17

The four travellers had passed through Helmstedt and Braunschweig, crossing the River Innerste at Hildesheim. It was only a half-day’s walk to the great River Weser and the town of Hamelin. The unseasonal absence of rain had made sleeping arrangements cheap and easy, crowded into wayfarer inns or nearby barns with fellow travellers. Most nights the stars were visible through the roofs of these rough-and-ready hostels. Jakob, who was well aware of Germanic law that disallowed Jews from sheltering overnight in any Christian towns or villages, had been conscious of hostile stares from the other patrons.

‘Does my very visage confirm my difference to them?’ Jakob whispered to the priest.

‘You are imagining it,’ Bunting assured him. ‘They are more concerned with achieving the best position for their knapsacks than your ethnicity. And anyway, while you are travelling as my servant, it is my rights that prevail.’

They had noticed some riders in the distance. A murmur had travelled along the route that these were Prince Otto’s men looking to raise some extra taxes from wayfarers.

‘Hold fast there, Priest!’ commanded a knight, skilfully manoeuvring his horse in front of them and blocking their passage.

The knight sat tall, silent and proud, staring long and hard at the group. His men gathered in behind him, their horses snorting in the cold morning air.

Cornelis, walking ahead, turned back and pushed through the riders to rejoin his father. On each side of the silent confrontation other travellers hurried by, their heads lowered, not wanting to attract attention and relieved it was not them.

The knight’s eyes roamed over the four. Bunting unconsciously kneaded his cross. Jakob’s eyes were lowered to the road, while Cornelis and Amir’s attention was taken by a bloodied and moaning body tied across one of the rider’s mounts.

Bunting knew it was not his place to speak first and waited for the knight to address them. When he finally spoke, it was to his men.

‘Well, well, gentlemen, what do we have here? Am I to believe what I see?’ The riders leaned forward in their saddles and began to chuckle. Their reins were held loosely as their steeds pawed the ground. ‘It is my impression we have a priest, two Jews and a heathen in this pretty party. This is like the joke the jester tells at the Prince’s Court. Am I wrong, gentlemen?’

At this, the riders’ chuckles turned into guffaws of agreement.

‘What am I to make of this on the Prince’s highway?’ the knight continued.

Now Bunting spoke. ‘Sir, we are simple travellers joined in our desire to journey to Antwerp.’

‘Antwerp is Godforsaken and controlled by Jews,’ said the knight harshly, nodding his head at Jakob. ‘Perhaps he is taking you and the heathen to sell to his brethren for thirty gold pieces.’

The riders continued to laugh at their leader’s fine joke. But Bunting would not be rebuffed.

‘Sir,’ he continued, ‘we have been sent on a quest by his Holiness. We travel from Magdeburg to Antwerp. The boy is my servant and Herr de Jode and his son are in my employ.’ Bunting hoped the knight would not question which ‘Holiness’ he was talking about and just assume he was referring to an archbishop.

‘Priest,’ the knight warned, ‘you had better be telling the truth or you will all end up like this miscreant.’ He pointed at the broken body. ‘When the Prince’s torturers have finished with him, he will beg for death and dream of the good days slumped over this horse.’

‘Our mission is to deliver something special for him. The details are obscure to me and my group,’ Bunting offered. While they had been talking, one of the riders had dismounted and was now rummaging through their chattels on the mule.

‘What have we here?’ the soldier asked, lifting the ancient wooden box wrapped in cerecloth from beneath the leather pouches. ‘Perhaps it’s a gift for the Prince?’

‘Leave the box alone.’ Jakob who had been silent throughout the conversation lifted his head, stared at the knight and repeated himself. ‘Leave the box alone!’

‘Jew, mind who you address,’ shouted the knight, his narrow eyes flashing with anger.

Bunting too stared aghast at Jakob, as did Cornelis and Amir. It was almost certain death for anyone to dishonour a knight of the realm in such a manner, let alone a Jew. However, Jakob continued.

‘It is my box and I invoke the Magdeburg Rights,’ he said firmly. ‘You have no standing, Sir Knight, to oblige me to hand over or disclose my property to you. The Prince himself was party to this very arrangement.’

The knight and his men seemed momentarily stunned. Jakob continued: ‘Sir, the Jew is not regulated by the rules that apply to the common man in these parts. I am in no doubt that you will be aware of these arrangements.’

An uneasy silence hung like an impending storm. Suddenly, the knight slammed his spurs into his horse’s flanks and rode up to Jakob until he towered over the man’s head. ‘Jew,’ he warned venomously, ‘do not cross my path again. The next time, I won’t be so generous.’

And with that, he spat thick yellow mucus at Jakob and rode off. The other riders were quick to follow. Bunting hurried over to Jakob who was wiping his head with his hand. ‘What on earth are the Magdeburg Rights?’ Bunting demanded, still in a state of shock.

‘As I explained to you before, the Jew exists in particular circumstances, without the norms and conventions of the Christian community. The wise lawmakers of this land decided that since the Jew could not be obliged to swear an oath on the Christian Bible in a court of law, he therefore could not be obligated to give evidence, or to present goods for inspection or supply information against his will. So when I stated that the box belonged to me, and forgive me for lying, Pastor, the knight had two options: either kill me on the spot for my insolence or move on.’ Jacob shrugged. ‘Perhaps he had had enough killing for the day.’

‘I can see, Jakob,’ said Bunting, ‘that my choice of travelling companion was wise. And I forgive you for your lie. Without it, our quest would surely have been over.’

‘Thank you, Pastor. I too am beginning to suspect that you may not be the “simple” priest you had led me to believe either.’

A few hours later, as they approached Lemgo, Jakob observed a subtle change in the mood of his priestly companion. It was as if a shadow of self-reflection had settled on the young priest who now reminded Jakob of a rabbit that, with whiskers twitching, sensed the change in the weather. Although it might appear to go about its business as normal, the rabbit had an eye to his burrow.

‘I believe we can pass through Lemgo in daylight hours,’ Bunting said. ‘Let us press on to Bielefeld for nightfall.’

‘As you wish,’ responded Jakob, although the light was disappearing quickly from the sky. They were close to Lemgo when the rain began to fall.

First, it was a mere sprinkle but, within minutes, a deluge descended. Hidden by the Weser High Lands and the forests of Teutoburg, the storm had crept silently up on the travellers and was now unleashing its pent-up fury. The road, which moments before had been filled with all manner of humanity, was now a desolate muddy stream.

‘What shall we do?’ shouted Cornelis above the roar of the wind and rain, his long hair plastered to his head. ‘This storm could last for hours.’

Bunting sighed and looked to the sky. Not at the storm, thought Jakob, but through the storm, to a higher plain. The three others stood staring at the barely visible priest through the gloom and driving rain, his cassock whipped up by the wind and waving like a flag in distress. Suddenly, his head dropped as if resigned.

‘Come with me. I know where to go,’ Bunting shouted.

The three followed the priest off the road, with Amir and Cornelis pulling the mule against its will. They struggled through a raging barley field towards the asymmetrical twin spires of a church in the centre of the town.

A few minutes later, Bunting led them through the flooded market square and around to the south side of the Romanesque-style Lutheran church. He ignored the main entrance in the centre of the building and directed them towards a small closed door attached to a more ancient part. The door was locked, but Bunting raised his right hand above it to an irregular brick, which he moved slightly to reveal a large, rusted key. Within seconds they were out of the storm and inside the thirteenth century Church of St Nicolai, patron saint of merchants.

‘You know this place, eh, Pastor?’ questioned Jakob.

‘Yes, I do know it,’ said Bunting in a distant, quiet voice. ‘This was my church for three years, before I was removed in disgrace. I have returned, it seems, against my will, to the place of my humiliation.’

As Jakob contemplated these strange words, a slow-moving figure carrying an oil lamp appeared out of the gloom from the end of the long, shadow-filled hallway. An old lady shuffled towards them, stopped, hesitated and peered for a long while at the group. Then a smile of recognition slowly crossed her cracked lips. ‘Master Bunting!’ she exclaimed. ‘I am so happy to see you again. I thought the tears I shed three years ago were for a goodbye forever.’

‘Fraulien Gunhilde,’ Bunting responded, ‘I can assure you, I too thought that sad day was to be our last encounter. However, the Lord has an interesting way of challenging and testing his flock.’ The young priest walked quickly across to the old lady and embraced her warmly.

‘Oh, I have been so rude,’ the old lady apologised through sudden tears. ‘Your friends are wet, cold and shivering. Let me show you to a fire and some blankets.’

Jakob, Cornelis and Amir looked on in amazement as the old woman, still sniffling with emotion, led them through a Gothic hall to an oak-panelled library with a flaming fire burning bright in the hearth.

‘Archbishop Wilhelm? He is here?’ Bunting ventured cagily.

‘Nah, the Archbishop spends most of his valuable time in Hanover, contemplating. I will go and get you some hot soup and bread.’ With that she shuffled out of the room, leaving them alone.

‘It is a miracle,’ marvelled Cornelis, smiling at Amir who nodded his head enthusiastically. The roaring fire and the promise of hot soup were indeed miracles to them.

The storm raged outside. High winds whistled and screamed while heavy rains clattered off the pitched roof and cascaded waterfall-like onto the flooded courtyards. The old church had been battered many times before but, apart from some dripping that Bunting could hear further down the darkened hallway, the holy residence was holding nature at bay.

Amir and Cornelis, dry, warm and fed, were now fast asleep in front of the fire. The hot meat, potato soup and crusty bread supplied by Fraulein Gunhilde had been devoured without ceremony as young men do when they are cold, wet and famished.

Bunting, in respect for God and his kindly old helper, had ignored his hunger pangs to say Grace and reminisce with Fraulein Gunhilde, eating the food with commendable restraint. However, he noticed, glancing occasionally past the adoring eyes of the Fraulein, that Jakob appeared sullen and thoughtful. More telling of his mood was the unfinished soup on the table.

After the Fraulein had said her goodnights, Bunting carefully spoke. ‘Well, Jakob, have we not been fortunate tonight? The storm is outside and we are safe inside.’ Jakob seemed not to hear the priest, so he tried again. ‘You have not eaten your food. Are you not hungry? Are you feeling sick?’

His travelling companion stared in a preoccupied fashion into the plate of soup, pushing the food around with a wooden spoon.

‘Perhaps you are worried that the soup is cooked with the meat of the pig?’ Bunting suggested. ‘I guess it is possible that is so.’

Finally after a few seconds, Jakob looked across to the priest. ‘When I took on this journey or “quest” or whatever fanciful title we give it, I did not expect to remain religiously pure. I will do my best to observe God’s commandments but he will have to be forgiving on occasion in return.’

He sighed and shook his head in a resigned way, without looking at the priest. ‘We truly are an accursed people. Wherever we go we are frowned upon, tolerated for a while, but always living in fear and trepidation.’

‘But, is it not your choice?’ asked the priest. ‘I mean, you could choose to accept our Lord and throw off your Jewish mantle. You might then better the lot of all your family.’

‘Did you see the carved decoration above the church door, Pastor?’ Jakob asked tightly. ‘I did. Even through the driving rain. The Judensau. It makes me sick!’

‘Judensau?’ The name was vaguely familiar.

‘You must know it. It is an image of a sow with Jews suckling from it and a rabbi looking between its legs.’

‘Of course,’ Bunting remembered. He had, after all, seen it every day for three years and other similar ones in other towns and churches. He had never given them a second thought, though. If he’d ever known the name of them, it was just in passing. ‘So?’

‘Well, here I am taking shelter in one of the very places that represents my people in such a humiliating and degrading manner! How about you? Where do you stand? These are the works of good Christian men, are they not?’ Jakob asked angrily.

‘Jakob, forgive me. You are right. I have passed these sculptures for years and yet I did not notice or care. Now that you remind me, I agree. They are truly despicable. But I don’t know why Christian men made them. Some men, it appears, just have hatred in their hearts.’

Jakob considered that for a few seconds. ‘Yet, if it is only some Christian men, as you say, then why don’t the others demand removal? They all see it when they come to worship on Sunday. I think the Church sanctions this behaviour. The people simply follow … as usual.’

Bunting did not know what to say to that. He recalled what the Pope had said to him a few weeks before: that the common man could not be held responsible, that they were like sheep. It was people in his position who held the ultimate responsibility.

By the time he had gathered his thoughts, Jakob had turned away and settled himself for sleep, leaving Bunting alone with his thoughts.