The leper saw much, but registered nothing anymore. His mind was as numb as the stumps of his feet. He didn’t even turn his head as the boy fired stones from his sling at his sticks, jeering and boasting to his sister that he could knock the old crow off his perch. It was the boy’s revenge on the leper for making the boy hide as if he was scared, which of course he wasn’t, not for a moment.

The stones struck Ralph’s back, leaving small dark bruises, but he was almost grateful for the sting. He could at least feel that. He didn’t know where he was going, but he would hobble through the night and the next day and the next until he dropped from exhaustion, and even that would not be far enough away from this accursed village. For he knew the smell of the burning would cling to him like a drunken whore until they tumbled into the grave together. Ralph was not afraid of the dark, or the wolves or the Owlman. What could any of them do to him now that would not be a blessing?

Behind him, the little village of Ulewic hunkered down for the night, wrapping itself in the ragged smoke of a hundred hearth fires. The ditches and middens farted their noxious odours into the twilight air, but the village was comforted by the smell. It was the smell of its own fart after all. It shuffled down into the damp earth and its wooden bones creaked. Under the cover of darkness, bedbugs crawled out to feed on its frowsty flesh and the rats fought for its shit. Ulewic moaned a little in its sleep, that’s all; scratched, but otherwise it did not stir. It was complacent, senile, old, tired enough to sleep for a thousand years, and why not? Those troublesome women had gone and would not come again.

With outstretched wings the barn owl, silent and pale as a dead child, flapped slowly across Ralph’s path and the leper lifted his head. The winged cat from the threshing barn was seeking a new home. He turned his face away. Better not to think, not to feel, not to remember. He slammed his crutch against his foot as if to reassure himself his body at least was dead. Fiercely he dragged himself on, then turned, suddenly desperate for one last look at her, but the owl had vanished.

finis

In the first half of the fourteenth century, Europe was experiencing a period of change and unrest remarkably similar to the present day. There were significant and rapid climatic changes resulting in widespread droughts, flooding, and crop failure. The changes were so noticeable and drastic that the Pope ordered special prayers to be said in every church five times a day.

The fertility of both animals and humans had fallen markedly and people and livestock were becoming prey to new diseases sweeping the countryside, which created a climate of fear and suspicion. Lay people began to ignore ecclesiastical authorities, even on some occasions throwing priests out of their own churches and engaging in bizarre cults. Despite the terrible punishments meted out for crimes, general lawlessness, especially among young male gangs, was widespread.

Against this background a remarkable movement emerged in Europe that became known as the Beguinage Communities. Thousands of women who did not want to marry or take the veil began to set themselves up in female collectives. The women farmed and supported themselves through the practise of different crafts, particularly weaving. They traded, established hospitals, educated girls, and wrote many books. They preached openly on the streets; they translated the Bible into the local vernacular, long before this was officially done by the Church; and when they were excommunicated, these Catholic women took on the priestly role of administering the sacraments to one another and to others who were barred by the Church. They took no vows except that of celibacy for as long as they chose to stay within the beguinage, and they were free to leave whenever they wished. A number of the hospitals and schools which were founded by beguines in the Middle Ages still flourish today in the cities of Northern Europe.

Beguines often broke the power of local male guilds by deliberately undercutting them through their ability to trade via the network of beguinages. Some beguinages were protected by powerful and wealthy patrons, but many beguines encountered violent opposition from Church and Society. Beguinages were attacked; their books were burned. The beguines were arrested on charges of heresy and gross immorality.

Some beguines were charged with “Heresy of the Free Spirit,” because they believed in a doctrine similar to that held by Quakers today, which declared that the physical sacraments were not necessary to Christian practice or salvation, and that Christians did not need the mediation of priests. A number of beguines were burned at the stake for this belief, including Marguerite Porete, author of The Mirror of Simple Souls, who, in 1310, was executed for heresy in Paris.

The Beguinage in Bruges, known as the Vineyard, was founded in 1245 by the Countess of Flanders, Margareta of Constantinople. Despite attempts by both Church and Reformation to destroy it, it remained a beguinage until 1927, when it was taken over by Benedictine nuns. Though many of the houses and the gateway have been rebuilt over the years, it is still one of the most peaceful and enchanting corners of Bruges. It is now a UNESCO World Heritage site and visitors who pass over the bridge and under the word Sauvegarde may freely wander around its beautiful and timeless cobbled lanes.

Beguinages flourished for several centuries in Europe, especially in Belgium, the Netherlands, France, and Germany, but for years historians claimed that there were never any beguinages in Britain, although many women from England went to join beguinages in France and Belgium. But recent research has revealed a number of tantalising hints that attempts were made to set them up in England during the Middle Ages, but they quickly disappeared within a few years, for reasons which so far have not come to light. This novel is, of course, a fictional portrayal of an attempt to found one such beguinage on English soil.

FLANDERS WAS AT THIS PERIOD RULED by the Counts of Flanders. By 1256 Bruges had already secured the English cloth monopoly, growing prosperous on the cloth it made from English wool, so much so that the city had gained an almost unique autonomy to govern its own affairs. Mathew of Westminster wrote, “All the nations of the world are kept warm by the wool of England made into cloth by the men of Flanders.”

The Counts of Flanders were pledged to the French king, but the powerful Flemish Guilds supported the English throne in order to maintain their supplies of wool, and at the end of the thirteenth century they invited Edward I of England to send an army to help them repel the French. Ties between Flanders and England were further strengthened by Edward III who lived in Ghent, where his fourth son, John of Gaunt, was born in 1340. John of Gaunt’s son became Henry IV of England. Throughout the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries trade between the east coast of England and Flanders was so strong that it would appear that more goods and people travelled to and from Norfolk and Flanders than between Norfolk and London.

THERE WERE A NUMBER OF FAMINES which affected England from 1290 onwards, due to the changing weather conditions. The year 1321-22 was particularly bad in the east of England where extreme suffering was caused by failed grain harvests during which yields fell as much as sixty percent. This was compounded by flooding as well as an outbreak of liver fluke in sheep and cattle murrain.

The 1321 outbreak of cattle murrain was believed to have been anthrax, of which there are three methods of infection. The most common is cutaneous anthrax, which enters through cuts or abrasions on the skin, resulting in painless ulcers with a black necrotic centre. This spoils hides, but is rarely lethal. Inhalation anthrax, where the spores enter the lungs, results in a flulike illness with severe breathing difficulties and was, in those days, often fatal. The third method of infection is intestinal anthrax, which the child Oliver dies from in the novel. It was contracted by eating infected meat, causing severe inflammation of the intestinal tract with bleeding, and usually resulted in rapid death.