Eifelheim - Michael Flynn [155]
Ockham laughed. “I would accuse you of multiplying entities, saving only …” He glanced again toward the church eaves. “How do you know that these grasshoppers live upon a star?”
“They told me so.”
“Can you be certain that they spoke the truth? A grasshopper may say what it wishes and be no more truthful than a man.”
Dietrich reached into his scrip. “Would you speak with one?”
Ockham studied the head-harness that Dietrich brought forth. He touched it gingerly with his finger. “No,” he said, withdrawing his hand. “Best I know as little as possible.”
“Ah.” Dietrich looked away. “Manfred told you of the indictment.”
“He asked if I would speak for you before the prosecuting magistrate.”
Dietrich grunted.
“Yes, as if the word of a heretic would carry weight with them. Should any ask concerning matters diabolical during my sojourn here, I can truthfully answer that I saw nothing.”
“Thank you, old friend.” The two embraced and Dietrich helped Will mount.
Ockham seated himself. “I fear you have wasted your life in this crappy little dorp.”
“I had my reasons.”
And reasons, too, for staying. Dietrich had come to Oberhochwald seeking only refuge, but it was now his corner of the world, and he knew each tree, rock, and stream as if he had had his head banged against them in his youth. He could not live again in Paris. It had seemed better then only because he had been younger, and had not yet known contentment.
AFTER THE “Old Inceptor” had ridden away, Dietrich returned to the village, where he encountered his farmer, Herwyg One-eye, on his way to the fields. “He be gone, pastor,” the old man cackled. “And not too soon.”
“So?” Dietrich asked, wondering what possible grudge Herwyg might hold against Ockham.
“Left Niederhochwald this morning, cart, harem, and all. Set out for Freiburg at first light.”
“The Jew?” Dietrich felt suddenly cold in the June sun. “But he was faring to Vienna.”
Herwyg rubbed his chin. “Can’t say; don’t care. He’s a wretched creature. Kurt the swineherd, what is married to my cousin, heard the old Jew say he’d put an end to the Angelus. What infamy! Without the bells, how would folk know when to halt work?”
“The Angelus,” said Dietrich.
Herwyg leaned closer and lowered his voice, though there were none to hear him. “And the wight must’ve caught glimpse o’ your special guests, too. Kurt heard’m exclaim about unclean beasts and flying demons. Kurt, he come up here right off, ‘cause he wants t’be the first with news.” Herwyg hawked and spat into the dirt, but whether that signified the Jews, his cousin’s taste in husbands, or merely a phlegmy throat, Dietrich did not wait to hear. He sought the empty church, where, amidst the images of suffering saints and outlandish creatures, he fell to his knees and begged again the absolution that he had begged for more a dozen years.
XX
JUNE, 1349
From the Commemoration of St. Herve
THE HERR found him there, prostrate on the flagstones, and turned and sat on the sanctuary step beside him. “I’ve sent Max and his men to fetch the Jew,” he said. “There are but few roads he could take, encumbered as he is with his cart. Max’s men are ahorse. He’ll bring him back.”
Dietrich rose to his knees. “And then what?”
Manfred leaned back on his elbows. “And then we’ll see. I’m improvising.”
“You can’t hold him forever.”
“Can’t I? No, I suppose the Duke will wonder. A factor for the Seneor family cannot simply disappear. But our worries run together, Dietrich,” he added. “Friedrich would have questions for me, as well. I took you in.”
I could run, Dietrich thought. Yet, where would he run this time? What lord would take him in? The New Towns in the wild east were hungry for settlers, and asked few questions about a man’s past. Dietrich returned to his prayers, but his thoughts were now disturbed with self-love. So he employed recitations, hoping that the thought might follow the words. After a while, he heard Manfred rise and go.
THE SUN was lowering when the commotion drew Dietrich forth