Joachim's Magic, page 4
“Your prayers, I heard you pray,” he blurted out. “‘Twas a strange unknown tongue.”
For the first time, Dougham laughed.
“That was Hebrew,” he said, “the language of all Jewish people. No matter what our place of birth or where we live, all Jews speak the same language. Know you what it means?”
Reis shook his head.
“Praised art Thou, O God, Ruler of the universe.” He paused, then gave Reis a push.
“Now to bed, or you will do no work for me on the morrow.”
CHAPTER 5
THE BEAR
SOMETHING HAD CHANGED with the men, something imperceptible. Reis noted that they stayed far back from Dougham, though he had always worked alongside them, swinging pick and ax with the best. Only Master Hariot kept up with him stride for stride, on occasion talking earnestly about some new way of smelting, some of Dougham’s ideas for a hotter furnace, another ridge of land he wanted to explore.
The Englishmen with the group strode forward, talked a while then fell back. Only the German miners kept their distance, gesturing and muttering in their guttural tones. At one point, Reis saw Master Hariot clap Dougham on the back.
“Pay no heed,” Reis heard him say but though he strained his ears, Dougham’s reply was lost in the soughing of the wind through the branches. The storm, which had held off from last evening, was fast approaching. The thunder boomed and lightning lit the treetops.
“We’ll be caught in this,” Thomas Hariot called and signaled the men to hasten. But just as he spoke the rain came whipping down, drenching them all. It was a cold rain full of the promise of snow. Reis could hear the men cursing, English curses and German ones. He didn’t blame them. The rain made the going difficult; the wind blew with fierce intensity. He was bitterly cold and thoroughly soaked by the time they reached the last mile.
“The last is the hardest, eh lad?” Master Hariot gave him a smile. He looked as comical as the rest, with his hair slicked down and his hat’s brim filled with water which dripped, also, from his beard. Reis blinked his eyes to clear them. Behind him, puffing and panting, Jeremie slogged through the rain and mud.
“My stomach still hurts,” he complained.
“And probably will ‘til you shit the rest out. What a blockhead you were,” and Reis laughed. Then he suddenly remembered Dougham’s words and was instantly sorry. Jeremie sniffled and wiped his arm across his nose.
The sky lit up with lightning and they watched as a bolt ripped the heavens in two and streaked down toward the woodlands. There was a thunderous crack and the smell of sulfur in the air.
“A tree’s been struck,” called Master Hariot and at almost the same time, a fearful bellowing arose. The men stopped in their tracks. Master Hariot reached quickly for his musket and powder.
“Damnation!” he exclaimed. “The powder’s wet.”
“Not mine,” said Master Haring, stepping forward. “See.” And he pulled a pouch of powder from under his thick cape.
“I keep it close to mein heart,” he laughed heartily, then repeated it in German for the others. They, too, began to laugh.
Thomas Hariot took shelter under Master Haring’s broad cape and quickly loaded the musket. He cocked it and held it at the ready.
“A wick,” he called. “Quickly now.”
Jeremie tugged on Reis’s arm.
“What is it? What is making that horrible noise?”
“Why, ‘tis a bear,” called Master Haring in his thick voice. “A great big bear, mean and angry. Hungry for the likes of a young boy.”
Jeremie gasped.
“Don’t tease the lad,” Master Hariot said, stepping out to face the woods. Just as he did, a large brown animal came lumbering directly toward them.
Jeremie squealed loudly, the men cursed. Some of them held their ground, others ran toward the river’s edge. The bear saw them and stopped abruptly, rising up on its hind legs. It gave a mighty roar. Master Hariot struck the flint and held it to the wick, which quickly caught. The wick flared against the powder and the ball flew speedily with a loud cracking sound. Master Hariot’s shoulder took the force of the musket’s kick but the ball hit the bear squarely in the chest. The anguished animal screamed its rage and pain, dropped to all fours and took a few more lumbering steps. Then it fell to its side. It tried to raise its head but quickly expired. The men gathered around Master Hariot, those who’d headed toward the river came running back. Jeremie was jumping up and down.
“Oh, you hit it, you hit it!”
“Hist boy, stay clear. It may still have some life left in it.”
Without hesitation, Master Haring took his knife and moved swiftly to the fallen beast. He kicked it once then grabbed its head and slit its throat. Reis saw the thick, dark blood rush out to be washed away in the soaking rain. He watched Master Haring hack off the head and hold it aloft.
“The prize ist yours,” he said victoriously. Then he walked over and presented the head to Thomas Hariot who took it, bowing in acknowledgment.
“What was that all about?” Jeremie whispered to Reis.
“The head of the beast,” Reis answered, “goes to the one who made the kill.”
By now the rain was lessening and the men decided not to trek the last mile but to rest and take what they wanted of the meat. Under a sheltering rock, they managed to build a fire, sputtering though it was, and Masters Haring and Greutter carved sections of the bear and wrapped them in cloth to bring back with them.
They roasted a portion of the leg over the fire and while it cooked, laughed and joked and drank some ale. It was the first time Reis had seen them relax since The Tyger laid anchor.
The smell of bear roasting made Reis salivate. When Master Haring handed him a chunk of sizzling meat, its juices running out, he burned his mouth in his haste to stuff it in and promptly spat it out. Master Haring laughed, then simply speared him a second piece. They ate ravenously for the dried meat, bread and vegetables which they’d been eating tasted nothing like this succulent meal. Reis watched Dougham shake his head at the proffered meat, then pull out some bread and eat that instead. Again he shook his head and waved the portion away when Master Haring pressed him. From the group Erhart Greutter’s voice called out,
“Our famed Dougham does not eat bear meat?”
Dougham didn’t answer but got up and went to the edge of the clearing. The rain had lessened; only a tell-tale echo of thunder was heard in the distance. Even the trees ceased rustling.
“Essen, essen, Master Gaunse,” Greutter’s voice came again, a mocking tone to it.
“Or are you perhaps too gut mit uns essen?”
“Silence, Erhart,” said Thomas Hariot with authority. “A man may choose to eat what and where he wishes and leave what he does not want.”
Jeremie poked Reis hard in the ribs, his mouth full.
“I told you, didn’t I, his religion forbids him to eat meat.”
“That’s not true,” Reis replied. “For I saw him eat…,” and then he stopped.
Perhaps it was true, after all. When the man had brought the hares back to their diggings, his master had refused those as well, preferring to eat the stale bread and thick cheese. Why would Dougham not eat of this delicious meat? He got up and fetched some ale to bring to him. “Master,” he said and offered the mug. Dougham took it.
“The meat is delicious.”
“Eat then.”
“I can get you a choice piece.”
“I cannot eat of it.”
“But why…?”
Dougham said nothing, so Reis persisted.
“But why not?”
“Because it is unclean!” Dougham snapped suddenly, turning around to face him. His eyes were flashing. “It is not sanctified….”
He stopped and turned away again.
“No fault of yours,” he began, “but this is not your concern, only mine…. Go back to the others, young Reis, and eat your fill, Trouble me no more.”
He stood there not saying another word. Reis shrugged his shoulders then and went back close to the fire. He shoved the chunk into his own mouth so they wouldn’t notice that Dougham hadn’t taken it. What a strange man his master was. Perhaps Master Greutter was right, and the others as well. To turn down meat when one was hungry…. It just didn’t make sense!
The men divided the bear evenly, which only added to their loads and the packs that Jeremie and Reis carried. Master Hariot ordered them to dig a large hole and bury the carcass, “to keep the wolves from coming,” he said. Under great protest the men dug a pit and covered the remains with earth and rocks. It was late when they returned to the encampment, greeted with loud cheers by those who stayed behind.
But Jeremie’s and Reis’s jobs were not over. They had to unpack the bags and those of their masters, then take the bear meat to the smoke house where Master Bremige hung the pieces on large hooks over a smoky fire.
“First ve smoke it,” he said in his thick German accent, “then ve hang it und store it. This way ve alvays haf food. Ist gut?”
Reis collapsed at the end of the day, near exhaustion. His shoulder muscles were sore and his back ached. Hugh Salter came running over.“You were attacked by a bear?” he asked, his mouth agape. “How big was it, how fierce, did it kill anyone?”
“It was of good size,” Reis said and, seeing the boy’s excited face, added, “indeed, ‘twas a fearsome creature and when it stood on its two hind legs….”
“Master Hariot shot it readily,” Jeremie embellished the story, “but yet the bear moved and twitched its legs. It made to stand….”
Reis laughed and held up his hand.
“Enough,” he said. “Master Hariot finished it right off. But still it was a terrible fright.”
Hugh made them tell the story over and over again, how the lightning split the sky asunder, how the giant oak tree fell and scared the bear out into the open, how Thomas Hariot’s aim was steady and true, how the bear fell with the ball deep in its chest.
“And what of you while we were gone?”
Hugh shrugged. “I cleaned more boots than I can count and I scrubbed Master Snelling’s tools and cleaned the huts and….”
“Hold! You worked as hard as we did.”
“I wish I’d been there,” Hugh’s voice was full of envy. “I wouldn’t have been scared. I wouldn’t have run away.”
“No time for either,” Reis smiled. “But you stayed drier than we did.”
After a while Reis got up to clean and polish Dougham’s muddied boots, and help Master Hariot clean his weapon. Dougham was once again nowhere in sight, so he readily went to fetch the musket for Master Hariot and watched him take it apart to clean the barrel.
“Always keep your weapon clean and at the ready,” he told Reis. “For, like the bear today, you never know when you might need it.”
“I wish I could shoot like that.”
“Indeed, has no one shown you?”
Reis shook his head. In truth, he had never seen Dougham shoulder a musket.
“Then I shall teach you,” Master Hariot smiled. “For ‘tis a good thing to know how to protect yourself.”
CHAPTER 6
QUESTIONS
“MASTER HARIOT…,” REIS began, but hesitated. He wanted to ask him about Dougham Gaunse, to learn more about his master. But he couldn’t find the right words.
“I see you’re puzzled.”
“I have many questions and no answers.”
“Questions about…?”
Reis hesitated. How could he ask without violating Dougham’s trust? But Master Thomas Hariot seemed to sense what it was he wanted to ask.
“Your master is a man of few words.”
Reis nodded. For certain, the most Dougham had spoken was when he told him the story of Abraham.
“But each word carries its weight. Do you understand what I mean?”
Reis thought for a minute.
“Yes,” he said. “For I know what he wishes without many sentences strung together.”
“Is he a good master?”
Again Reis thought.
“He doesn’t beat me.”
Thomas Hariot laughed out loud.
“Indeed, then that makes him a good master, I’ll wager. No boy likes a whipping. So what puzzles you?”
“He didn’t eat the bear meat when I offered him some. Nor the hare before. Why is that?”
“Aah.” Master Hariot leaned back, placing the cleaned musket by his side. “You think that strange then, that a man doesn’t eat meat?”
“He eats no meat,” Reis suddenly remembered. “Only bread and cheese and whatever vegetables we have. And then he says prayers over it.”
“He speaks in Hebrew, you mean?”
“That’s the language he uses. At first I thought it was a form of German but it’s different.”
Master Hariot eyed him with a clear look.
“Master Gaunse is a Jew. Did you know that, boy? His religion prevents him from eating certain foods. He can only eat the flesh of an animal that has had special prayers said over it. A rabbi could bless his meat but there is none here. He can eat no swine, either.”
“What’s a rabbi?”
“A holy man, like a priest.”
Reis suddenly understood. Dougham couldn’t eat the bear meat because it hadn’t been properly blessed.
“Why could he not have said his own prayers over it?”
Thomas Hariot smiled again.
“It is not the same, according to Dougham.” He reached over and clapped Reis on the shoulder. “It’s quite complicated, isn’t it, a man and his beliefs? We must each respect the other. Dougham Gaunse is a serious student of the Talmud.”
“What’s that?”
“Jewish tradition and spiritual wisdom. He studies the ancient books, as do many of our scholars. The study of Hebrew is quite fashionable throughout Europe. As learned men seek answers to Biblical questions, they turn to the original source. Master Gaunse is always quoting from the Talmud, have you not noticed, boy?”
Reis remembered then some of the sayings Dougham had muttered from time to time. “Few are they who see their own faults,” when Reis was annoyed at being chastised: “The ass complains of the cold even in July,” when he overheard Jeremie complaining of his load: “Silence is the fence around wisdom,” when Reis kept asking questions.
“Since he healed Jeremie, the men are sore afraid of him,” Reis ventured boldly, then bit his lip. He was telling the man too much.
“They are afraid out of ignorance. As you see, boy, I am not afraid of Dougham Gaunse, neither is Sir Walter Ralegh, who hired him. He is a skilled man and his ideas will change the way copper is smelted and used. For this, I brought him with me to the New World. For this, Sir Walter Ralegh and our good Queen Elizabeth have paid his way. Know you that we near war with Spain?”
Reis nodded.
“Last year the Spanish envoy was expelled from London. Ever since they seized our ships in Iberia, we have been preparing for war. Now there is open hostility between our two countries which will wreck the plans for our venture if we allow it. Copper and tin ore are sorely needed for our navy. For this reason, Sir Richard Grenville has sailed back to England, leaving Ralph Lane as our leader, to tell the Queen of our findings here in Virginia. For this reason, Walsingham commissioned the services of Dougham Gaunse…. Jew, Gentile, it matters not. It is his skills we seek and for those, we shall offer him our dutiful respect.”
Reis went back to his place near the fire feeling a bit more comforted from Master Hariot’s words. It was obvious that Dougham was a man of great importance, favored by both the Queen herself and Sir Walter Ralegh, favored by Thomas Hariot as well. He was fortunate to be apprenticed to such a man. Dougham’s peculiarities paled beside his new-found understanding of his master’s work. He was a skilled mineral man, Master Hariot’s exact words, and Reis could learn a great deal from just watching him.
He thought about his master’s dark flashing eyes, his black unkempt hair and beard, his incantations and ways of praying which were strange to him.
“It matters not,” he mumbled to himself, “for he is a great man. It must be so, for Master Hariot has surely spoken truth.”
He dreamed again of a heavily bearded man wielding a stick which flashed fire and brimstone. This man was not the Devil for he had no horns growing from his head. But he was dressed in black like the Devil, and wherever his stick touched the ground, flames sprang from it.
“Stay away,” said this man in a foreign-sounding voice. “For if you challenge me, I will slay you.”
Reis ran to hide behind a tree but the man’s stick found him out and set the tree afire with a tremendous blaze. He ran to another tree but the same thing happened. The forest was burning all around him and he heard the man laughing in a deep voice,
“You can not escape the power of the Jews. Try as you may, we will find you out.”
He awoke with a start, sweat covering his brow and his body. He got up and stumbled to a bush to relieve himself. The cold night air set a chill about his body and he began to shiver. Looking behind him he saw Master Hariot still sitting by the fire, reading and making notes much the way Dougham did. He walked back to the warmth of the fire and up to Thomas Hariot again.
“Young Reis, you’re still up?”
“I had a nightmare,” he said, feeling relieved to share with someone and embarrassed at the same time.
“Was it a monster?”
“Someone who looked like the Devil and set trees on fire.”
“Oh, a really bad dream.”
Master Hariot didn’t laugh or even smile.
“I have another question,” Reis said then.
“Perhaps you have too many questions on your mind and they are causing these dreams.”
“Perhaps,” he shrugged.
“Ask me your question, then.”
“Did the Jews kill Christ?”
Thomas Hariot stared at him for a long time.
