Unholy Innocence (6 page)

Here I felt the need to interrupt. ‘Why?’

He frowned
impatiently. ‘Why what? Why did they do it, you mean?’ Samson inhaled deeply shaking his tonsured head. ‘Who knows? Mockery, jealousy. Something about returning to Jerusalem.’ He snorted up at Jocelin. ‘Not that there’s any chance of that at the moment.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I meant, why would the Jews be blamed in this case?’

Samson lowered his voice almost to a whisper. ‘Because of where the body was found, of course.’

‘Which was where?’

Samson frowned again and looked at me as though he could not believe I did not know. Fortunately Jocelin saw the danger and coughed lightly to clear his throat. ‘I-in the garden of a prominent local Jew.’

I said
carefully and deliberately: ‘The garden of a Jew? I thought all the Jews in Bury had been expelled some time ago, by your order, Father Abbot.’

Samson shifted uncomfortably in his chair again. ‘They had. Most of them. Anyway, that’s beside the point now. You saw the response of your brother monks this morning at the mere suggestion that the boy might have been martyred by Jews. I’ve no doubt the reaction of the townsfolk will be the same. It’s a
highly emotive subject. People…react.’ He glanced at me. ‘We need to be discreet but we need a quick resolution. The longer we delay the greater the chance of some…unpleasantness.’

By ‘unpleasantness’ I presumed he meant the Palm Sunday riots and murder of fifty-seven human beings.
An interesting use of the word.

Samson suddenly exploded: ‘God damn the boy! Why did he have to choose now to get himself killed? The King here.
’ He pointed a fat finger at me. ‘We must do all we can to ensure King John is not given any excuse to take over the investigation - which he will, mark my word, given half the chance. At the first sign of faltering he will put in his own men and that cannot be allowed to happen. The honour of Saint Edmund is at stake.’

The honour of Saint Edmund.
Is that what was really bothering Samson, I wondered? The saint’s honour resided in the hands of his champion-in-chief here on earth who was the Abbot of Edmundsbury, of course. Could it be that Samson’s main concern over this boy’s death was the threat it posed to his own authority? Or was I being uncharitable?

‘Why woul
d the King want to do that?’ I asked naively again. ‘Interfere I mean. Surely he has more to worry about than the death of a miller’s son?’

Samson looked at me with amazement. ‘Anything to do with the Jews is the King’s concern, Walter. They have no status other than at the King’s behest.’ He snorted. ‘I should have thought you of all people would
have known that.’

I looked up rather too quickly. Was he referring to my connection with Joseph? I didn’t think he knew anything about that. I could feel my cheeks start to redden and burn. All I could do was nod stupidly, which he evidently took to
signal my agreement.

‘Good, well that’s settled then. Unless you have any more questions?’

‘Just one,’ I said. ‘Why me? Bearing in mind our last conversation on the subject of miracles, I would have thought you’d regard my approach as being too….scientific?’ I was referring to the discussion we’d had concerning the remains of Saint Edmund just prior to the drama in the King’s bedchamber.

Samson’s lips tightened. ‘It is precisely because you take such a perverse view of these matters, Walter, that I want you on the case. That and your medical training which I am sure will be decisive. I am confident your approach will get to the truth unswayed by – how shall we say?
- religious hysteria.
And your reputation as a neutral in these matters…’ here he put up his hand to forestall my protest ‘…will help dispel any accusation of bias on the part of the abbey which must be seen to be impartial. If we lean too far one way we will seem to be favouring the King; too far the other way and the King will feel aggrieved and step in. Neither would be a good outcome from our point of view.’

‘I see.’

He nodded. ‘I’m glad you do. Now, as our resident expert on the subject of boy martyrs Jocelin’s input will prove to be invaluable to you. Here’s his work on Saint Robert.’ He shuffled together the papers on his desk and held them out for me to take. ‘You have my full authority to examine all the evidence, call as many witnesses as you think fit, come and go as you please.’

‘Oh, but what of Earl Marshal’s restrictions on movement?’ I said hopefully.

Samson waved an impatient hand. ‘The Earl isn’t here. And besides,’ he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, ‘no-one believes all that nonsense about the King’s hay fever. This murder must take precedence now. You have my permission to forgo all other duties, including your office devotions where necessary, until this matter is resolved. Be thorough, be fair and above all be objective. Let no-one sway or influence you to any precipitate conclusion. Then come back and tell me that this miller’s brat has nothing whatever in common with the blessed Robert but is merely a stupid child who managed to get himself killed.
Dominus vobiscum
.’

*

‘He doesn’t like the Jews much, does he?’ I said to Jocelin as we strolled back to his office. As Guest-master Jocelin had his own room in the Court of Hospice, not confined to a common cell like the rest of us choir monks.

Jocelin grimaced. ‘Th-they opposed his election. He also blames them for b-bringing the abbey into debt.’

‘Oh, but that was financial mismanagement on the part of Abbot Hugh, surely?’

‘But Hugh was old and easily manipulated,’ countered Jocelin. ‘The J-jews took advantage. There’s no doubt.’

We walked in silence for a minute.

‘You admire Abbot Samson, don’t you?’ I said at length.

‘I think he has done many good works.’

‘Including expelling all the Jews from the town?’

‘Th-that was as much for their own protection as anything else.’ He smiled. ‘Don’t judge him too harshly. One of the reasons he chose you to investigate this matter is the fact that you have a Jewish b-brother and so will be sympathetic.’

‘So he does know about Joseph? I wasn’t sure.’

‘Of course. Abbot Samson has the welfare of all his flock c-constantly in his mind. How can he d-do that if he does not know all that there is to know about each and every one of us?’ He stopped by a panelled door set in an arched alcove. ‘Here we are.’ He took out what was the largest iron key I had ever seen from somewhere under his robe and began laboriously unlocking it. I could see now why no-one had ever seen his famous chronicle and possibly why Samson placed so much faith in him. Security was evidently one of Jocelin’s valued qualities. He pushed the heavy door open for me to enter ahead of him.

The room was small and made all the smaller by shelves lining every wall upon which were stacked piles of papers and books of every size and description spilling over onto every available surface. As well as many religious tracts I could see w
orks by Virgil, Horace and Ovid among others that I could not recognise. This was a scholar’s room indeed, an impressive library that put my own modest collection to shame.

‘You have been to the university?’ I asked running my finger along the nearest dusty shelf for this was surely a don’s study.

He bowed shyly. ‘Alas, n-no. I come from a very poor family.’ He hastily cleared a pile of papers from a bench so that I could sit down.

‘A local family, judging by your accent.’

‘Indeed. I am a Saint Edmund’s man body and soul. My f-family still live here – in the lower brackland in the north of the town. Do you know it?’

I did. I’d had many a pneumonic patient in that area of heathland and wood. A poor area indeed. Jocelin had done well to escape it.

‘Master Samson t-took me under his wing when I first entered the order twenty-six years ago. I owe everything I am to him. “He grew and the Lord b-blessed him”,’ he smiled.

I smiled back. I could see I would have to be careful what I said to this man for I had no doubt it w
ould all get back to Samson, the bad as well as the good.

As though reading my mind, Jocelin chuckled. ‘Do not worry. I am indebted to Master Samson b-but I cherish truth more. After all, we are all here but for a short span, are we not? The f-future is merely the present continued and the work we begin here on earth will carry on after we have p-passed over. So it follows we must apply ourselves as honestly as we c-can in all we do while we are here. Is that not so?’

I was taken aback by his sudden descent into philosophy. Clearly Jocelin was a man of learning. Such people, as I knew from my student days, value intellectual integrity above personal relationships. Perhaps he wasn’t quite the lick-spittle I had taken him for. In that regard he had something in common with Joseph, both men coming from humble backgrounds, albeit worlds apart, and both self-taught. Alas, neither was likely ever to rise very far in this world where men progress mainly through patronage and rank.

‘Well,’ I said dropping heavily onto the bench, ‘since we have been thrust together in this buggers’ clinch, I suppose we’d better get on with it. What can you tell me of these boy-martyrs?’

He coloured at my coarseness, which made me smile inwardly. I could see there were some aspects of our association I was going to enjoy.

‘Beyond what Samson has already said, not m-much. They all had injuries similar to those suffered by Christ at his Passion.  Th-that’s the basis of the complaint against the Jews - that they are taking the boys in order to mock Christ.’ He went to a corner of the room, dug out a sheet of parchment. ‘This is the account of Harold of Gloucester’s d-death.’ He started to read:  ‘ “On the 18
th
of March a
nno domini
1168, the body of a ten-year-old boy was found in the River S-severn at Gloucester, much mutilated, with traces of burning on the flesh and the garments, thorns in the head and armpits, marks of m-melted wax in the eyes and ears, and some of the teeth knocked out…” ’

I stopped him there. ‘
Burning, did you say? Melted wax? Teeth knocked out?’ I shook my head. ‘This is a strange kind of crucifixion.’

‘The G-gospels tell us that Christ was t-tormented in many ways prior to the final act,’ said Jocelin. ‘Who can tell what was d-done to little Harold? But it’s the timing that was the k-key in this case. The murder was supposed to have taken place on Friday, March 17
th
of that year. The boy was reportedly stolen by the Jews at the end of February and hidden until the day of the m-murder. The date is close to the time of the Jewish Passover.’ He looked up. ‘The legend is that without the shedding of human blood the Jews will not be able to obtain their f-freedom or return to their homeland – that is what Samson was referring to. It’s what all Jews ultimately crave – “Next Year in Jerusalem”,’ he grinned.

I shrugged. ‘So?’

‘S-so every year they have to sacrifice a Christian child in mockery of C-christ’s P-passion so that they might avenge their sufferings on Him. It was because they killed Christ that they had been exiled from their own country and made s-slaves in a f-foreign land.’ He smiled rather embarrassedly. ‘We-ell th-that’s the th-theory at any r-r-rate.’

I noted with interest that whenever Jocelin was embarrassed or unsure of something his stutter grew worse. I was beginning to warm to him.

‘Do you believe all that?’ I asked him seriously. He shrugged non-committally, so I let the question hang for now. ‘Samson also mentioned the Norwich case – er, William?’

‘Ah yes.’ He took down another large manuscript roll. ‘This is the most d-documented of all the boy-martyr cases. It was written up in great d-detail some years after the event by Thomas of Monmouth, a Benedictine monk at our s-sister house in Norwich. In this case the mutilated body of a twelve-year-old boy was f-found in woodlands outside the town. William was a tanner’s apprentice and much used to visiting the houses of Jews
in the course of his trade. B-brother Thomas details what was done to the boy, his injuries and abuses, straps and gags and so on, a-and various marks in mockery of Christ’s injuries.’ He looked up, frowning. ‘I have to say, however, that n-none of this was mentioned in any contemporary report.’

‘You sound doubtful.’

Jocelin gave a pained look. ‘Thomas was writing a g-generation after the event. He was also m-much encouraged by his Bishop who gave him great latitude in order to encourage the c-cult of Saint William.’

‘So you think he may have been guilty of…embellishment?’

‘Well, B-bishop William was very keen for him to write his history.’ He reddened perhaps recognising similarities with his own account of Robert of Bury.

‘Why would the good Bishop wish to do that, do you think?’ I queried gently.

Once again Jocelin squirmed on his chair. ‘The official r-reason is th-that the b-body would become an object of v-v-veneration and worship.’

‘But?’

He thought for a moment. ‘I suppose the cynical view would be that such an object would bring pecuniary b-benefits to its possessor.’ He lowered his voice and leaned forward. ‘There was even an attempt to get the b-body removed to a priory in Sussex, I believe.’

‘For the purposes of veneration and worship, of course,
not for the pilgrim’s penny it would attract,’ I suggested, tongue in cheek.