The Gathering of Brother Hilarius [22]
babe in her arms.
Hilarius fed her carefully with bread and wine - not for nothing had he served the Infirmarian when blood-letting had proved too severe for some weak Brother - and then turned his attention to the little maid who sat patient, eyeing the food.
For her, bread and milk. He sat down on a low stool, and taking the child on his knee slowly supplied the gaping, bird-like mouth. At last the little maid heaved a sigh of content, leant her flaxen head against her nurse's shoulder, and fell fast asleep.
Hilarius, cradling her carefully in gentle arms, crooned softly to her, thrilling with tenderness. She was his own, his little sister, the child he had found and saved. Surely Our Lady had guided him to her, and her great Mother-love would shield this little one from a foul and horrid death. In that dirty, neglected room, the child warm against his breast, Hilarius lived the happiest moments of his life.
Presently he rose, for there was much to be done, kissed the little pale cheek, noted fearfully the violet shadows under the closed eyes, and laid his new-found treasure on the bed by her mother.
The woman was half-asleep, but started awake.
"Art thou going?" she said, and despair gazed at him from her eyes.
"Nay, nay, surely not until we all go together," he said soothingly. "I would but kindle a fire, for the cold is bitter."
Wood was plentiful, and soon a bright fire blazed on the hearth. The poor woman, heartened by her meal, rose and came to sit by it, and stretching out her thin hands to the grateful warmth, told her tale.
"'Twas Gammer Harden's son who first heard tell of a strange new sickness at Caxton's; and then Jocell had speech with a herd from those parts, who was fleeing to a free town, because of some ill he had done. Next day Jocell fell sick with vomitings, and bleeding, and breaking out of boils, and in three days he lay dead; and Gammer Harden fell sick and died likewise. Then one cried 'twas the Plague, and the wrath of God; and they fled - the women to the nuns at Bungay, and the men to seek work or shelter on the Manor; but us they left, for I was with child."
"And thy husband?' said Hilarius.
"Nay, he was not my husband, but these are his children, his and mine. Some hold 'tis a sin to live thus, and perhaps because of it this evil hath fallen upon me."
She looked at the babe lying on her lap, its waxen face drawn and shrunk with the stress of its short life.
Hilarius spoke gently:-
"It is indeed a grievous sin against God and His Church to live together out of holy wedlock, and perchance 'tis true that for this very thing thou hast been afflicted, even as David the great King. But since thou didst sin ignorantly the Lord in His mercy sent me to serve thee in thy sore need; ay, and in very truth, Our Lady herself showed me where the coney lay snared. Let us pray God by His dear Mother to forgive us our sins and to have mercy on these little ones."
And kneeling there in the firelight he besought the great Father for his new-found family.
Five days passed, and despite extreme care victuals were short. Hilarius dug up roots from the hedgerows, and went hungry, but at last the pinch came; the woman was too weak and ill to walk, the babe scarce in life - there could be no thought of flight - and the little maid grew white, and wan and silent. Then it came to Hilarius that he would once again beg food in the village where he had sought help before.
He went slowly, for he had eaten little that his maid might be the better fed, and he was very sad. When he reached the village he found his errand like to be vain. News of the Plague was coming from many parts, and each man feared for his own skin. At every house they questioned him: "Art thou from a hamlet where the Plague hath been?" and when he answered "Yea," the door was shut.
Very soon men, angry and afraid, came to drive him from the place. He gained the village cross, and prayed them for love of the Saviour and His holy Rood to give him bread for his little maid and her mother.
Hilarius fed her carefully with bread and wine - not for nothing had he served the Infirmarian when blood-letting had proved too severe for some weak Brother - and then turned his attention to the little maid who sat patient, eyeing the food.
For her, bread and milk. He sat down on a low stool, and taking the child on his knee slowly supplied the gaping, bird-like mouth. At last the little maid heaved a sigh of content, leant her flaxen head against her nurse's shoulder, and fell fast asleep.
Hilarius, cradling her carefully in gentle arms, crooned softly to her, thrilling with tenderness. She was his own, his little sister, the child he had found and saved. Surely Our Lady had guided him to her, and her great Mother-love would shield this little one from a foul and horrid death. In that dirty, neglected room, the child warm against his breast, Hilarius lived the happiest moments of his life.
Presently he rose, for there was much to be done, kissed the little pale cheek, noted fearfully the violet shadows under the closed eyes, and laid his new-found treasure on the bed by her mother.
The woman was half-asleep, but started awake.
"Art thou going?" she said, and despair gazed at him from her eyes.
"Nay, nay, surely not until we all go together," he said soothingly. "I would but kindle a fire, for the cold is bitter."
Wood was plentiful, and soon a bright fire blazed on the hearth. The poor woman, heartened by her meal, rose and came to sit by it, and stretching out her thin hands to the grateful warmth, told her tale.
"'Twas Gammer Harden's son who first heard tell of a strange new sickness at Caxton's; and then Jocell had speech with a herd from those parts, who was fleeing to a free town, because of some ill he had done. Next day Jocell fell sick with vomitings, and bleeding, and breaking out of boils, and in three days he lay dead; and Gammer Harden fell sick and died likewise. Then one cried 'twas the Plague, and the wrath of God; and they fled - the women to the nuns at Bungay, and the men to seek work or shelter on the Manor; but us they left, for I was with child."
"And thy husband?' said Hilarius.
"Nay, he was not my husband, but these are his children, his and mine. Some hold 'tis a sin to live thus, and perhaps because of it this evil hath fallen upon me."
She looked at the babe lying on her lap, its waxen face drawn and shrunk with the stress of its short life.
Hilarius spoke gently:-
"It is indeed a grievous sin against God and His Church to live together out of holy wedlock, and perchance 'tis true that for this very thing thou hast been afflicted, even as David the great King. But since thou didst sin ignorantly the Lord in His mercy sent me to serve thee in thy sore need; ay, and in very truth, Our Lady herself showed me where the coney lay snared. Let us pray God by His dear Mother to forgive us our sins and to have mercy on these little ones."
And kneeling there in the firelight he besought the great Father for his new-found family.
Five days passed, and despite extreme care victuals were short. Hilarius dug up roots from the hedgerows, and went hungry, but at last the pinch came; the woman was too weak and ill to walk, the babe scarce in life - there could be no thought of flight - and the little maid grew white, and wan and silent. Then it came to Hilarius that he would once again beg food in the village where he had sought help before.
He went slowly, for he had eaten little that his maid might be the better fed, and he was very sad. When he reached the village he found his errand like to be vain. News of the Plague was coming from many parts, and each man feared for his own skin. At every house they questioned him: "Art thou from a hamlet where the Plague hath been?" and when he answered "Yea," the door was shut.
Very soon men, angry and afraid, came to drive him from the place. He gained the village cross, and prayed them for love of the Saviour and His holy Rood to give him bread for his little maid and her mother.