Chapter II

Upon Easter Sunday Meg and Gilbert, her husband, having risen early, washed themselves well as was fitting, put on such new garments as they had, and, taking their walking-sticks into their hands, set out while yet it was dark to go to Mass at the Town Church.

As they went by the way and the Easter sun rose up red as a great fire upon their left hands, Gilbert began to talk in right cheerful and Christian fashion, for, albeit he was somedeal rough in his manners and no hypocrite to talk religion in matters secular, nevertheless he was a true son of the Church, and the sound of the Easter bells coming through the calm air of early morning filled him with much delight.

‘Hearken,’ quoth he, ‘never have I heard a sweeter sound of bells; needs must they ring so from here to Jerusalem, which is the middle of the world, and all the souls in Heaven and on Earth rejoice this day, yea, and those in Hell also, for as good Master Parson saith, on this day the very damned have respite from their pains. Is not the sound of these salvation bells sweet to thine ears, Meg, my wife?’

‘I did not know thou wert a religious,’ quoth Meg sneeringly.

‘Nay, no religious am I, good Meg, a plain man and a lay, but a Christian betimes, as all men must be, and especially on a jolly Easter Day like this. Methinks I could almost make a vow to go to the alehouse less often hereafter, except I am no hypocrite. Look how the sun rises through yon wood. He cometh up all glorious like the sweet Christ from the tomb. Folk say that he danceth upon this day for very joy that our Lord is risen.’

‘Yea,’ quoth Meg and no more.

‘To-day,’ continued Gilbert, ‘the Pope will stand in his great church at Rome before the True Cross of Christ and bless all Christian folk from East to West. Yea, Meg, my wife, it is a blessed thing that we lived not of old ere this great salvation came in, else we should have altogether perished with the just heathen, whereas now I may go to the alehouse or the dice as often as I will, and have more joy hereafter than Master Virgil or Master Cato or any of those righteous ancients of whom we hear so much from Master Parson, and who never saw the true light or heard of Our Lady or Christ.’

‘Yea,’ quoth Meg and no more.

‘Upon Holy Day, look thou,’ went on Gilbert, ‘we Christian folk go up to the Altar and eat the very Body and Blood of Christ, and thereby become partakers with Him in everlasting joy; so being deceased and shoved into our graves, we shall yet rise again like Him and live in delight and bliss for ever and ever. For these blessed privileges, being a plain man as I am, and of no great merits in myself, I am bound to say “Deo Gratias,” and therefore should we this morning creep on our knees to the Cross and kiss it for a jewel, for it bore Christ’s Body to our boot. Is it not so, Meg, my wife?’

‘Yea,’ quoth Meg.

By this time they were gotten near the village and could see the Town Church.

‘Look now,’ quoth Gilbert, ‘how the people throng; they pour through the doorway like water over a mill-dam. Marry, but I have not seen such crowds this seven year; there is that good fellow Hob of the Cross and the Bailey’s wife and John the Miller, who would not give thee more than tenpence the bushel for thy corn.’

So they came into the Church and were fain to stand during the Blessed Sacrament of the Mass owing to the thick press of people. The Church was decked with fair flowers from the fields, a hundred white tapers burnt like stars before the Altar, a sweet smoke of incense went curling up among the rafters, and little clergy boys with faces like unto angels’ sang loudly and clearly the Easter Hymn:

‘Alleluia, alleluia,
O filii et filiae.
Rex coelestis, Rex gloriae,
Morte surrexit hodie.
Alleluia.’

Lit by candleshine, with white lilies round her feet, stood God’s Mother clasping her little Son, and He stretched His little arms out and smiled towards them through the odorous mist. Gilbert’s eyes filled with happy tears, and he said to himself as Master Parson had taught him to say whenever he entered the Church, ‘I am glad in these things that are said to me; let us go in the House of the Lord: Our feet shall stand within thy walls, O thou Jerusalem.’ But Meg said no word nor joined in the holy responses.

Then they went up in order to receive the Blessed Host, and Gilbert received it first, kneeling with due reverence. Then Meg knelt in her turn, but when the Priest put the Host upon her tongue instead of swallowing it forthwith as Holy Church commands, she put it into her cheek with her tongue and kept it there. Afterwards, while Gilbert greeted in kindly fashion the folk at the Church door, she found means privily to convey it into a kerchief and so into the pocket of her kirtle. Having exchanged greetings with many folk, they went their way homewards, Gilbert talking cheerfully as before but Meg moody and silent.

When they reached Four Lane Ends, quoth Gilbert to his wife, ‘I’ faith, good Meg, I am clammed. For the love of Christ, Who this morning rose from the dead for our sakes, hasten thee about dinner.’

‘Thou shalt have it shortly,’ answered Meg, ‘for here is some bacon and young greenstuff. But do thou meanwhile go to the Halfacre and look to the swine.’

‘Yea,’ quoth he, ‘but see it be ready when I return.’

Meg watched him going until he turned the corner by the Red Headland. Then quickly she ran behind the house and, bringing hence a leathern bucket, hastened with it to the inner room where stood their bed. In the corner of the room was a strong oak chest, bound with iron strips, studded with heavy nails and locked with a great lock, wherein was a great key. She threw herself on her knees before it, turned the key with both hands, and with an effort flung open the heavy lid. She laughed loudly and long. Then she rose to her feet and brought out from her pocket a doubled-up kerchief. She unfolded it and turned the contents into her hand with scrupulous care. She held her hand up high to the light of the little window; there rested the Holy Wafer, the Body and Blood of Christ. A beam of golden light shot suddenly through the window slit and rested upon it like a sign out of heaven or a ray from the eye of God. The woman laughed to see her Creator lie there so white and still in the hollow of the palm of the thing that He had made.

‘Ah, little Jesus,’ she cried stridently, gloating like a Devil of Hell,--‘Ah, little Jesus, that didst mock me and despise me and cozen me, when I prayed to Thee at the market; now shall I mock Thee and despise Thee and cozen Thee much more than ever Thou didst to me. I asked Thee for twopence more a bushel, for six little stingy pennies, and Thou wouldst not give me a single one from all Thy infinite store, nay, Thou tookest away even that which I might have had. Now all the pennies in the world shall not save Thee from my vengeance. I was hot, and wayworn, and famished, and thirsty, and Thou hadst no pity on me; now Thou art alone and helpless, and I will have no pity on Thee.’

She laughed like a wild woman and ran her free hand through her hair, until the red locks fell over her cruel blue eyes. Then she burst into a frenzied song of sorcery.

‘Seven smiths sat working,
Working spears of hate;
Seven men came riding,
Riding, riding late.
Seven smiths sat working,
Working spears of woe;
Seven men came riding,
Riding never mo.
So in and about,
When the moon’s put out,
Under rain, under snow
Must my little boy go.’

Kneeling, she carefully put the Holy Wafer in the bottom of the chest, and taking the bucket in her hand, emptied therefrom a full hideous toad with warty body and yellow eyes, black and terrible to gaze upon. O shame, O horror, O deadly sin! The poisonous beast fell with a dull thud beside the Most Holy Body of Our Lord. The daughter of Hell slammed to the heavy lid and locked the chest. She ran and hid the key in the bucket behind the house.