‘And who are you?’
‘I’m the wretch who killed Jacob!’ the creature cried and reached his weird arms out to grasp Villiam’s calves. Villiam could feel the hands close tight around his bones, narrow as saplings. He almost fell over trying to step away.
‘Please, my lord. Have mercy. Or I’ll burn in hell for this.’
‘Who is this, Lispeth?’ Villiam asked.
Lispeth wiped her face and ran to curtsy at Villiam’s side. The creature wept, its sorrow loosening its grip on Villiam’s ankles.
‘He came with his father,’ Lispeth said, pointing to the dark recess of the room. Villiam looked, squinted.
‘Step into the light,’ he commanded.
Jude had only stood in the great hall for a matter of minutes, but he was already shivering from the cold of the stony air against his sweaty skin. He was in a strange rage, vibrant and ignorant of any future. He could not imagine how life would go on after this and he didn’t want to. He focused on balancing the weight of the dead boy on his shoulder, which had become tiring after the long walk. He did not like people to see him struggle. His stomach growled, and he was suddenly aware of the pungent odor of wild garlic. Jude wondered to himself if he should be ashamed of the odor, assuming it was coming from his own sweaty body. But it was not him. It was Jacob, the delicate stench of his decomposing body now cleanly detectable in the coolness. The smell made Jude’s eyes water, as did wild garlic when he ate it in the fall, picking it out from between the other weeds in the pasture close to the ram’s cage. He believed that garlic was good for virility. Ina had told him that once.
Finally, Jude took a step into the light so that Villiam could see him. Villiam was immediately perplexed by the resemblance between this stinking peasant and himself. They both had their great-grandfather’s broad nostrils, pores stretched so wide, Villiam sometimes thought about filling his with tiny rubies. But Jude’s eyes were more open than Villiam’s, Jude’s forehead more manly. His jaw was wider and his chin dense with brown hair, the opposite of Villiam’s loose-skinned, bare chin. The frail man could barely grow a mustache thicker than Jacob’s—a few hairs above his top lip. But both men’s lips were thin, downturned, the color of unripe plums. Villiam stared at Jude, mesmerized, as though their similarities were a magic trick.
‘He looks like me,’ Villiam said. Nobody agreed or disagreed.
Next Villiam circled around Jude, searching to make sense of the large doll he carried. The doll’s face was terribly disfigured but still recognizable.
‘Doesn’t that doll look just like Jacob?’ Villiam asked, sincerely impressed.
‘Yes,’ Lispeth answered.
‘But this one’s dead, is that it?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘And how is that?’
Villiam was asking Jude. Jude could not look him in the eye, both because he was carrying the man’s dead son and he was terrified of whatever punishment could come forthwith, and because Villiam seemed insane with denial. ‘Is that an eye hanging out?’ he asked and chuckled. He turned to Lispeth.
‘I did it,’ Marek said. ‘I did it.’
‘I see,’ said Villiam, turning his attention to the creature. ‘And what do they call you?’
‘Marek,’ Marek said.
‘What are you, Marek?’ Villiam asked.
Marek couldn’t answer. Jude spoke finally, his voice cracking from thirst. ‘He’s a boy,’ Jude said.
‘Yours?’ Villiam asked him.
Jude nodded. He seemed to be overcome with temper for a moment, as though the weight of the body on his shoulder was all that was holding him back from rushing at Marek and strangling him to death.
‘I’m your cousin,’ Jude said instead, staggering a little. ‘Our grandfathers were brothers.’
‘I didn’t know my grandfather had a brother.’ This was true. Villiam’s father had never once mentioned any relation outside the manor. But Villiam wasn’t suspicious. He played along.
‘My name is Jude.’
‘Why don’t you set down your prop? You look tired. Lispeth, bring this man, Jude, my cousin, something to drink.’
‘I’m fine,’ Jude said.
‘Is that so?’
Nobody knew, even as Villiam instructed Jude to set Jacob down in the side room, whether Villiam had lost his mind with grief or simply did not believe that the body there, half smashed and stinking, was really Jacob’s. Villiam was a happy person. He was immune to such tragedies. It wasn’t real. It was impossible. But he accepted it somehow, as a game. He sat down on a chair and thought a moment.