm about my shoulders and belched. ‘Meantime I will talk to Smythe.’ He dropped his arm and hurried Smythe back towards the bridge.
Dowling drew up to my side. ‘That man is troubled,’ he said. ‘He drinketh strong drink rather than pour out his soul before the Lord.’
‘Indeed,’ I sighed.
I lifted my heavy soul from where it had fallen upon the path and dragged my feet back in the direction of Buxton’s house. Prisoners still. While Josselin drank I would smoke. I felt for my pipe in my pocket.
Dowling said nothing on our way back to the cottage, his face wreathed in lines of misery and concern. I felt his faith, collapsed upon one knee, struggling to avoid being crushed beneath the weight of selfishness and evil. Whatever game God played, he played it strange.
Chapter Nineteen
The Moon is hastening unto the body of Mars in the barren sign Virgo, which naturally signifieth Wars, Slaughters of men, many Discords.
Buxton’s house stank so bad we slept the night on a grassy bed in a small hollow at the fringe of the Delf, close to the river. Though it was comfortable enough and my head was tired, sleep evaded me. Three days until Culpepper’s deadline expired.
Now we found Josselin I didn’t know what to do next. Arlington told us to fetch him out, yet I didn’t see how. The villagers were on his side. He would plot his own journey, whatever that might be. In many ways he seemed an honourable fellow, yet there was indeed a hint of strangeness about him, as Jefferies warned us at Chelmsford. A demon of some description hid betwixt his ears, born of his suffering all those years ago at Colchester. He strode about Shyam as if he owned it, yet what for him now? Stay here and die, else face
Arlington’s wrath. It was no more palatable predicament than ours. Did he see us as colleagues, useful collaborators, or else spies? The four men in the cage were clergy, I saw it in their eyes, yet he saw them as infiltrators, out to get him. How safe were we? Thoughts came and went, then returned unsatisfied. At some point I must have fallen into a slumber, for Dowling shook me awake next morning.