OKEDEAN CHURCH was small, crowded with the people of both villages. Here, as in Reverend Seckford’s church, they evidently cleaved as much as possible to the old ways, the church smelling heavily of incense, saints still in their niches. I wondered what Hugh’s parents, the reformers, would have made of it. Hobbey, Dyrick and I took places at the front of the congregation in accordance with our rank, next to a stocky, middle-aged man and his haughty-looking wife, whom Hobbey introduced to us as the owner of the neighbouring manor, Sir Luke and Lady Corembeck. Sir Luke, Hobbey said proudly, was a justice of the peace who would be attending his hunt tomorrow. For the first time I heard deference in his voice.
The vicar gave a sermon calling on all to pray and work for the defence of the country, for the men to attend practice with the local militia. I looked at the Doom painting behind him, Christ on a throne in judgement, his face serene, angels guiding the virtuous to heaven while below the pale and naked sinners tumbled into a lake of fire. I remembered Feaveryear saying soldiers and sailors who died in battle without finding salvation must end in Hell. What had he been running from last night? Where was he?
After the service Hobbey paused for some more words with Sir Luke in the doorway, the servants and villagers walking past us. Lady Corembeck addressed Abigail a couple of times, but she answered in monosyllables, sunk in apathy. At length Hobbey parted from the Corembecks with much bowing, and we walked down the path to the lych gate. Then we saw that a group of about thirty Hoyland villagers were waiting just outside the church, whole families blocking our way. Ettis was at their head. I heard a sharp intake of breath from Hobbey.
Ettis walked over to stand boldly in front of him, his square face set hard. Fulstowe stepped to Hobbey’s side and put his hand to his dagger.
‘No need for that, Master Fulstowe,’ Ettis said quietly. ‘I want only to say something to your master.’ He indicated the villagers behind him. ‘See those people, Master Hobbey. Look hard, you will see some that your steward here has been pressing to abandon their land. My support is growing. We intend to bring a case in the Court of Requests.’ Dyrick looked at me suspiciously. Ettis continued, ‘So be warned, sir, keep your men off our woodlands, for they will shortly be subject to legal proceedings. I tell you this before all these people here assembled, including Sir Luke Corembeck, our justice of the peace.’
Abigail marched up to him. ‘Churl and knave to torment us so!’ she shouted, right into his face.
Ettis stared back at her with contempt. Then David ran past his mother and stood before the villagers, his face red. ‘Hedge-pigs! Lumps! Cattle! When I am lord here I will drive you all out, you will all beg, beg!’
Some of the villagers laughed. ‘Get back to the nursery!’ one shouted.
David looked round in helpless frustration. Then he gave a strange, puzzled frown. His limbs started to jerk, little flickering spasms, his eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed on the ground. The villagers took a step back; there were frightened murmurs from some of the women. Abigail put her hands to her cheeks and uttered a gasping groan. On the ground David was twitching wildly now, like a puppet.
‘What’s he doing?’ someone called out.
‘He’s possessed, get the priest!’
Then someone said, ‘It’s the falling sickness,’ and Abigail groaned once more.
It was; I had seen it in London. That dread disease where those afflicted seem normal most of the time but can be struck down, out of the blue, to lie jerking on the ground. Some believed it a type of madness, others a form of possession.
Abigail sank on her knees and tried to still her writhing son. ‘Help me, Ambrose, for pity’s sake!’ she cried. ‘He’ll bite his tongue!’ I thought, so this has happened before.
Fulstowe unbuckled his dagger from his belt and thrust the leather scabbard between David’s teeth. His lips were flecked with white foam now. I saw Dyrick looking on, astonished. Hobbey stared at his son, then at the watching crowd. He called out, in a voice full of rage and pain, ‘Well, you have seen! Now in God’s name go, leave us!’ Next to him, Hugh stood looking blankly at David. No pity, nothing.
The villagers did not move. A woman said, ‘Remember that carpenter who came to live in the village – he had the falling sickness!’
‘Ay, we stoned him out!’
Sir Luke Corembeck came to life. ‘Disperse, I order you!’ he called.
People began to move away, though they looked back at David, with fear and loathing. He lay still a moment, then sat up, groaning. He looked up at his mother. ‘My head hurts,’ he said and began to cry.