The Village 7

(i)

 

Wyclyffe went from door to door. He called out the names of the villagers: Old Tam, Margery Feer, John Byland and his wife and their children, Peter and Jess. Those that didn’t answer he presumed to be already dead. Those that cried out in the last throes of life he offered ablution. And when he was done he asked the men of faith accompanying him to paint a red cross on the door so that those who one day followed would recognise the dwelling as infected.

 

Mattie watched from a distance. She could tell that the men of faith were
scared. They hesitated to go near any of the dwellings. When the priest confirmed that a dwelling’s inhabitants were dead it was all the men could do to paint the red cross before running off.

 

Wyclyffe, his eyes heavy and dark, was distraught. Mattie watched as he stumbled towards the chancellery. The living, she knew, were only
interested in his presence among them for the sake of their own lives. The priest was a broken man. She went after him.

 

Inside the chancellery she gazed upon the result of his distemper. Every
ornament had been taken out of the church and piled in front of the
priest’s study desk.

 

He staggered through the bare room adjoining the chancellery and church. Mattie followed him. The church felt cold and looked much bigger. Wyclyffe fell at the foot of the nave and bowed his head as if in
prayer. He said:

 

‘What is it you want, Mattie ?’

 

A pigeon fluttered in the rafters. Wyclyffe remained kneeling for a
while, his head buried in his hands. Then he looked up at her.

 

‘Can your master the devil not give you a voice, Mattie ? Will your master allow you to do his bidding ?’

 

He stared at her with hatred in his eyes. Mattie shook her head. Her
master was not the devil. Her master – her father – was gone.

 

‘He is here, Mattie. He has come into this sacred place...into our own
house of God…and you have led him!’

 

The bird fluttered again. Wyclyffe struggled to his feet and walked
uncertainly towards her. Mattie didn’t understand. Who had come
into the church ? Was that why all the gold and silver objects had
been removed ? Because thieves had come and taken them ?

 

Wyclyffe snatched her arm. ‘Tell him to leave this place, Mattie. Tell him
that he will never claim God’s house as his own…..tell him that I would rather die than let him do such a thing.’

 

She tried to pull away but his grip was hard. She shook her head, confused. Who was the priest speaking of ? Who wanted to claim God’s
house as their own ?

 

‘Why do you never come into this church, Mattie ? Is it because he cast a spell over you ? Have you come here now to impart a message from your master ?’

 

The priest was twisting her arm. So great was the pain that she sank to
her knees and began to cry. But still he kept hold of her…..kept asking her to relay a message that she was ignorant of.

 

‘He will speak through you. He has chosen you because his voice will be
pure…..because you have no voice of your own. Tell him to speak. Tell him to reveal himself.’

 

Exhausted now, his grip on her loosened. Sickness and bile lodged in his throat. His legs were numb.

 

Wyclyffe began to sob and the church echoed with the pitiful sound of his sorrow. Mattie knew that in the eyes of the villagers she was a
simpleton – the daughter of a rogue, rendered speechless by God. But she had never once believed that the young priest had her marked as a servant of the devil and his insistence pained her. She went over to him and knelt by his side. And when he raised his head to her she saw the faint imprint of darkness on his neck. He too was infected.

 

Mattie felt strong.

 

 

 

(ii)

 

Wyclyffe opened his eyes. At once he felt himself to be in unfamiliar
surroundings. He expected to see the wild flapping of the devil’s wings in the church rafters. Instead the roof above him was low and dark - batons covered with peat and straw. Wyclyffe realised that he was in the girl’s dwelling.

 

He tried to move but his body felt as though it had been weighted down.
He could lift his arm, though, and saw that the back of his hands were disfigured by large welts. He smacked his lips and licked the soft pad of a finger. Then he uttered a simple Latin prayer and his arm fell to his side.

 

The girl stoked the fire. He listened to her for a while as she scurried
here. Realising that the priest was conscious, she knelt beside him, so as to sprinkle his forehead with water.

 

Wyclyffe murmered: ‘Mattie….’

 

She ignored him. After cooling his brow, she got up and brought over a
tiny bowl of warm pottage which she attempted to feed him.

 

Wyclyffe pursed his lips. His body had deteriorated beyond the need for food. Still she tried to feed him. Only a concerted display of anger – anger demonstrated in his eyes - made her take the bowl away.

 

Why was she tending him ? Why wasn’t she determined upon revenge ?
Wyclyffe thought back to the rain-soaked morning when he acquiesced
to the Reeve’s demands and allowed Mattie to be tied to the hanging
tree. A sudden and bitter ocean of sorrow engulfed him, further
compounding his torment. God had spoken to him that day and he had
refused to listen. The destruction of his village – of mankind itself – was God’s reward. In his despair Wyclyffe determined he was now at the devil’s mercy. And yet, as the girl returned to his side with fresh water, he began to doubt that her intentions were anything other than benign, began to doubt that maleficence could find a home in such an innocent and tender creature.

 

 

 

(iii)

 

The hours passed. The priest drifted in and out of consciousness. Mattie
waited patiently for Wyclyffe’s blessing. But, when it did not come, she grew bored.

 

She went outside to collect wood. It was dusk and the village was
deserted. She walked through the empty market, past the gaol, and
towards the forest. She stood for a while beneath the hanging tree.
It groaned, as if it still bore the weight of those who had been punished. Mattie spat at the tree and began to gather sticks.

 

When her basket was filled she followed the path behind the water mill to the manor house. She entered the garden by the gate and peered into the bulging latticed window where she had once delivered the Reeve’s food. A light flickered from inside. Mattie slapped the glass with
her palm but there was no answer. Beyond the glass the Reeve and his
wife were lying entwined and motionless on the floor.

 

She visited all the dwellings in the village. In the house of Margery
Feer a fire raged. In the manor-house barn she stepped over the body
of the stable master and cut loose five horses. She watched as they
galloped and bucked across the open field. Why had God laid waste her
village ? Why did He take pleasure in such suffering ?

 

By the time Mattie returned to her dwelling Wyclyffe had expired. His face, sunken and pained when she left him, was now at peace. She knelt beside him, closed his eyes, and kissed his forehead. Then she stoked the fire so as to ease the priest’s soul into the afterlife.

 

At dusk she swaddled her child to her chest and walked towards the enclosure that had been built to protect the village. Some of the wooden stakes were close to collapse now – ravaged by rain and wind. Mattie
pushed one and it toppled over. Beyond the ramshackle fence lay the
bridge; beyond that a dirt track leading to the open road.

 

There was nobody to stop her from leaving. Wyclyffe, the Reeve, his son - all were dead. Perhaps her father was dead too. No one would punish her if she left her plague village. No one would set her in the
stocks.

 

She stepped onto the bridge and admired the free-moving waters beneath her. Then she moved steadily forward, each step a silent hymn.

 

*End*