"Of course," Justin said reluctantly. "Will you look after my horse, Simon?" The child nodded, eyes widening like moons, reached eagerly for the reins as soon as Justin swung down the saddle. Hesitantly at first, Simon began to stroke the stallion's neck. Justin turned away hastily, following after the priest.
They introduced themselves as they carried the blankets toward the refectory. Justin was still shaken by his encounter with the boy, but Father Gregory did not let the conversation lag, chatting away as if they were old friends unexpectedly reunited. He was quite young and seemed amazingly relaxed and genial for a man living daily with death. What would impel one to choose such a path? Justin could only marvel at what he could not understand.
"We get few visitors here, so it is not surprising that your arrival caused such a stir. It does our people good, seeing that all do not shrink from them in dread."
Justin had rarely felt so uncomfortable. "The little lad… does he have kin here?"
"No. Simon's family cast him out once his malady was known." The priest sounded neither shocked nor judgmental, but Justin was both. Hissing his breath through his teeth, he shook his head. Father Gregory was not surprised by his silence; there were wrongs that words could not address.
"Do you know what happens once a leper has been detected, Master de Quincy? He is escorted into the church, forced to kneel under a black cloth as Mass is said, and the priest then proclaims him 'dead to the world, reborn to God.' In France, lepers are made to stand in an open grave. We are more merciful than that in England, but here, too, the lepers are driven from our midst, forbidden to enter churches, fairs, markets, taverns, or alehouses, condemned to wander in the wilderness with every man's hand against them… or so it must seem. So when you are willing to come amongst us and show kindness to a child of the Lord, it is no small thing and worthy of — "
"No," Justin interrupted, more sharply than he'd intended. "You give me credit I do not deserve, Father Gregory. I had my own reasons for offering to aid Brother Paul, reasons that had naught to do with Christian charity. I came here in hopes of finding a man — a leper — who may be able to help solve a murder."
Justin wasn't sure what reaction he'd been expecting, but certainly not the one he got. The young priest didn't even blink, merely nodded as if this was an everyday occurrence. "And you think this man is here?"
"I do not know," Justin admitted. "I cannot tell you his name. I cannot tell you what he looks like or even how tall he is, for he was squatting by the roadside when I saw him on Epiphany morn, his face hidden by his hood. I suppose I am asking for a miracle, expecting you to identify someone based on so little, but — "
"His name is Job," the priest said, with a triumphant grin that gave way to outright laughter at Justin's astonishment.
"Nay… no miracle, lad. The answer is simple — you are not the first to seek Job out. The under-sheriff came here, too, in search of him."
"Luke de Marston was looking for him?" Justin asked slowly, and the priest nodded again.
"He knew little more than you, only that Master Fitz Randolph's groom remembered passing a beggar on the road. As soon as he told me it was on Epiphany, I knew it must be Job, for no one else would have ventured out into the snow. No matter how foul the weather, Job begs for alms and then hides the money away ere he returns to us."
By now they'd reached the refectory. Moving up the aisled hall, the priest paused before a large coffer. "We store the blankets here." Once they were neatly folded away, he sat down on the lid and gestured for Justin to join him. "They are supposed to yield up any alms they get, for they are not permitted to own personal property. But Father Jerome turns a blind eye to minor transgressions. He understands why a man like Job needs to have money of his own. Ere a leper can be admitted to a lazar house, he must take vows of chastity, obedience, and poverty. Such vows are not always easy to obey for even the most dedicated of God's servants. Small wonder if some of these poor souls rebel…"
Justin was quiet for a moment, pondering what he'd learned. This was the second time that he'd come across the deputy's tracks, and he liked it not. He wished he could take some reassurance from Luke de Marston's endeavors, but he knew they proved naught about the man's guilt or innocence. Even were his hands as bloody as Herod's, he'd still make a show of searching for the goldsmith's killers. "Tell me," he said at last. "His name
is not really Job, is it?"
"It is what he calls himself now," the priest said quietly.
~~
Job was squatting by the side of the road, as on that Epiphany morning three weeks ago. Reining in his stallion before the man, Justin asked, "Are you Job?" although he was already sure of the leper's identity.
"Who wants to know?" The voice was hoarse, a leper's rasp. His face was hidden by his hood, but his body's rigid pose communicated both tension and suspicion.
"My name is Justin de Quincy. I need to talk with you about the slaying of Gervase Fitz Randolph. Can you spare me some moments?"
"Why not?" The leper watched as Justin dismounted and hitched Copper and the abbey packhorse, and then slowly and deliberately drew back his hood.
Justin had wondered about his motives in choosing to call himself Job, for it could have been an act of utter faith — or a gesture of embittered defiance. He now had his answer. Job was no longer young, not yet old; it was difficult to guess his age, for he'd suffered the hair loss so common to lepers. Justin found the lack of lashes and eyebrows even more disconcerting than the thickened lips and ulcerated lesions. It was like gazing upon an eerie death mask, for as the disease progressed, those afflicted lost the ability to show expression. But those lashless brown eyes were lucid, offering Justin a harrowing glimpse of the soul trapped within that disintegrating body.
"It is only fair that I pay for your time." Justin dropped coins into Job's alms cup, and then sat down on a fallen log, as close as he dared get. Logic told him that leprosy could not be as contagious as people claimed, else caretakers like Father Gregory could not dwell amongst lepers without being stricken with the malady, too. But fear was instinctive and not always amenable to reason.
Job muttered his thanks, and then startled Justin when he commented, "You were not as openhanded the last time."
"Well… my prospects have improved since then. So you remember me?"
"I remember him," Job said, gesturing toward Copper.
"What else do you remember about that morn?"
"The snow started after dawn, and it was colder than a witch's teat. But not as cold as the heart of that hellspawn on a light grey palfrey. For all that he was mantled like a highborn lord, he was as tightfisted as any moneylender. Not only did he refuse to give me so much as a farthing, he turned the air blue with his curses, claiming it was bad luck to encounter 'a stinking leper' when starting out on a journey. Had he a whip, I truly think he would have struck me with it."
"He was no less high handed with the guard at the East Gate," Justin said. "A pity strutting peacocks like that so rarely get their tail feathers plucked as they deserve."
Job's misshapen mouth did not smile, but his eyes held a gleam of mordant amusement. "This peacock did come to grief. He'd not ridden fifty feet after cursing me out when his horse pulled up lame."
Justin frowned, puzzled. "That is odd, for I did not pass him on the road."
"Oh, he did not go all the way back to town. However outraged he was to have 'a stinking leper' cross his path, he was willing enough to turn to us for help. When the snow got too heavy, I returned to the lazar house, and found that Sir High-and-mighty had taken refuge with us. He stayed denned up in the master's quarters till the storm eased, and came back on the morrow for his lamed stallion."