Deeds of Darkness

by Mel Starr

  Arthur and I mounted the palfreys and departed Hardwick, pleased to be away from a place of such destitution. Stanton Harcourt is little more than a mile from Hardwick, but might well have been another world. There were empty houses in Stanton Harcourt, as in every English village and town, but those still occupied seemed prosperous enough, as did the village church.

  I sought the manor house and the lord, Sir Thomas Harcourt. He was at home and taking his dinner. A servant answered my knock upon the manor house door, called to his master, and the man appeared, not pleased, I think, to be called from his table.

  I introduced myself and my purpose, and at the mention of Lord Gilbert the fellow’s frown softened. ’Tis always better for such a knight to be known to a great lord like my employer as a man who will further the lord’s cause than as one who obstructs it.

  “How may I serve Lord Gilbert’s bailiff?” Sir Thomas said. As the man spoke I saw he had one cheek swollen. I took it at first for a mouthful of food, but not so. He spoke clearly, and closer observation showed the bulging cheek was reddened.

  I asked of black-robed men. Had any been seen recently hereabouts, particularly Saturday last?

  “Nay,” Sir Thomas replied. “Only man likely to be seen here wearing black is Edmund… my younger son. Studies at Queen’s Hall, does Edmund.”

  This was a common enough undertaking for younger sons of knights and gentlemen. Even for the younger sons of prosperous burghers. Second, third, fourth sons will not inherit a father’s lands, so must seek their own way in the world, or wed a lass who has no brothers and stands to succeed to a father’s estates. I found myself at Oxford many years past for this reason, being the youngest son of a minor knight of Little Singleton, in Lancashire.

  “Does Edmund bring lads here from Oxford to enjoy your table?”

  “Aye,” the knight smiled. “He does. Told him to be less profligate of my good will. He’d have half of Queen’s Hall dining in my hall did I not put my foot down.”

  “When was your son last here with friends?”

  The frown reappeared upon Sir Thomas’s face. “Why do you wish to know? And why do you ask of men garbed in black last Saturday?”

  “Has any house of Stanton Harcourt suffered hamsoken recently?” I asked.

  “Nay, though other villages have. The felons have not struck here. What has this to do with men wearing black gowns?”

  “Perhaps nothing,” I said. “A fortnight and more past, a merchant of Bampton traveled to Oxford with a heavy purse. He did not return, nor was he seen in Oxford at the place where he commonly went to complete his business, or any other.”

  “Never got there, eh?” Sir Thomas said.

  “Just so. Lay brothers of Eynsham Abbey went out to search the roads and lanes for him, and I and the man’s son did likewise. We found him last Saturday, in the Windrush stream, between here and Hardwick.”

  “Drowned?”

  “Assaulted, robbed, stabbed, and his purse cut free.”

  “Men garbed in black did this?”

  “No man knows. An hour or so after he was found I saw four black-clad men approach the bridge from this direction. When they saw I had noticed their approach they halted, then hurried away.”

  Throughout our conversation Sir Thomas had put a hand to his swollen cheek and rubbed it tenderly. “So you ask about such men, to learn what they were about, and find why they fled from you and the Windrush Bridge?” he said.

  “Aye. You are in pain?”

  “I am. Toothache. Can eat naught but the smoothest pottage for more than a fortnight.”

  “Perhaps I may ease your discomfort.”

  “What? A bailiff remedy my toothache?”

  “I am also a surgeon… trained in Paris.”

  “Oh. Have you dealt with men’s aching teeth?”

  “I have.”

  “What is to be done? Last week I rode to Oxford and sought a physician.”

  “His remedy was not successful?”

  “Nay. Said the ache was caused by tiny worms boring into a man’s tooth. Held the flame of a mutton fat candle so close to the tooth as could be. Said that would drive out the worms. Burned my cheek. Have yet the blister.”

  “And also the toothache?” I said.

  “Aye. Would you try again the same cure?”

  “Nay. What the leech did is common enough, but unlikely to end your pain.”

  “But the fellow said ’twas sure to dispel my ache.”

  “Of course. Would you expect him to say, ‘Pay me six pence and I will provide a treatment which will do you no good’?”

  Sir Thomas grunted, seeing the force of my point. “What do you suggest, then?”

  “If the ache has persisted for a fortnight the tooth likely must be drawn. Come outside, where the light is stronger, and I will examine the tooth and tell you what course to pursue.”

  With Arthur peering over my shoulder I drew back Sir Thomas’s lips. I hoped his sore tooth was an upper, as these have but one root and are easier to draw, but not so. A swollen, reddened gum told of the troublesome tooth, which I could see was cracked and blackened at one corner. I have oft wondered why it seems that nobles and gentlemen are more likely to have rotten teeth than their tenants and villeins.

  “You see it?” Sir Thomas mumbled as my fingers pried his cheek from the offending tooth.

  “Aye. It must be drawn. It is broken and rotten. No candle flame will make it whole. My instruments are in Bampton. I will return tomorrow with the tools I need, if you wish me to deal with your affliction.”

  “You are certain there is no other cure?”

  “Aye. Should you slash your arm it may be stitched together and in a month or so be good as new, or nearly so. But when a tooth is rotten no repair is possible.

  “Meanwhile, ask of your bailiff and tenants if they have seen men about the roads garbed as scholars or lay brothers or such.”

  “I will do so,” he agreed.

  Chapter 5

  As there are several palfreys in Lord Gilbert’s marshalsea, some surely in need of exercise, I told Arthur to have two beasts ready on the morrow. He smiled approval of my proposal, having short legs ill-suited for walking any distance. Stanton Harcourt is no great journey from Bampton, but Arthur prefers to exercise his stubby legs no more than necessary.

  Next morning I placed pliers and a vial of crushed hemp seeds into a sack, broke my fast with a maslin loaf and ale, and set off for the castle. I told Kate I did not expect to return ’til the morrow, it being my intention to travel on from Stanton Harcourt to Oxford, there to seek her father for several gatherings of parchment and a pot of ink. Robert Caxton is a stationer, and for my service extracting a festering splinter from his back some years past he promised as much parchment as I might ever need. I thought the death of Hubert Shillside might be a tale worth recording.

  “Do not trouble Father for ink,” Kate said. “Remember when we first met I was making ink in Father’s shop. I will make what you require. The oak apples we collected last autumn are dry and ready to be crushed.”

  Little more than an hour later Arthur and I entered Stanton Harcourt and tied our palfreys to a rail before the manor house. We were expected. The servant opened the door to us before we reached it, and behind him stood Sir Thomas, eager to have his ache dealt with.

  I told the knight to have his servant bring a cup of ale and another of wine. And also a clean fragment of cloth. Linen or wool from a discarded garment would suffice. Into the ale I emptied the vial of crushed hemp seeds. It is my experience that consuming such as hemp and lettuce seeds and the dried sap of lettuce will dull a man’s pain an hour or so after they are consumed. My supply of lettuce seeds was exhausted, no more to be had ’til the summer’s new growth should mature, so the crushed hemp seeds must suffice.

  Sir Thomas sat upon a benc
h whilst I waited for the hemp seeds to do their work. When he began to nod, nearly tumbling from his bench, I told Arthur to help the man to his toft. I carried the bench.

  There, in the sunlight, I had Sir Thomas lay upon his back, open his mouth, and with the pliers I grasped the rotten tooth. I was some concerned that, because it was cracked, the tooth might not emerge whole.

  I have not drawn many teeth. Most folk prefer a rotten tooth to fall out on its own rather than pay me to extract it, so long as their discomfort is bearable. But when I have been called upon to remove a tooth I have learned that temporizing is harmful to the sufferer. Faint-hearted use of the pliers will not reduce his pain. I grasped the offending tooth firmly, then twisted and yanked at the same time. The tooth came free of his jaw with a gush of blood.

  I stuffed the linen fragment into the knight’s mouth to staunch the flow of blood, then bade Arthur assist the fellow to rise. Sir Thomas swayed on the bench, the hemp seeds requiring several hours to lose their potency. I sent the servant to bring the cup of wine and told Sir Thomas to use this for rinsing his mouth. Cleansing a wound with wine is effective at assisting healing, although no man knows why this is so. As drawing a tooth creates a wound within a man’s mouth, it seems to me that passing wine over the injury may serve also to speed recovery.

  Sir Thomas took a mouthful of wine, swirled it about his mouth, then spat it upon the ground. I watched as, with his tongue, he tentatively explored the place where the tooth had been. The tooth was yet firmly in the jaws of my pliers, and he reached for it.

  “Such a small thing to cause such great pain,” he said.

  “Rinse your mouth again in an hour or so, and again before you seek your bed,” I said. “And once or twice on the morrow.

  “Now, on another matter, have you spoken to your bailiff or tenants about strangers wearing scholars’ robes seen hereabouts?”

  “Aye. Only Edmund and friends who sometimes accompany him – none other.”

  “Keep a watch for men unknown to the village, even if they are clothed in common dress. A lass was assaulted near to Church Hanborough. The felons did not wear scholars’ attire.”

  “How many?” Sir Thomas asked.

  “Four, the lass thought.”

  “Coincidence, perhaps, that you saw four upon the Hardwick road?”

  “Aye, perhaps.”

  I collected my fee of four pence, then Arthur and I set out for Oxford. We passed Eynsham Abbey without stopping to learn if any new felonies were reported. I thought to spend the night there upon our return, so could learn then if ’twas so.

  Just beyond Bookbinder’s Bridge, Oxford Castle, and the Franciscan friary is an open area where traveling players and such like entertainers seek attention and custom. As Arthur and I approached the place, I saw a crowd gathered to watch some performance. From the advantage of horseback I could see over the heads of the spectators, as could Arthur. I gave my attention to the players and thought one seemed familiar. Evidently Arthur did too, for he said, “’Tis Hamo the tanner.”

  Indeed it was. His band was larger than when I had first met the fellow. Then he had but one contortionist, a lass. Now there were two, one a limber lad. His son was yet the knife-thrower. A juggler was new to the troupe since I had last seen a performance, and Hamo yet wrestled those who would challenge him, as before. And now he had another, I learned later, who wrestled smaller men so that an onlooker, challenged to wrestle for the six pence which Hamo offered to any who could best him, might contend with an opponent nearer his own size and weight. Hamo was assembled like Arthur, and few men would accept a challenge to wrestle him when he outweighed most by two or three stone.

  I watched as his troupe went amongst the crowd seeking wagers, while a strapping youth prepared to seek six pence of Hamo.

  “Why did you never challenge Hamo?” I asked Arthur as we watched the preparations. “You are as strong as he.”

  “Aye. Likely. Mayhap stronger. But Hamo knows how to use his strength.”

  I peered at Arthur quizzically, unsure of his meaning.

  “See that lad about to challenge Hamo? He’s half Hamo’s age, an’ robust as an ox, but Hamo will vanquish ’im in a trice. Someday, I suppose,” Arthur continued, “Hamo’s years will tell against ’im, and a younger man whose bones do not yet ache will best ’im.”

  “But not yet?”

  “Nay, not yet.”

  Hamo’s son clapped his hands and the antagonists circled each other. The youthful challenger thought he saw an opening and plunged toward Hamo. The crowd roared, some in approval, some not, depending upon their wagers.

  For all his bulk Hamo can move quickly. He stepped to one side, tripped the lad as he charged, delivered a blow with his forearm to the back of the challenger’s neck, then fell upon the fellow as he rolled in the dust. Hamo grasped an arm, twisted it behind the youth’s back, and the lad responded with a yelp of pain. Hamo demanded that the fellow submit, and twisted the arm further to make his point. The lad screamed out that he would yield, and in less time than it took to write of the combat Hamo stood, triumphant.

  “You see,” Arthur said. “Even a scrawny fellow like you could defeat a stronger man if you could put him face first on the ground an’ get an arm behind ’is back. Takes no great strength to wrench a man’s arm like that, once you’ve got it so behind ’im.”

  “If you know these tricks, why not try yourself against Hamo?”

  “Knowin’ an’ doin’ is different. Perhaps now that ’e’s older I might ’ave a chance against ’im. ’Course, I’m older, too. Call it a draw.”

  As this conversation ended I saw Hamo Tanner plunge through the crowd in our direction. I caught his eye and he grinned broadly in reply. When Hamo wishes to make his way through a throng he does so. Few men will hold their place to impede him.

  “Master Hugh… Arthur! You are well met! Wait ’til we’ve collected our winnings. I must speak to you.”

  Hamo’s earnest request piqued my curiosity. I wondered what urgent matter required my attention.

  Hamo and his troupe passed through the crowd, collecting pennies from those he had entertained and others who had wagered that the brawny youth could vanquish Hamo. From the time taken to collect the winnings I believe that Hamo did profitable business this day.

  Arthur and I dismounted, waiting for the wrestler to gather his gains. While he and his troupe were at this business I watched as several men hurried from the place, no doubt having wagered mistakenly and now eager to lose themselves amongst the folk on Great Bailey Street.

  When Hamo had finished fattening his purse he approached, held the leather pouch before him, and grinned.

  “We will dine well this day.” From his appearance I doubt not that Hamo dines well most days. “Join me at yon inn. I have a matter to discuss with you. It concerns one of my men.”

  Arthur and I followed Hamo to the Black Boar and tied our beasts to the rail before the place. ’Twas a fast day. The inn served a pottage of whelks for our dinner, with loaves and ale. Hamo motioned to a bench in a quiet corner. Well, not quiet, but perhaps quieter.

  “I’d like you to take a look at Will,” Hamo said. “We was attacked upon the way to Oxford yesterday an’ Will received a slash upon his arm. Don’t seem bad. I was gonna seek a leech today an’ have it seen to. But you’re ’ere, an’ I’d have you deal with the wound.”

  “I have no instruments with me… no needle nor silk thread with which to close a wound.”

  “Can these things not be had in Oxford?”

  “Aye, they can, but Will could seek care for his wound from some other. Oxford is filled to brimming with physicians, and surgeons as well.”

  “S’pose so, but I’ve not seen their work, an’ I have yours. Men may die of lesser cuts, an’ if the injury be not mended proper, mayhap ’e’ll not be able to wrestle again, an’ I’ll need
to find another small man who can take on men of ’is size an’ not be bested.”

  “Very well. There are haberdashers in Oxford who sell silken thread and needles which will serve. And I’ll need wine to cleanse the wound. Where is the man?”

  “Will!” The tanner called out over the din. I saw a small fellow look up from his ale and rise from his bench in response to Hamo’s bellow. He held his right arm stiffly, as if it was encased in plaster.

  “Here is Master Hugh, the surgeon you’ve heard me speak of. When we finish our meal we can retire to our chamber for Master Hugh to attend to your wound.”

  The Black Boar is a thriving establishment, constructed about a central court with stables at the rear, the front and sides two stories high. A central passage allows entrance to the enclosed yard. Hamo Tanner’s business evidently prospered, that he could hire a room in such a hostelry.

  We completed the meal and entered the enclosed yard whence the stairway climbed to the upper floor and chambers. Before we ascended, Hamo told his son to see to the beasts and carts. Beasts! Two or more. When I first met Hamo he owned but one horse, and that won in a wager.

  When we had entered the privacy of the chamber Hamo occupied, he directed his injured wrestler to remove his cotehardie and kirtle so that I could examine the cut.

  “Wrapped the sleeve of an old kirtle about it yesterday, after we was set upon,” Hamo said.

  The threadbare linen was stained and stiff with dried blood. I asked for another such cloth, for I knew when I drew back the bloodied wrapping from the cut, a fresh issue of gore would flow.

  The injured man was small, but not puny. The slashed forearm was as large around as my bicep, and, as I expected, a small stream of blood flowed when I loosened the winding.