Set in 16th-century Bruges, Scapegoat follows François van Daele and Willem de Clerc, two young men living quietly on societyâs margins until a false accusation of sodomy upends their lives. As fear and moral hysteria grip the city, they are brutalized by thugs, condemned by magistrates eager to preserve control, and cast out by their families and the Church. Their punishment at Gallows Fieldâpublic torture and exileâis at once a spectacle of cruelty and a chilling indictment of a corrupt legal and religious system that shields the powerful while crushing the vulnerable.
Amid this darkness, François encounters Knowledge, a towering puppet from the morality play The Summoning of Everyman, who helps him reckon with pain and seek redemption. Together with their steadfast friend Matthias, François, and Willem struggle toward a fragile hope beyond Brugesâ reach. Blending lyrical allegory with rich historical detail, Scapegoat is a searing tale of injustice, resilience, and the quiet rebellion of love and solidarity in the face of persecution.
Set in 16th-century Bruges, Scapegoat follows François van Daele and Willem de Clerc, two young men living quietly on societyâs margins until a false accusation of sodomy upends their lives. As fear and moral hysteria grip the city, they are brutalized by thugs, condemned by magistrates eager to preserve control, and cast out by their families and the Church. Their punishment at Gallows Fieldâpublic torture and exileâis at once a spectacle of cruelty and a chilling indictment of a corrupt legal and religious system that shields the powerful while crushing the vulnerable.
Amid this darkness, François encounters Knowledge, a towering puppet from the morality play The Summoning of Everyman, who helps him reckon with pain and seek redemption. Together with their steadfast friend Matthias, François, and Willem struggle toward a fragile hope beyond Brugesâ reach. Blending lyrical allegory with rich historical detail, Scapegoat is a searing tale of injustice, resilience, and the quiet rebellion of love and solidarity in the face of persecution.
Bruges has seen many a bastard, but none sang as sweetly as Joos van den Rijm.
The poet himself would not have denied it.
Perched on an ale-stained table in The Bear, a well-worn tavern near the Bourse, van den Rijm lifted his cup in mock reverence before strumming a low, deliberate chord on his lute. The fire cast flickering shadows along the beams, darkened by decades of smoke and whispered confessions. This place had seen many men pass through its doors; some were forgotten, and some were made legends.
A hush settled over the room as he began to play, his voice curling through the smoky air. The melody wove through the tavern, drawing in drunkards and merchants alike. Some had heard it in Antwerp or Ghent, though never from the poetâs lips. Others listened warily, glancing toward the magistrate at the bar, who was already scowling into his beer.
Van den Rijm played on.
âThe events of 1558 are no mystery,â the magistrate finally interrupted, his voice cutting through the music with brutal clarity. âJustice was done. The city purged its filthâwe all took part in cleansing it. You poets love to dress up history in finer clothes than it deserves.â
As the magistrate spoke, Joos van den Rijm let his fingers drift from the strings and, with casual amusement, flipped the lute onto its back, balancing it on one knee. He spun it idly, the polished wood catching the candlelight, his grin widening as if the instrument found the interruption entertaining. When the crowdâs murmurs settled, he grabbed the lute by its neck, gave it a theatrical twirl, and resumed plucking at the strings as if the magistrateâs words had been nothing more than a passing breeze.
Van den Rijm grinned. âAh, but what is history if not a song retold until it pleases the powerful?â
A chuckle rippled through the crowd.
âBesides,â he continued, plucking out the next refrain, âI did not invent François and Willemâs fate, good sirâonly the melody.â He leaned in conspiratorially, smirking. âWhich I stole, naturally. A good tune is wasted on the pious.â
Laughter broke out, though quieter this time.
The magistrateâs expression darkened, but before he could reply, a burly cooper near the hearth chimed in, raising his mug. âI heard you were thrown out of Ghent for calling a bishop a barnyard rooster. Is that true or just another of your embellishments?â
Van den Rijm sighed theatrically. âAh, yes. The Ghent incident. A grievous misunderstanding.â He plucked at his lute, adopting a wistful expression. âI meant it as a compliment! Roosters are vigilant creaturesâwatchful, commanding, and prone to strutting. But alas, the bishop took offense.â He grinned. âChurchmen have such delicate feathers.â
The cooper roared with laughter. The magistrate did not.
Someone at the bar jeered, âDidnât you try to join the court in Antwerp?â He nudged his companion. âDidnât last long, though.â
âYes,â another chimed in, âuntil you had to flee dressed as a monkâruined your disguise by singing bawdy drinking songs before you even left the city.â
Van den Rijm set a hand over his heart. âYou wound me, gentlemen. I wasnât fleeingâI was merely traveling at an expedited pace.â
The magistrate scowled. âThat ballad of yours is nothing but sedition. Tell me, minstrelâdid François and Willem even exist?â
Van den Rijmâs smile flickered slightly before returning to the crowd.
âOh, they existed,â he said. âThey walked these very streets, flesh and blood, before the law made ghosts of them.â His fingers danced over the strings again, softer, almost reverent.
The tavern fell quiet. Even those skeptical of his tale found themselves caught in the pull of his voice.
For a moment, no one spoke. The magistrate tapped his fingers against his mug, his frown deepening. The cooper shifted in his seat. A serving girl paused mid-pour, her gaze locked onto the poet as if he had summoned ghosts into the room. A flicker of somethingâunease, reverence, curiosityâpassed through the assembled crowd. Even the embers in the hearth seemed to glow a little brighter as if eager to listen.
Van den Rijm let the moment lingerâthe flicker of candlelight across expectant faces, the thick scent of ale in the air, even the magistrate, despite his frown, leaning forward ever so slightly.
He lowered his voice, letting it curl like smoke into the rafters. âThe year was 1558âŚâ
And as his fingers wove the first aching chords, the world outside the tavern dimmed. The walls of The Bear melted into the past, the candlelight flickered into dawnâs mist, and suddenly, it was 1558 once moreâwhere a lone peasant, cold and weary, trudged toward the city gates, a sack of fish slung over one shoulder, fear flickering in his gutâŚ
Scapegoat depicts the tragic tale of Francois van Daele and Willem de Clerc, two young men living in 16th-century Bruges who are accused of blasphemous acts by a jealous rival. Set amidst the backdrop of the festival of Ascencion Day, when a holy relic said to be stained with Christâs blood is paraded through the streets and the faithful throng to revere and celebrate their Lord, the story highlights the dangers of letting religious piety turn into vengeful justice. With their guilt already seeming to be affirmed by the masses who fear letting a pervasive evil loose in their city, Francios and Willem are helpless as they fall victim to the tides of mass hysteria. Those closest to them â and who know their true hearts â are powerless to help when sticking out their necks may only bring them to Gallows Field next. Amidst his fear, Francois encounters Knowledge, a puppet from a morality play âThe Summoning of Everyman,â who helps him come to terms with his fate and yearn for redemption. Following brutal torture in front of amassed crowds, Francois and Willem are banished from their homes for the sole crime of being themselves.
Scapegoat was a tense, retrospective story that captivates right away with a storyteller-like tone and the readerâs notion that something important is to be learned from within the pages. While the length of the book was shorter than I expected, the authorâs messages regarding the corruptness of the legal systems and religions that have followed humans through time ring loud and clear. The physical, mental, and emotional turmoil experienced by Francois, Willem, their loved ones and even their accuser as he succumbs to envy and vengeance were ripe and powerfully depicted. With rich details and a lyrical flow, I was not surprised that I wound up finishing the book in one sitting. The fast-paced events and gripping character depictions of Francois and Willem make for quite an enthralling reading experience.
I wished that there was a little more meat to Scapegoat. While we got to view the fall of Francois and Willem both from their eyes and those of their peers, such as Matthias, Pieter and Margriet, I wished for these supporting characters to have been able to play a larger role in the story than as just sympathetic bystanders. Matthias, I had anticipated to grow into a much larger character than he turned out to be. Lode, while we are told of his initial motivations behind wanting to hurt Francois and Willem, also felt just short of having a full arc. I felt like there needed to be more behind his hatred and jealousy than just one miscalculated encounter with the Canon and mere observations of Francois and Willem. The lengths he went to ensure their lives were destroyed seemed like they should have stemmed from a more personal connection or encounter with Francois and Willem themselves. Additionally, there were a few instances where I questioned word choices. They werenât necessarily wrong, but there were a couple terms and contexts used that did not appear to be entirely accurate for the time.
Overall, however, Scapegoat is a tragically beautiful, lyrical tale that will be most enjoyed by fans of historical allegory and tales of resilience in the face of injustice.