STARTLED, I STOPPED. THEN I became afraid. After what I had witnessed in the village, I could not believe I was hearing a living voice. But when the voice sang out again—and I realized it was coming from the abandoned church—I told myself that a church was an unlikely place for evil spirits to abide. Besides, food was uppermost in my thoughts, and I had desperate hopes that I might have come upon a survivor.
Trying to make no sound and clutching my cross of lead, I went around by the side of the church, where windows had once been but where only gaping holes remained. As I drew closer, the voice sang out again. This time it was accompanied by the beating of what sounded like a drum.
“Ah, dear God, how can this be
That all things wear and waste away!”
Cautiously, I peeked inside.
At first, all I saw was rubble and rot. Then, partly hidden in the shadows, I saw a man who was anything but a skeleton. On the contrary, he was a mountain of flesh, a great barrel of a fellow, whose arms and legs were as thick as tree limbs, and with a tublike belly before all. Legs extended, he was sitting with his back propped against a crumbling baptismal font. He was, moreover, garbed like no man I had ever seen before. Upon his head was a hat which seemed to have been split into two, like the points on a cock’s comb. At the end of these points hung bells. Moreover, the flaps of his hat came down along both sides of his face, encircling it, then tied below, making his cheeks plump.
As for his face, most striking was a bushy beard of such ruddy red it seemed as if the lower part of his face was aflame. He also had a large, red, and fleshy nose and hairy eyebrows of the same hue, as well as a cherry-lipped mouth big even for such a face as his.
He wore a wide-sleeved tunic of black, and ankle-length hose with a different color for each leg, one blue, the other red, though the colors were faded. His brown leather boots were long and somewhat pointy at the tips. Yet, for all this rare color, his clothing was ragged, torn, and patched in many parts, enough so that I could see his dirty, hairy skin in several spots.
A ballock dagger was fastened to his hip. On the ground by his side lay a fat sack, which contained, I prayed, food.
His eyes were closed, but clearly he was not asleep. Instead, he was singing raucously while beating a small drum with his massive hands. As I looked on, he continued to tap the drum with his big fingers, bleating out his song. After repeating the words a few more times, he let loose a booming laugh as if he’d just heard a rare jest. He laughed so hard he put down his drum and opened his eyes.
Compared to the rest of him, these eyes were small and wet. Old pig’s eyes, I thought, shrewd and wily. But what he must have seen was me, staring at him. For he dropped his drum and his hand went right to his dagger.
We gazed at one another in silence.
“Good morrow, lad,” he cried out, even as his hand eased off his weapon. “May God keep you well.”
“God be with you too, sir,” I managed to say, though I was in awe of such a monstrous man.
“And where, by Saint Sixtus, do you come from?” he asked. “Not, I suppose, from this Godforsaken village.”
I shook my head.
“Then what place?” he said.
“Far … away,” I answered evasively.
“East or west?”
I pointed in the direction I had come from.
Scrutinizing me, head cocked to one side, he ruffled his beard, while a sly smile played his lips. “You have a gifted way of speech,” he said. “To what purpose do you travel?”
“I’m … going to meet my father,” I said, this being the answer I’d decided to give if asked.
“And, pray tell, does this father of yours live close?”
“In … some large town.”
He considered me for yet a while with his shrewd, wet eyes. “So if I understand you, boy,” he said at last, “you know only somewhat from where you come, but go toward … some other place.”
“As God is true, sir.”
“Do you have any idea how you look?”
“No, sir.”
“Your tunic is equal parts dirt, rags, and rents. Your face is scratched and mucked as are your naked arms and legs. Your hair is long and unkempt. I can barely count your fingers for the caked filth. In short, you’re more cur than boy. How old are you?” he asked. “And, as God is merciful, don’t be so vague.”
“Thirteen, about.”
“About” he returned with something like a sneer, plus another scratch of his beard.
I said nothing, trying to make up my mind if I should run away. But, still hoping that such a barrel of a man must have some food, I stayed.
For his part, he continued to consider me steadily with his small intense eyes. “Might you,” he said, as if reading my mind, “be hungry?”
My mouth began to water. “Yes, sir, as God is kind and if it pleases you.”
“Hunger never pleases me,” he roared. “Though our great if doddering king surely means well, his loyal subjects go hungry. And why? Because the officials of this most holy kingdom are all corrupt gluttons. His councilors and parliaments—all dressed in that new Italian cloth, velvet—sit upon the backs of the poor and eat their fill of venison and sweetmeats. Not to mention the Flemish foreigners who loot our country’s gold. But such is the will of His Gracious Majesty, that poor souls like you and I are not part of his daily reckoning. ‘It is as it is,’is his motto. Mine is, ‘Let it be as it may be!’
“What think you of that sermon?” he said, cocking his head, as if he really wished me to reply.
“I… didn’t understand it,” I said.
“Not at all?” he asked, showing disappointment.
“It sounds like … treason,” I said, only to instantly regret my words.
Sure enough, his face clouded with anger. “Does it, now?” he bellowed, making me jump. “So be it. I hate all tyranny. Is that treason, too?”
I did not dare to speak.
Then, far softer, he said, “Well, by all the blessed saints and martyrs, what does it matter what I think? Come closer. I’ll give you some bread.”
My hunger was so great that whatever prudence I might have had, I put aside. Instead, I returned my cross to my neck pouch, and hurried around to the church’s proper entry. I then approached the man where he sat, moving quickly when I saw he had untied the sack that lay by his side. With something close to elation I saw him pull up a large, gray lump of bread which he held up.
I reached out toward it.
The moment I did, his free hand shot out, and with a speed that belied his bulk, he grabbed me by my wrist and held me with the strength of stone.