Crispin: The Cross of Lead

No one ever accused John Aycliffe of any kindness. In the absence of Lord Furnival he was in charge of the manor, the laws, and the peasants. To be caught in some small transgression—missing a day of work, speaking harshly of his rule, failing to attend mass—brought an unforgiving penalty […] As judge, jury, and willing executioner, Aycliffe had but to give the word, and the offender’s life was forfeit. We all lived in fear of him.

In a world in which one lived by the light of a father’s name and rank, that meant—since I had no father—I existed in a shadow.

I bowed my head in prayer: “O Great and Giving Jesus, I, who have no name, who am nothing, who do not know what to do, who am all alone in Thy world, I, who am full of sin, I implore Thy blessed help, or I’m undone.”

“Dearest boy,” the priest said wearily, “I beg you to find your way to some town or city with its own liberties. If you can stay there for a year and a day, you’ll gain your freedom.”

“Freedom?” I said. “What has that to do with me?”

“You could live by your own choices. As…a highborn lord…or a king.”

Occasionally I would say the name Crispin out loud. It was rather like a new garment that replaces an old: desired but not yet comfortable.

But which of the crossroads was I to take? North, south, east, or west?

“Please, dear God,” I cried aloud, my eyes streaming hot tears, “choose a path for me.”

“But such is the will of His Gracious Majesty, that poor souls like you and I are not part of his daily reckoning. ‘It is as it is,’ is his motto. Mine is, ‘Let it be as it may be!’”

“Do you believe that someday none of us will have masters, or not?”

I shook my head.

“Why not?”

“God…” I said, gulping down my misery, “has willed it otherwise.”

“And yet,” he said, leaning toward me and leering, “when Adam plowed the earth and Eve spun, who then was the gentleman?”

“Like all men with a skill, I wear the livery of my trade. For me, the two-part hat informs the world that there’s more than a simple nature residing in my soul. There’s bad and good.”

But I am only bad, I thought to myself, wishing yet again I knew what sin was embedded in me to have brought God’s hand so hard upon me.

But what vexed me most was his saying that every man should be master of himself. If I knew anything it was that all men belonged to someone. Surely God Himself put us all in our places: Lords to rule and fight. Clergy to pray. All the rest—like me—were on earth to labor, to serve our masters and our God.

Otherwise, it was as much to say stars could go their own way instead of being fixed to turn about our world.

“Because I have no name,” I said, my rage bursting forth. “No home, no kin, no place in this world. I’m a wolf’s head. Any and all may kill me when they choose. Even you. You say you want me to do things. Think things. But when I won’t be able to, you’ll shun or betray me like the rest.”

“Blessed Saint Giles,” I whispered to the cross, “let me play the music well. Let me be a credit to my master. And I beg Thee, let me have a soul, that I too may sing and dance like Bear. And, Saint Giles, do not let him betray me.”

During that time we performed in many villages. Each performance was much like the first, though Bear said I grew better, even suggesting I might have skills. He continued to teach me more melodies, and once, I juggled while he played. What’s more, our pennies mounted. Never had I felt so free. Never had I felt such constant joy.

Though I was excited by Bear’s promise, I was very nervous. Should I or should I not trust him?

I fumbled for my cross and was about to pray for guidance, but found myself pausing. I had already asked God for much, and he had given in abundance. Perhaps it was time for me to make the decision for myself.

With that thought I put the cross away and took a deep breath. I would trust Bear. The decision would be mine and mine alone.

These ways twisted and turned in every conceivable direction, with no logic that I could grasp. Yet I found myself excited not to know where I was going. How marvelously odd, I thought, to be required to pick and choose which way to go. What did I care that I had to make so many choices? It gave my head a pleasing whirl.

“…that no man, or woman either, shall be enslaved, but stand free and equal to one another […] Unfair taxes must be abolished. Instead of petty tyrants, all laws shall be made by the consent of a general commons of all true and righteous men.”

The more I listened, the more startled I was that I understood what John Ball was saying, that he was, in fact, describing the way I had lived, and how it was wrong and could be made right. But as his words went on, I realized too how hazardous this business truly was, nothing less than rebellion against the realm of England.

In agony, I made the sign of the cross over my heart, and made a prayer for Bear’s safety. Yet I had little hope that it would bring either comfort or release for my one true friend.

“Crispin,” she said, “what ever noble blood there is in you, is only…poison. Lady Furnival, who’s the power here, will never let you have the name. She’ll look on you as her enemy, knowing that anyone who chooses to oppose her will use you and what you are.”

I kept asking myself if I felt different, if I was different. The answer was always yes. I was no longer nothing. I had become two people—Lord Furnival’s son…and Crispin.

That Lord Furnival was my father had been but a cruel burden. Bear—in the short time I had known him—was a thousandfold more a faithful father to me.

The kneeling man appeared so devout, so adoring of Our Lady. Yet I knew him otherwise: a lofty lord without kindness or caring for my mother. As for me, I doubted if he had had any thought at all. Just to see him in his exalted state, made me know with finality that I was not him. No, not any part. I was myself. What I had become.

“Give that cross to me!” he cried, holding out his hand.

“No,” I said. “It belongs to me.”

Furious, he stepped forward and lifted a fist as though to strike me.

In response I held up my hand, using the cross that rested in my palm as a shield.

He hesitated.

I swung Bear’s sack around and pulled out his two-pointed hat, and leaping up, I plopped it on his head, albeit crookedly. But he removed the hat and then put it on my head.

“I, Bear of York,” he roared, loud enough for all the world to hear, “do dub this boy, Crispin of Stromford, a full member of the guild of free men.”

And by the ever-loving God who sits above, my heart was full of more joy than I had ever felt before. I was unfettered, alive to an earth I hardly knew but was eager to explore. What’s more, I knew that feeling to be my newfound soul, a soul that lived in freedom. And my name—I knew with all my heart—was Crispin.