I am developing a fever.
Matheus leads us up the spiral stairs of the tower. The steps curl anticlockwise, as stairs do in most fortifications. Elizabeth wanted the stairs in our castle at Bodiam to curl clockwise. She said she wanted our stairwells to be different. It is one of the few times that I overruled her without trying to see her point. Stairs must be anticlockwise so that defenders are able to swing their swords freely from above. Attackers climbing the stairs have the wall at their right side, so they can only thrust. Tristan once joked that the French should train their soldiers to fight left-handed. But the Church would, of course, be outraged by such a thing. The left hand is the devil’s hand, and all who favor that hand are evil. Elizabeth is left-handed, so this is another of the many subjects upon which the Church and I disagree.
We reach the crenellated summit and stare out at the Suffolk landscape. Lush, green fields and forests spread before us. Matheus’s plaguers drag ploughs across his furlongs and grind wheat with their endless circles at the mill. Smoke rises in columns at intervals where villages and towns burn. Fire is a potent weapon against the plague, but it is indiscriminate. Its hunger rivals that of the plaguers.
“Do you see them?” Matheus asks. “In that village, do you see them moving?”
I look closely. Plaguers in a settlement less than a mile away. I can just make out their lurching steps.
“Demons,” Matheus says. “There are scores of them out there. The village is called Boxford, and it was home to one of the largest foundling home in Suffolk. Dozens of children lived happily there, cared for by monks. But look at it now. Look at it. The demons killed all the children and feed on their bodies still.”
We stare in silence.
“I understand all of England is like that,” Matheus says. “The dead walk and eat human flesh. Towns burn. The populations of entire villages live cramped inside churches and castles. Everyone lives in fear.”
He motions to one side and the soldier holding the tapestry steps forward. Another soldier holds one end and they unroll the fabric. The two men pull the tapestry tight. Belisencia gasps, which is precisely what I feel like doing. I study the tapestry, then look out across the landscape of Suffolk, then back to the tapestry once more.
“You see it?” Matheus says. “Do you see it?”
I see it.
The tapestry looks like the view from this tower. The most striking things in the woven artwork are the plaguers. Perhaps they are not plaguers in the tapestry, but they certainly look like them: staggering, angry creatures that once were human. Lurching bloody monsters that claw and snarl. Towns burn behind them. Humans weep and hold their dead and dying close or shelter inside castle walls. The skies are dark and, in what I can only ascribe to divine coincidence, clouds above us roll over the sun and darken the landscape as we watch.
Matheus smiles, but it is a sad smile. “Do you want to know what God said to Hugh the Baptist?” He pauses dramatically. A scream shreds the pause as another pilgrim meets Hugh. “He said that we are already dead. All of us. That we are in purgatory, unable to find our way to heaven.”
Not even Tristan responds to this.
Matheus points to the tapestry. “This was woven more than a hundred years ago. It was made at the request of Joseph the Devout, who in his lifetime had more than two hundred holy visions. Even Pope Nicholas III consulted with Joseph.” He touches the weaving with his fingers. “And this, this is Joseph’s vision of purgatory.”
Belisencia kneels and crosses herself. “Oh Holy Father,” she says, tears welling. “Oh Jesus, our Lord and Savior.”
Tristan studies the tapestry, one hand on his chin. “The people’s heads are too large,” he says. “I’m not impressed with the artistry.” He pauses. “Or does that come later? Will our heads swell?” He makes a show of
Matheus leads us up the spiral stairs of the tower. The steps curl anticlockwise, as stairs do in most fortifications. Elizabeth wanted the stairs in our castle at Bodiam to curl clockwise. She said she wanted our stairwells to be different. It is one of the few times that I overruled her without trying to see her point. Stairs must be anticlockwise so that defenders are able to swing their swords freely from above. Attackers climbing the stairs have the wall at their right side, so they can only thrust. Tristan once joked that the French should train their soldiers to fight left-handed. But the Church would, of course, be outraged by such a thing. The left hand is the devil’s hand, and all who favor that hand are evil. Elizabeth is left-handed, so this is another of the many subjects upon which the Church and I disagree.
We reach the crenellated summit and stare out at the Suffolk landscape. Lush, green fields and forests spread before us. Matheus’s plaguers drag ploughs across his furlongs and grind wheat with their endless circles at the mill. Smoke rises in columns at intervals where villages and towns burn. Fire is a potent weapon against the plague, but it is indiscriminate. Its hunger rivals that of the plaguers.
“Do you see them?” Matheus asks. “In that village, do you see them moving?”
I look closely. Plaguers in a settlement less than a mile away. I can just make out their lurching steps.
“Demons,” Matheus says. “There are scores of them out there. The village is called Boxford, and it was home to one of the largest foundling home in Suffolk. Dozens of children lived happily there, cared for by monks. But look at it now. Look at it. The demons killed all the children and feed on their bodies still.”
We stare in silence.
“I understand all of England is like that,” Matheus says. “The dead walk and eat human flesh. Towns burn. The populations of entire villages live cramped inside churches and castles. Everyone lives in fear.”
He motions to one side and the soldier holding the tapestry steps forward. Another soldier holds one end and they unroll the fabric. The two men pull the tapestry tight. Belisencia gasps, which is precisely what I feel like doing. I study the tapestry, then look out across the landscape of Suffolk, then back to the tapestry once more.
“You see it?” Matheus says. “Do you see it?”
I see it.
The tapestry looks like the view from this tower. The most striking things in the woven artwork are the plaguers. Perhaps they are not plaguers in the tapestry, but they certainly look like them: staggering, angry creatures that once were human. Lurching bloody monsters that claw and snarl. Towns burn behind them. Humans weep and hold their dead and dying close or shelter inside castle walls. The skies are dark and, in what I can only ascribe to divine coincidence, clouds above us roll over the sun and darken the landscape as we watch.
Matheus smiles, but it is a sad smile. “Do you want to know what God said to Hugh the Baptist?” He pauses dramatically. A scream shreds the pause as another pilgrim meets Hugh. “He said that we are already dead. All of us. That we are in purgatory, unable to find our way to heaven.”
Not even Tristan responds to this.
Matheus points to the tapestry. “This was woven more than a hundred years ago. It was made at the request of Joseph the Devout, who in his lifetime had more than two hundred holy visions. Even Pope Nicholas III consulted with Joseph.” He touches the weaving with his fingers. “And this, this is Joseph’s vision of purgatory.”
Belisencia kneels and crosses herself. “Oh Holy Father,” she says, tears welling. “Oh Jesus, our Lord and Savior.”
Tristan studies the tapestry, one hand on his chin. “The people’s heads are too large,” he says. “I’m not impressed with the artistry.” He pauses. “Or does that come later? Will our heads swell?” He makes a show of
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