Sylvia (28 page)

Your blasphemy lies in your refusal to accept His will and not that people recognise in you the hand of God at work!'

‘But I am not a worthy vessel, Father,' I persisted.

‘There are none worthy, but some are called despite our sinfulness. Sylvia, I watch your work among the children and the poor and how what you earn is spent on feeding them and it is exceeding good.' He paused, then said, ‘But it is not sufficient, you must do more.'

‘More, Father? I would willingly, if you show me how.'

‘You must become a nun!' he said emphatically. ‘God's work is not just mornings spent with the street children and the poor, it is every moment of thy being.'

I was deeply shocked and had no immediate reply except to say, ‘Father, I am not yet ready for a nun's habit.'

‘Think upon it, my child. Do not kick against the thorns of righteousness. God's work is never easy, but His will is a divine instruction and
must
be obeyed.'

‘I have tried to do as much as I can, Father,' I said, a little hurt. From the day when he first had me sing the solo part in mass as part penance, I had attended every morning afterwards to do the same. I had been called upon to sing before the bishop on several occasions and sang again at Sunday worship. Every morning after mass I devoted to working among the street children and the poor. There were to my observation very few nuns who contributed as much as I did. I simply could not see myself cloistered in a convent with my every movement and thought controlled by an abbess who thought me all the while a peasant and used me for kitchen and garden duties.

I could not bring myself to decide upon Father Hermann's instructions, even though they had been couched as God's own word. If Father Hermann knew of my thirst for knowledge he had not taken this into consideration when asking me to become a novice in a nunnery. Learning was not his inclination and he admitted to being a poor student. I had never seen him with a book. Although he had composed the hymn
Summi Regis cor aveto
, which I sang constantly for his pleasure and whenever he presided as the priest who delivered the morning sermon, he had, he told me, received a great deal of help with its Latin transcription. His poems, though numerous, were simple in composition and mostly not written down and all in endless praise of Mary. While I would not say so to anyone, I thought they were simplistic and Reinhardt would have composed them a great deal better.

Master Israel had commenced to teach me Greek and Aramaic and I was greatly taken up with learning these two languages. While my work with Frau Sarah was of the least concern, I enjoyed it and it paid for food for the poor. It was all very well for Father Hermann to speak as he had. He had been ecstatically connected with the Virgin and the Church since the age of seven. At the age of twelve he had offered himself to the Premonstratensian monastery, but was too young to be accepted as a monk. Nevertheless he used his every available moment in prayer to Mary (whom he called ‘The mystical rose'), until he was ordained and could devote himself entirely to the cause of our Saviour and his beloved Virgin. Apart from being a very good repairer of clocks, he knew no other vocation. I did not see myself doing God's work wearing the habiliment of a nun and so I tried, though always gently but with no less determination, to resist what Father Hermann referred to as ‘Your divine calling'.

But now, with Master Israel having exhausted his knowledge of Latin and lacking any Latin text to take me further, I would have to choose to curtail my studies except for what I might find to read outside the libraries of the Church. The alternative was to take the chance that by becoming a novice in a nunnery I might be allowed access to a library.

Reinhardt frequently announced that I was lucky and that by remaining with me he shared in my luck. Now he too was in a dilemma. He had found a lute player, Jacques, a Frenchman of exceeding skill and great beauty, and was much in love. But the lute player wished to return home and the ratcatcher was most distraught.

‘But if he loves you, why would he wish to return home?' I asked.

‘He is contracted to the noble Count St Gilles as musician and if he does not return his reputation will be destroyed in France. He begs me to go with him and swears his love for me is the equal of my own for him and that they will equally applaud me for my flute in France,' Reinhardt lamented.

The thought of losing my beloved ratcatcher, rapscallion though he might be and foppish, deceitful, boastful and often blasphemous, but always cheerful and clever and concerned for my wellbeing, was too awful to contemplate. But it must be admitted that my work with Father Hermann and Nicholas among the poor every morning and my study each afternoon meant that I only saw him when at night he played and I sang.

‘I pray for your redemption every day, Reinhardt, but if you love Jacques with all thy heart then you must go to France with him, though I shall miss you more than I can possibly say.'

‘Sylvia, you are my talisman, since meeting you beside the brook my life has been most fortunate. All my life I have wanted to be a musician but lacked the courage. As a ratcatcher my vocation fed and clothed me well enough and I never wanted for anything. If I say so myself, I was amongst the best of my kind, possibly the best, for I have never met another who with his pipe can call so many rats to their doom. To be the best at something is better than being only among those who do something well enough. I was most afraid that as a musician I would only amuse others, a wandering minstrel of no great importance or respect. Since we have worked together I now know myself elevated to be among the best with my instrument in Germany. It is you I must thank for this.'

‘Nay, thank Frau Sarah!' I protested. ‘It was she who has given us both the opportunity.'

‘Aye, but you, Sylvia Honeyeater, supplied the inspiration.'

And so now, aged almost fourteen, I was once again at a crossroads in my life. I had performed often enough to know that I did not depend on Reinhardt, even though we fitted hand in glove and no other musician would suit as well. Frau Sarah would not like his departure, because between us we had made her a pretty penny and still commanded a greater fee than any other musicians or entertainers under her management. But she would not be destitute without him or, for that matter, myself, and she would know we had served her well and with loyalty. Several Christian folk, seeing the success of the Jewess, had attempted to do the same thing and in the process attracted four of Frau Sarah's entertainers. But all the rest stayed and the four who had left were for the most part malcontents or thought their talents greater than she saw them to be. Her judgement was seldom wrong and her business would continue to prosper.

So with Father Hermann almost daily exhorting me to become a novice nun, and Master Israel, my beloved teacher, unable to take my Latin studies any further, and with Reinhardt likely to depart with his French lover, I found myself confused and undecided. It was then that I was summoned to see Father Paulus at St Martin's church.

I had seen him from time to time since the inquiry into the blood on the rose. But he was by nature withdrawn, and had quickly seen that Father Hermann saw me as his protégé, and had stayed away so we had not cultivated a deep friendship, remaining all the while most cordial towards each other. He would sometimes ask if I would sing at St Martin's, once or twice over Lent or on a holy feast day. If I appear to be familiar with them, or speak as if I now saw myself on equal terms with the two priests, this would not be true. I was ever the sprat and they the big fish in the sea.

Upon my arrival at St Martin's Father Paulus led me into the baptistry and when we were seated he took my hand and looked most sincerely into my eyes. ‘Sylvia, the blessed Father Hermann Joseph has asked me to talk with you about entering a convent.' I dropped my eyes and he must have seen that I seemed immediately disconsolate. ‘Nay, please look at me, child. What I have to say is, I think, important.'

‘Yes, Father,' I said meekly, looking into his pale blue eyes, their whites reddened from working late under candlelight.

‘Sylvia, you know that we, Father Hermann and myself, think you are divinely blessed, and so it is not unexpected that he should want you to devote your life to the work of our Saviour.

There is, after all, no greater calling.'

‘But, Father . . .' I began to protest.

‘No, pray hear me out, my child. What I have to say may yet surprise you. I have also had a visit from the Jew, Israel of Bonn.'

‘Master Israel! He came to visit you?' I exclaimed, surprised.

‘Aye, in a matter concerning you.'

‘But he is a Jew! As a priest do you not think him Satan's child?'

Father Paulus laughed. ‘I am a scribe and a scholar and do not always agree with every doctrinal
veritas
of the Holy Roman Church. Master Israel, as you call him, is a good man and God looks first into a man's heart before he passes judgement on his faith.'

‘And what of the infidel?' I asked, knowing I should not be arguing, but it was Master Israel himself who taught me that good argument is the pathway to truth and in discussion lies the seeds of the resolution to most human problems.

‘It is the same with the infidel, Jew, Gentile, Muslim – we share the one God. Christians do not always behave well and there are both Jews and infidels who have shown us charity in the past when we Christians have shown them none. “Judge not lest thee be judged,” saith the Lord.' He smiled. ‘We talked about chess.'

‘Chess?'

‘Aye, he claims you are very good.'

I blushed furiously. ‘Nay, Father, I know only what he has taught me.'

‘Chess is an easy game to teach and a very difficult one to play. The teacher, while important if he is a master, is only one part; the quality of mind and the courage of the heart are the others.'

‘Do you play chess, Father?'

‘Since I was a child. I should like to play you, Sylvia.' He rose and walked over to a curtained partition and parting the curtains withdrew a chessboard already set up and placed it on the bench between us.

‘Now? You wish us to play now?' I asked, surprised.

‘Aye, there is much resting on this contest,' he warned with a smile.

By warning me that more than the game rested on the result, he had already made his first move and I mine, for I recognised this ploy to divide my concentration, thinking I must win as failure would not be to my advantage.
Thank you, Master Israel
, I said silently.

I would like to say I lost and then returned another day to win, or even that we reached a stalemate as it would make for a better telling. But hallelujah! I trounced him within the hour. Male, vanity is thy name
.
He had thought himself against a peasant girl but did not realise that I had been well tutored by a Jew. They are a people who are taught in their cradle to read a Gentile's mind and to use their brains to ward off the blows of those who would do harm to them.

Father Paulus was wrong. It is not
only
the quality of mind and the courage of the heart that is required in playing chess – understanding the innermost nature of your opponent is the essential difference. Master Israel had taught me to watch every mannerism, the eyes, hands, gestures, movements, sweat, rapidity of blinking and breathing, then, if possible to touch, seemingly by accident, an opponent's skin and read its temperature. Chess is always won narrowly by one of two equally competent players. But it is not always the grand and bold advance or the superior intelligence, but often the smallest observation that accounts for the winning move. That is why it is more than the game of life. It is also the answer to the question, ‘How must a Jew play chess with a Gentile?' If the Jew wins then the Gentile will know that the Jew understands his nature, both his weaknesses and his strengths, and will use both well when they do business together.

Father Paulus remained silent for fully a minute as he examined the chessboard, then he shook his head. ‘My arrogance has brought me undone, I must pray for humility.' He looked up. ‘I confess you continue to surprise me, my child.' Then, suddenly brusque, he said, ‘Chess was not why Israel of Bonn came to see me. He asked if I could make the church library available to you. He admitted that he could no longer teach you as you have reached the extent of his own knowledge of Latin text and he lacks books and manuscript. It was both a brave and worthy thing for him to do as it is not easy for a Jew to ask such a favour from a priest. He must have a great regard for you, Sylvia.'

‘Thank you, Father, for telling me this. I too have a great love for him.'

Father Paulus cleared his throat. ‘I would caution you to be careful to talk about a Jew in this familiar way. With myself it matters little, but others may not view it the same.' He glanced down at the chessboard and shook his head ruefully, then without looking up from the board he said somewhat shyly, ‘I agree with Israel of Bonn – you are sufficiently intelligent and worthy to learn more of Latin.' He looked up at me. ‘I have decided I shall be your tutor.'

He must have seen my expression of delight because I could see from the shine to his pale eyes that he was pleased. ‘Thank you, Father, I shall not let you down and pray only that I may please you.'