Braithwaite’s house lies close to Ely and our band of men is a dozen strong as we march in its direction led by my brother, Tom, who is the tallest of us. The wind is bitingly cold and my woollen tunic barely keeps me warm.
By the time we arrive at our destination, the sun has disappeared behind the clouds and the light is starting to fade. The building has thick stone walls and two storeys. We believe he is conducting his vile work in the former stable at ground level which is entered by a strong oak door. A staircase at the side leads up to the living quarters of his family.
Tom strides up and bangs on the door with his left fist.
‘Braithwaite, you fiend, come out and show your face.’
Crows caw in the trees to our left as we wait for the cur to appear.
‘We know you’re in there. Come out and face us.’ Tom beats the door again. The chorus of our angry voices wells up behind him.
A door creaks open above and we look up to see Braithwaite gazing down on us from the top of the staircase. He is a lumpish man with a pock marked face and straggling red hair. A short man with arms like tree trunks and holding a club stands beside him.
‘What business do you, Tom Cox and your motley companions, have with me?’ he asks.
‘To demand that you desist from evil and let us honest folk continue our lives in peace.’ We roar our support.
‘That which you consider to be evil is but the work of honest men.’
‘You’re in league with the Devil and will go to Hell when you die,’ I shout.
‘Hark at you, Richard Cox. Since when did you become a preacher?’ He laughs and spits on the top step. ‘I am not beholden to the likes of you,’ he bellows. ‘Go home before I lose my temper. If you return another day, I guarantee you’ll regret it.”’ The sidekick grunts his approval
With that, he and his companion turn their backs on us and leave, slamming the door behind them.
‘Damn you, Braithwaite,’ Tom cries, his body shaking with fury.
I walk over to him and put an arm on his shoulder. ‘Come, brother. Let us go back to our families before nightfall. There is nothing more we can do here at present.’
‘That maybe so but this will not be the last time we call here.’ There is a steely glint in his eyes.
This time of the year I rise in the dark and return in blackness, tired after a long day working at my trade. Tonight, my eyes are wearier than usual but - as I enter our cottage - Sarah’s welcoming smile and rosy cheeks cheer me, as does the welcoming smell of pottage from the cooking pot. I see Tom has joined us. He eats with us some evenings now that he is widowed. He looks more haggard in the candlelight.
‘Good evening, brother,’ he says quietly.
‘I’m glad you have come as we have much to talk about.’
I stand by the stone hearth in the middle of the room and warm myself while Sarah serves our food from the pot. Her long blonde hair is tied back.
The boys are already asleep in the corner. They are ten and eleven years old respectively and we are blessed to have them but what does the future hold for these young ones if that abomination is let loose?
The three of us sit down at the table to enjoy the repast.
‘I saw Braithwaite this afternoon,’ Sarah says. ‘He and another man were riding alongside a small horse drawn wagon. He is such a brutish looking fellow and his companion was no better.’ She wrinkles her nose.
‘They were no doubt protecting the vile cargo carried in the wagon,’ Tom mutters.
‘We cannot truly celebrate Yule with this shadow hanging over us,’ Sarah says in a sad voice.
I catch her eye, reach over and gently squeeze her right wrist. A silence follows for a short time which I break with unwelcome news.
‘I spoke with Francis Hood today. He has been to London and saw that the affliction now menacing us is already wreaking harm there.’
Tom grunts. “It’s a form of witchcraft. Like the others, Braithwaite learned his dark art when he travelled over the sea to the land of the Germans and brought it back with him. ‘
‘How long will it take before it damages us?’ asks Sarah.
‘Months rather than years I fear when it happens,’ Tom replies. ‘But I refuse to accept we’re defenceless in the face of such evil-doing.’ He punches the palm of his left hand.
‘We should go to the cathedral tomorrow morning and pray for our salvation,’ Sarah says looking at me. I can see the reflection of the fire in her brown eyes.
‘Yes, we must do everything we can to preserve ourselves,’ I reply.
As Sarah lights a candle, I see Father Michael at the back and hasten down the aisle to speak to him. He seems more stooped than the last time I saw him.
‘What troubles you, Richard?’ His kindly eyes study me.
‘Have you heard what’s happening in Braithwaite’s house?’
‘Yes, I’m aware of it.’ He knits his bushy white brows.
‘Surely, he should be excommunicated from the Church for such wickedness?’
‘I understand your concern. But only the Pope can do what you ask for and our bishop has not told us of any decrees issued for such acts. In any case, Braithwaite is an ungodly man and would not be discouraged if he was condemned in that manner.’
There is nothing more to be said about the matter. We leave the cathedral and walk across to the barn with snow crunching beneath our feet. It will be empty until the next delivery of grain and it is big enough for us all to gather together with our wives. The hubbub is loud as we enter and I can see Tom in deep conversation with Francis who looks like a dwarf beside my sibling.
Tom jumps on a box and claps his hands loudly. The place quickly falls silent.
‘Francis has just returned from London and has seen for himself what the new curse has done to many of our brothers there. I will ask him to stand up in a moment to tell you what he witnessed and - once he has spoken - we must decide how we can stop the same thing happening here.’
We are not naturally men of violence but we may need to resort to that to defend ourselves.
The year of our Lord 1476 started well.
A friend of Tom overhead Braithwaite’s female servant telling another in the market on St Stephen’s day that her master was going to Cambridge a week later with his family and sidekick, and were staying there for two nights. Tom told our group to gather at his cottage on the morning of their departure. Once we had gathered there, we headed to the forest near the reprobate’s house.
When we got there, we searched for a fallen tree and soon found a sturdy one which had been uprooted in the recent storm. We cut it from its roots and the branches were sawn off, and we carried the log on our shoulders to Braithwaite’s house. On arrival, we placed it on the ground and watched and listened for any sign of life. Once we decided they had departed, we picked the log up and used it as a battering ram to break down the door. It withstood the first few charges but finally we heard the sound of wood splintering and burst inside to find a callow youth with blonde hair standing by the printing press. His face dropped and a tool fell from his hand.
The monstrosity was exactly as it was described to Francis by our brothers in the capital, resting on a wooden bench supported by four legs, with a large screw mounted on the side designed to press the upper plate on which paper was mounted against an inked plate below.
A few books lay on a table beside the press and I picked one up and turned a few of the pages. Just as I expected, the paper was cheap in quality and I spotted an error on the first page.
‘Are these the first books to have been printed?’ I glower at the boy.
‘Yes. Mister Braithwaite received an order for them last week.’ He looked like he was going to cry.
‘We’ll take pleasure in burning them.’ I threw the book down.
‘Let’s set about the main task,’ said Tom, beckoning to Francis who brought over the bag holding steel bars and handed them out to us.
We feverishly attacked the press, starting with the hinges attached to the upper and lower plates and pulled it apart. Before long, it was reduced to a pile of wooden and metal parts.
‘These machines cannot ever replace the trade of scribing,’ Tom proclaimed. ‘Skilled artisans like us will continue to faithfully copy manuscripts onto sheets of parchment and preserve the words of the Bible and great works in the form they should be read in. “’Every one of us cheered.
A year later, we continue to freely ply our craft and no other man has dared to set up a printing press in our town. My boys will soon start to learn the trade and can look forward to many years of practising our trade.’
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