Joachim's Magic, page 8
“You forgot more food,” the boy whispered.
In the middle of the night Reis awoke suddenly. A light snow was falling and he was chilled to the bone. The fire had died down and none had arisen to kindle it. Reis hesitated for a few minutes before getting reluctantly out of his blanket. He gathered some wood together and heaped it on the smoldering embers. Within a few seconds the tinder had caught fire and flames began licking the edges of the wood. From nearby a man stirred and Reis heard him whisper, “Gut job, boy.”
It was Master Haring’s voice. Reis piled more wood on, feeding the hunger of the fire until it was roaring. Light from the dancing flames cast orange and red shadows on the figures of the sleeping men. He saw Master Haring settle himself down again. But Reis couldn’t sleep. He had to find Dougham and see for himself that his master was all right.Wrapping the blanket around him he went to the boulder where he’d last seen Dougham. Then he walked slowly toward the tree line, watching that the shadows might not jump out and attack him. Demons and witches were known to do that. He thought of fetching Jeremie and bringing him to his master. Perhaps Dougham would help overcome Master Lane’s anger when he saw the boy had disobeyed his orders. But then he decided to leave him sleeping buried within his blankets, warm enough while Reis’s fingers and toes were freezing so badly they ached. He heard the low hooting of an owl, then the chatter of some other night creature. Reis walked a little further and began to pray, some half-forgotten prayer remembered from his mother or maybe his aunt, about keeping his spirit safe from harm. Something brushed against his face and he almost cried out. He had walked into a low hanging branch. He saw the witches’ yellow eyes peeking out from behind the trees.
Arms surrounded his body and pulled him down. He wanted to shriek but a hand covered his mouth.
“And you are up to what, my fine apprentice? Sent by Master Greutter to spy on me?”
“Indeed not, master….”
He could hardly breathe, he was so frightened.
“Perhaps to steal my notes to give to him. What has he offered you? Silver when we find some? Gold to carry home to your uncle? Perhaps something simpler and more important, meat from the next kill to fill your belly?”
Reis felt the tears unexpectedly sting his eyelids. Could his master think so little of him? He didn’t know what to say.
“Your silence tells me I speak truth, boy. You had best be gone before I lose my temper with you.”
“I would steal nothing from you,” Reis said urgently. “Nothing. Were I starving, or dying upon the cross….”
He stopped abruptly.
“Not a good analogy, boy.” Dougham’s voice was harsh and biting. “Come you to spy upon me? Or to tell the others of the strange incantations your master utters here in the woods? Never greet a stranger in the night, for he may be a demon.”
“Master…,” Reis said miserably. “Indeed, no such thing. I came to see how you are, that’s all.”
Dougham’s tone softened just a little.
“And what do you see?”
“A man alone and cold sitting in the middle of a forest. Come back to the fire’s warmth and let me get you something to eat.”
“A tempting thought but no, not tonight.”Reis sat down on the ground next to him, wrapping the blanket tighter around him. The cold was penetrating and he wondered how Dougham managed not to freeze. As if reading his mind, Dougham said wryly,
“Jews don’t feel the cold, know you, boy. We drink the blood of others and it keeps us warm.” He stared quizzically at Reis. “You believe that?’
Reis shook his head.
“Well, that is good. For I believe it not myself, though all around seem to.”
“Master, why does Master Greutter hate the Jews so much?’
Dougham sighed. He rubbed his hands together and Reis saw him shiver.
“‘Tis not from the cold I shake but from the hatred of others, hatred for my people, the Jews, throughout all history.”
“You said Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, was a Jew?”
“Indeed, from the House of David, King of Israel. Born a Jew and died one as well.”
“Why did the Jews kill Him, their own Savior?”
“The high priests of the temple turned their backs on Him. They betrayed Him to the Romans.”
“Why is He not your Savior as well as ours?”
Dougham shook his head.
“Christ was a great prophet, one of God’s chosen to lead us by word and deed. But not the Messiah, for He is yet to come.”
Reis tried to comprehend it all. Christ was a Jew but to the Jews, not the Son of God, only a prophet.
“If Christ isn’t the Messiah, then… then….”
Dougham sighed heavily.
“He is not yet come to us, though we wait and pray….”
Just then a loud voice came booming through the trees.
“I followed you, boy, und let’s see vat you hast led me to.”
CHAPTER 12
MASTER GREUTTER
LOOKING BACK IN memory, Reis played the scene over and over in his mind. Master Greutter marched right up to Dougham Gaunse and grabbed him by the collar of his cape. He tore the notebook from his hands and flung it on the ground. Reis was too stunned to move at first. Then Master Greutter’s giant hands began closing around Dougham’s throat.
Dougham was able to duck to one side, thus loosening the larger man’s grip. But in his movements he exposed the chain and star that he wore around his neck and always kept hidden. Greutter’s eyes fastened upon the gleam of silver and he ripped it quickly from Dougham’s neck.
“Vat ist this?” he roared. “A pagan symbol?”
Without thought Reis flung himself upon the German, kicking and punching him wildly. Greutter roared again and swung his fist right into Reis’s jaw. Everything went black.
When he came to he saw both Masters Hariot and Haring holding fast to Greutter, pinning his arms to his side, while Ralph Lane and Valentine Beale, harquebuser at the ready, came striding onto the scene.
“Take this man,” Lane commanded, nodding at Greutter, and Valentine Beale pointed his firearm and led him away. Master Hariot picked up Dougham’s notes and handed them silently back to him, Dougham straightened his cape and brushed the muck from his notebook.
“I will have none of this,” bellowed Ralph Lane in great anger. “What precipitated such an argument?”
Dougham didn’t answer but walked silently past Master Lane back in the direction of the camp. Lane glanced at Hariot, who shook his head. Then he spoke to Reis.
“What do you know, boy?”
“Not much, sir. Master Greutter started it.”
Ralph Lane muttered something indistinguishable, then motioned Reis away. As he walked back into the fire’s light Reis felt the tremendous ache in his jaw. His whole mouth hurt and when he poked his fingers inside, two teeth were loosened. He went down to the river’s edge and splashed the icy water on his face. It helped only a little. By the time he got back to his sleeping place, both Ralph Lane and Thomas Hariot were back and Greutter was nowhere to be seen.
“Let him rest the night under Beale’s guard. Perhaps that will cool him off.”
The next morn Reis could hardly open his mouth, his jaw ached so much. He thought perhaps that the German’s blow had broken the bone. The pain rose and fell in waves and he left his breakfast. Dougham Gaunse called him over and examined him. His master’s touch was quick, but gentle.
“You will live. No bones broken.”
“And what of you?” Reis blurted out, though it hurt to talk.
“A few bruises but I will heal.” He sighed. “He has still what belongs to me.”
“What will you do?”
“Ask him to give it back.”
For the briefest moment Reis thought he saw a faint smile play around the corners of Dougham’s mouth. But then his master’s eyes grew hard and cold.
“For this is what we Jews have always faced, you see, boy. Hatred such as Greutter’s cannot long be hidden away. It surfaces and we become its target. Others hear and sheep follow sheep.”
“Master Dougham,” Reis started to say.
“Tend to your business and leave me now. I must think on things.”
Dougham turned his back on Reis and walked away. The atmosphere in the group was tense. Hans Altschmer was arguing with Thomas Hariot, asking why Greutter was under guard. Master Haring was talking with Philip Amadas, keeping his voice low so none could hear. Reis kept working his jawbone, his primary concern for the moment while Dougham, upon his return, began gathering his possessions.
“What say you, Master Yougham,” Ralph Lane said, using the name he always called him by. “Are you planning to leave us now?”
“Where I am unwelcome is not the place for me. I will take my packs and my apprentice and together we will return to the encampment.”
“I hope not,” said Master Hariot coming over. “For you’re needed here, Dougham, as well you know.”
Dougham shrugged and kept packing. He nodded to Reis.
“Load up now.”
Reis didn’t know what to do. The thought of leaving when they were so close to discovering a possible vein of copper was distressing. Yet his loyalty was to his master. He hesitated. Master Hariot called to him.
“Untie those packs, boy. Your master will soon return to his senses.”
Dougham threw up his arms in disgust.
“I can not argue with you, Thomas,” he said grimly. “But be forewarned, no more will I tolerate. A little coin in a big jar makes a lot of noise.”
Reis glanced over at Greutter, who was scowling under Valentine Beale’s weapon. Thomas Hariot walked over and held out his hand to Dougham. For but a moment his master stood there, then he grasped the extended hand and they shook.
“There will be no more trouble,” Hariot assured him. “And that is my word on it.”
Then he and Lane went over to where Greutter was standing and were seen talking most earnestly to him. A few minutes later Greutter came back into camp.
Dougham said not a word, nor glanced in his direction but began unloading his sacks and equipment. Reis breathed a deep sigh of relief. He helped Dougham then went, without asking, to see if he could assist any of the others.
They finished their scant meal, hardly enough to break the fast of the long night, then packed for the exploration of the outcrop of rock that Captain Vaughan had reported. Perhaps they would find copper and all would be forgotten in the excitement of the discovery. Reis hoped that Jeremie would remain out of sight until he’d had a chance to speak with his master.
Captain Vaughan’s rock proved a big disappointment. The promising abutment with its streaks of violet which might have yielded pure copper showed, not that valuable substance, but merely what Hariot called white copperas and alumen plumeum. The men threw up their hands in disgust and sank down upon the ground exhausted and low in spirits. Their trek had been for naught.
Master Hariot, disappointed though he was, tried to make light of the situation.
“There will be more ridges,” he promised. “Captain Vaughan says this line extends for forty or fifty miles. We may yet find what we seek.”
“We shall not turn back?”
“Indeed not. We’re but a week into our journey. Much more to seek out and explore. Make haste now. Gather your equipment and we’ll continue on.”
They walked for many miles until Reis thought his legs would fall off. Deep marks cut into his shoulders from the straps of the heavy packs. Every once in a while they stopped to stretch and slip their loads. At those times, Reis skirted the edges of the woods to see if he could spot Jeremie. He hoped fervently that the boy was keeping up, for he was only ten and, like Hugh, a great complainer. Certainly the fear of being left behind would stir him to move forward with them. To turn back would have been a lonely and perilous sojourn.
This was the pattern of their days, to walk for miles and miles resting only a little, to strike a small camp and eat what they could catch in hastily laid snares or from the many streams and ponds they passed. Reis became quite adept at catching the silver fish which swam sluggishly in the cold waters. Oft times he had to break the ice which formed on the surface. The fish were slow to dart away, some of them had half-buried themselves in the muddy bottoms of the ponds. They were an easy catch. As he lay wrapped in his blanket at night, as close to the fire as he dared, he listened to the howling of wolves and the noises of strange animals in the dark. He thought often of Jeremie for it became his routine to eat only a portion of his meal then wander away to the tree line, there to seek out his young friend and give him the rest. He begged extra blankets from Masters Haring and Hariot on the pretense of feeling so cold his toes and fingers ached. He shared the blankets with Jeremie, whose toes and fingers were, no doubt, much colder than his own. But he still hadn’t told anyone, nor enlisted Dougham’s aid in the matter. For Dougham was becoming more and more morose and on the occasions of his conversation, given to harsh tones and quick outbursts. Reis felt certain Dougham would not speak on Jeremie’s behalf to Ralph Lane.
Master Greutter kept his part of the bargain, staying far away from Dougham Gaunse. But he still hadn’t returned the silver Hebrew star, though Dougham had asked him several times. Master Greutter feigned ignorance of the matter and shook his head whenever Dougham approached. It was plain to see that his master’s patience was wearing thinner each day. He scribbled his notes each evening and Reis wondered what he was writing since there seemed nothing to report. Each day brought them closer to the land of the Chesepians, but the ridge they followed revealed no promising veins.One night after Reis had given Jeremie the remains of his own meal, he watched as Dougham Gaunse walked slowly over to Greutter and held out his hand.
“Vat ist this?” Greutter feigned ignorance.
“You have what belongs to me.”
“Aber nein, I haf nothing.”
Thomas Hariot was watching closely from the edge of the fire’s light. He half-rose, but waited instead.
“The Magen David,” said Dougham.
Greutter rolled his eyes to fake pretense at bewilderment. He turned to Altschmer seated next to him.
“Do you know vat ist he means?”
Master Altschmer shook his head.
“I want it back.”
“I can not give vat I do not haf. Go back to your seat now.”
Dougham reached forward in the glow of the flames and pulled Master Greutter to his feet. It was a brave move for the miner was taller than he.
“My Magen David,” Dougham repeated slowly. “That which you stole from me.”
By now Master Hariot was on his feet and so was Master Haring from the opposite side.
Greutter slapped Dougham’s hands away and pushed him hard. Reis saw his master come forward again and reach deep into one of the pockets in Greutter’s cape.
“Nein, nein,” shouted the miner, again shoving Dougham who, this time, fell backward. But as he went down Reis saw in his hand the silver chain and star.
“You see,” Dougham yelled from where he had fallen. His face was flushed and Reis had never heard his voice so raised in anger.
“You are a liar, Master Greutter, but you have been found out. The others will now see what a thief you are! Truth is the seal of God!”
It took two men to hold Greutter back. As it was, Valentine Beale finally had to point his firearm at the man to subdue him. Dougham Gaunse got up slowly but triumph was clearly marked upon his face.
“Vat ist that?” Master Altschmer asked. The others were crowding around, all curious to see what he held. Caught in the color of the flames, it glowed silver, red and gold.
“Jude! Jude!” growled Greutter and began muttering angrily to Altschmer.
It took Master Hariot, Ralph Lane and Captain Vaughan a time to quiet them down. Ralph Lane spoke in great anger.
“I will have no more of this,” he said, glaring at both Greutter and Dougham. “We will have no name-calling here.”
Master Greutter pushed the end of Beale’s harquebuser to one side and stepped forward.
“If he ist not Jude, let him deny it.”
From where he stood Reis watched his master slowly fasten the chain with its heavy silver star around his neck. Greutter and Altschmer began to mutter again in German. Master Lane was clearly enraged and Sir Thomas most distressed. They all waited.
Then Dougham spoke. His voice rang loud and clear.
“I deny nothing.”
His eyes swept the group defiantly. “See me stand here before all of you. It is the truth Master Greutter speaks. I am a Jew. And my real name is Joachim Gans.”
CHAPTER 13
JEREMIE
TWO DAYS LATER they encountered a small group of Indians led by a chief called Menatonon. He was a formidable fellow and Ralph Lane was clearly not pleased to see him. They had marched for miles along the once-promising ridge line, east and north, taking rock samples and stopping to heat the rock in crude stone furnaces wrought by Masters Greutter and Haring. The fires inside burned hot, tended by Altschmer, and the ores that pooled were tested over and over by Joachim Gans.
He made Reis call him Master Gans now and answered only to that or Joachim. He no longer went to the forest’s edge to read his Holy Book of prayers but prayed within sight and sound of the others, defying them to say anything with his dark flashing eyes. Master Greutter, sarcastic as ever with the others, surprisingly held his tongue and his friend, Altschmer the smelter, worked alongside Joachim each day roasting the rock samples until they ran liquid, waiting for the Jew’s instruments and measures to define their value. They pounded the copper ore into a powder, roasted this yet again and passed water through it. Water, as Joachim explained, carried away the vitriol, iron and sulfur and thus, cleansed the ore of its slag or dross.
As for Reis, he was busier than ever, helping to gather and haul the samples that Master Haring chipped and hewed from each rock face, sweating in his labor of carrying the loads down to the rough furnace. He fetched water, gathered kindling and firewood, was sent to check the streams and ponds for fish which, by now, had the good sense to bury themselves deep under the mud for the waters were icy cold.
