Free Act of Faith by Kelly Gardiner

through bare trees onto the red of Fra Clement’s cloak.
    He had left the letter sitting on the table. I flicked at it with onefinger so that it spun around. And again. I glanced outside. The two men had moved out of sight.
    I slid one finger under the fold of the letter and gently eased it open. Master de Aquila’s unmistakable scrawl filled the page.
    The authorities have banned the philosophies of Descartes, he wrote in French. Surely something can be done. You understand, Clement, unlike other men of the Roman faith, that the ideas of men do not question God but pay homage to Him. Only by His grace do we possess the faculty of thought and the ability to question. I beg you, write to Rome — to anyone you know — and urge them to reverse this ridiculous decree. For what do we strive, in our world of the book, than …
    So that was it. All these secret messages were part of the same struggle for freedom, for ideas, that had consumed my father.
    I felt a breeze on my cheek as the door opened and Fra Clement waved farewell to his friend. I slid the folded letter back across the table, drained that gorgeous liquid from my cup, and took my leave.
     
    That evening, over supper, I asked my master about Descartes. ‘I heard a rumour in the city,’ I lied, ‘that his new book has been banned by the Pope.’
    He raised an eyebrow.
    ‘The Pope is an evil, evil man,’ said Willem.
    ‘He is a tyrant,’ said Master de Aquila. ‘But all popes are.’
    ‘He will perish in the fires of —’
    Master de Aquila looked at him. ‘Have I taught you nothing, boy?’
    ‘But, Master —’
    ‘There may be great evils in the world. There may even be evil men —’
    ‘Then God will judge them,’ said Willem.
    ‘He may, but not you,’ said Master de Aquila. ‘Not any man.’
    ‘It’s not logical,’ I said, ‘for anyone to assume that he knows God’s will. Not you, Willem, nor the Pope.’
    They both stared at me.
    Master de Aquila smiled. ‘Well said. But my young friend is astonished. He is not accustomed to women who speak their minds, even though he has a mother who never shuts up.’
    ‘Martin Luther says —’ Willem began.
    ‘Luther wrote many great things, but he had no idea about women,’ I said.
    ‘Or about Jews,’ Master de Aquila added.
    ‘Or about education,’ I said.
    ‘Ah ha!’ Master de Aquila slapped his hand on the table. ‘At last, the legendary Mistress Hawkins awakens and stirs. Beware, Willem. You are in the presence of England’s best-trained female mind since Queen Elizabeth.’
    I blushed madly. ‘Nonsense.’
    ‘So you’re some kind of genius, eh?’ Willem said later, when Master de Aquila had retired to his library.
    ‘Don’t be absurd.’
    ‘I had no idea I was living in such exalted company.’
    ‘Our master exaggerates.’
    ‘Rarely,’ said Willem. ‘But perhaps in this case …’
    I knew he was needling me, but my nerves felt scrubbed raw so I snapped back.
    ‘Descartes is — was — a friend of my father.’ My tone was snooty but I didn’t care. ‘I have spent my life until now in a different world — one of philosophy and ideas.’
    ‘Sounds thrilling.’
    ‘A life unconsidered is —’
    ‘Thank you, Mistress Socrates, I don’t need you to lecture me about the classical authors.’
    ‘Someone should,’ I retorted. ‘Then perhaps you’d pay less attention to narrow-minded preachers.’
    It was his turn to blush. ‘I preferred you when you were crying in your room.’
     
    If Fra Clement found me working alone in the office, he would sometimes ask how we were getting on with the Hebrew Bible translation. I meant to mention his interest to Master de Aquila, but my head was so full of my work, I forgot.
    We worked on the Bible every week, just the two of us, when Willem was asleep or in the tavern. It was tedious work, checking the translation, but I didn’t mind — it was much better than letting my mind wander back to our house in Cambridge