Read Online Unholy Innocence by Stephen Wheeler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stephen Wheeler
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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
‘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
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