The Leper's Return by Michael Jecks Read Free Book Online

used to be a goldsmith, but that was a long time ago, long before I came here to Crediton. Now I help others…”
    It was rude to push a man, but Ralph felt sure that the rider wanted to unburden himself of something. For all his evident prosperity, he looked uneasy, as if he had a confession to make. His mien was all too familiar to the monk; men and women would often accost a monk or priest to talk, and the reason was usually some banal misdemeanor which could be dismissed with a minor penance. On such occasions it was always tempting to avoid offering any solace, or to advise a visit to the church rather than waste time listening to foolish stories. He had only met Peter Clifford the once, but Ralph had formed a high opinion of him. The Dean was the vicar of the parishioners, and Ralph was sure that if this stranger needed absolution, Peter Clifford was well able to ease his mind. Yet he must know who his vicar was, so why was he so apparently keen to waylay an unknown monk in the street and engage him in conversation?
    “Sir, if you have a need to speak to someone, I am sure the Dean will be pleased to offer you solace, but if you would prefer to discuss things with me…?” He let his voice trail off questioningly.
    At his words the man shot him a quick look. “I should like to speak with you, if you can spare me a little time, yes, Brother.”
    Ralph sighed inwardly. The man must be more than twice his age, and here he was, searching for answers. The monk was all too aware of his own unfitness for the task, but he nodded as if content. “You should tell me your name first, then. I am called Ralph.”
    “My apologies, Brother. My enthusiasm got the better of me. My name is Godfrey—Godfrey of London.”
    “Good. Well, master, why do you not come into my chapel and I will listen to your problem.”
    “Your chapel?” Godfrey asked, brows raised in surprise.
    Ralph nodded to the little building. “St. Lawrence’s.”
    “You’re the leper master?”
    “Yes, but you have nothing to fear, I—”
    “What do you know of fear, little monk? You know nothing—nothing! You’re hardly old enough to grow a beard, for God’s sake! You can’t know what it’s like to have a daughter who…Oh, what’s the point!” Whipping his mount and digging in his spurs, Godfrey suddenly jerked his horse’s head round, and made off along the street, scattering hawkers from his path.
    Ralph stood gaping for a long time. It wasn’t the rudeness that made him stare along the road; it was the restless passion in Godfrey’s outburst. It had not been directed at Ralph—of that the monk was quite convinced. It was the explosion of a man pushed to despair, as if he had seen in Ralph someone who might be able to help him, only to have his hopes dashed.
    That made Ralph pause thoughtfully, but he had little time to waste worrying about wealthy burgesses; he had work to begin. He walked to the gate and made himself known to the old leper who guarded it.
    Ralph was torn with sympathy for the old man. His face was rotted, the palate gone, and with it his upper teeth, giving him the look more of a brutish animal than a human. In his two-fingered, rough gloves and the coarse material of his hose, jerkin and cloak, he seemed subhuman, just a thing. And that, Ralph knew, was how he would be treated by the people of the town, like a cur to be cursed and kicked, reviled by adults and children alike.
    He swallowed the lump that rose in his throat, threatening to choke him. The old leper pointed him to his little room, and Ralph set off, nodding and greeting those of his flock that he met on his way. All were quiet, shuffling their feet and staring down, fearful of meeting his eye until they knew him better, nervous in the presence of their new master, and Ralph had to blink away tears of sympathy at the sight of their deformities: many had stumps where their hands or feet should have been; most had faces disfigured and twisted into nightmarish