by Mel Starr
Next I overturned the bed to see if a key might be fixed somewhere under the frame. None was there. I moved the table and cupboard from the wall. Perhaps Thrale had hidden the key behind the cupboard. He had not, and running my fingers under the table showed no key there. I found only a splinter from the crudely made table.
I sucked upon the offended finger and surveyed the room. Did the chapman have this smaller key with him, and it lay now buried with him in his grave, or was it yet in his cart, and I had overlooked it when I took inventory of Thrale’s possessions?
I next inspected the smaller ground-floor room, beyond the stairs. It was empty — no bench or chest or bed or cupboard was there. I climbed the stairs and with the flame of the cresset examined the two upper rooms. They were as bare as the small ground-floor room. John Thrale lived in but one room of this house. Why, at Lammastide, had he moved to a house much larger than his need?
I returned to the ground floor, studied again the larger room, and saw another place a man might hide a key. I bent to the hearth and from it drew a footed iron pot. Inside the pot I found the key. Whatever the chapman had stored in the larger chest, he had taken some pains that no man would open the box and discover his secret.
The key fit the lock poorly, and I thought at first it was a key to some other lock. But eventually, after some twisting and force, I made the key to work and drew open the chest. I was stunned at what I found there.
No letters or documents lay in the chest, but I found three leather pouches, a hammer near as large as a smith might use to pound out a horseshoe, a small, hand-operated bellows, and a tiny iron box, open at its top, narrow at the base, which was about the length of a finger and half as wide and deep.
I could not guess why such objects might be hid securely in such a chest, but thought the contents of the sacks might explain. They did so, for one sack contained thirty or more coins similar to the one which had dropped from the chapman’s lips in St. Andrew’s Chapel churchyard. Another sack held jewelry of various and wondrous designs: wrist bands, rings, and necklaces of gold, some of these studded with precious stones.
The third sack was smaller, and when I untied the thong which closed it I found within five small ingots of silver and one of gold, and seven small stones, one of which was green and much like an emerald. One glance at the small iron box told me whence these ingots had come. I took an ingot and fitted it to the box. It was a perfect match. After prising out the jewels, the silver and gold had been melted to fit the iron mold.
A bench lay against the wall beside the cupboard. I sat upon it and pondered this discovery. Much wealth was in this house. Why was this so, and where did the gold and silver come from? The silver and gold ingots were made of coins and jewelry like that found in the other two sacks. The chapman had used the bellows to create a fire upon his hearth hot enough to melt the coins and jewelry found in the other two sacks. What then did he do with them?
Some men had followed John Thrale and beat him to death in the forest to the east of Bampton. I now knew why. They knew of his secret wealth and desired to have it for themselves. They did not know all, else they would have come to this house and entered it while the chapman was away, as I had done. Unless they did not know where Thrale lived when he was not about the shire. But surely they knew some of what I had discovered, and battered the chapman to make him tell of what they did not know. This they had failed to do. Or had they?
Had they succeeded, this house would hold no gold or silver for me to find. No, John Thrale had died rather than give up his secret. And what was this secret? I understood some small part of the reason for the chapman’s death, but there was more to know.
The day was near gone and little light now entered through the cracks between the ill-fitting shutters. Only the cresset gave illumination to the chamber. I took the three leather pouches from the larger chest, then locked it and replaced the key in the iron pot.
I then set in order the bed and its covering. When all was as it had been I departed the house with the three sacks, locked the door, replaced the key under the manure and straw, then set off for the marketplace and the New Inn. It was near time for curfew, and dark enough on the streets that the three pouches were invisible against my brown cotehardie.
I slept fitfully that night. You would have also with ten or twelve pounds’ worth of gold and silver under your pillow, and a half-dozen other fellows snoring in the shared chamber. I was pleased when dawn showed through the cracks in the shutters, and I was able to rise and see to Bruce’s preparation for returning to Bampton.
I fixed the three pouches to a belt under my cotehardie. This caused me to appear a trencherman, but seated upon Bruce, the effect was diminished and I was reassured that no man would guess the wealth I carried. I would return to Abingdon to seek John Thrale’s sisters, but I was not prepared to leave the chapman’s hidden wealth either at his house or at the inn while I searched for his family.
I drew Bruce to a halt before Galen House just past midday. The old horse would have continued down Bridge Street, to the castle and his stall, so I was required to yank firmly upon the reins to turn him into Church View Street. Perhaps no harm would have been done had I gone first to the castle, then walked home with the three sacks. Or perhaps I might have left the bags with John Chamberlain, but I felt uneasy about doing so, for no reason I can now explain.
So I entered my house with three sacks of silver and gold, much to Kate’s surprise, and took a moment to tell her how I came by such riches before I placed the pouches in my chest.
Kate was not much pleased when I told her that I had planned to return to Abingdon again on the morrow. Bruce would likely be unhappy about it as well. The old beast often seemed pleased to set out upon a journey, but was happiest when he entered the castle forecourt and knew a stall and bucket of oats awaited him. I was not enthusiastic about the journey myself. Had you spent a night amongst the snoring residents of the abbey’s New Inn, you would understand. But a man was dead, murdered upon Lord Gilbert’s land, and it was my duty to seek those who slew him, and return his possessions to his heirs, could they be found.
Chapter 3
Next day was Friday, so when I arrived at the New Inn there was no roasted capon for my dinner, but boiled stockfish. The fish had been poorly salted, or had been too long in the barrel, for no matter how hot the pot from which it was drawn, it stank of age. I could manage but a few bites, then completed my meal with two maslin loaves which, unlike the fish, seemed fresh.
I sought again the haberdasher who had supplied John Thrale with some of his wares, and questioned the fellow about the chapman. He knew of Thrale’s sisters, but knew not of their abode. One, he thought, had wed a cobbler of some nearby town, but he could not remember that the chapman had ever named the place. The other sister lived nearby, he thought, perhaps in Abingdon, but he could not say of a surety. He thought their names were Julianna and Edith, but which lived near and which had wed a cobbler he knew not.
This information was not of much use, but was more than I had known when I picked at my stockfish. I next walked to East St. Helen Street, intending to again visit the pepperer’s wife, to see if the two names might spur her memory. She answered my knock upon her door readily, probably assuming a customer, with her infant yet propped upon her ample hip. I saw recognition in her eyes. “You again?” she said.
“I have learned that John Thrale indeed had two sisters,” I began. “Julianna and Edith. Do you remember him speaking of them? Where they might reside? His goods should be surrendered to them.”
“Why would you need to know? He’s nothing left now for any kin, but for the house. You said ’e was murdered for ’is goods.”
“Not so. The goods found in his cart are safe in Bampton Castle. And some possessions are in his house.”
“No more. The night after you was last here two men entered John’s house. My Alfred heard ’em in the toft, long past curfew. He thought to stop ’em, but saw there was two of
them and but one of ’im, so come back to bed. Went out come morn yesterday an’ saw they’d broke into the place.”
“What was taken? Could your husband see in the night what they were about?”
“Nay, an’ didn’t stay to watch.”
“Did he or any other inspect the house after the men had gone?”
“Nay. But them fellows come back the next day. Thought one was you. Tall, skinny fellow with, beggin’ your pardon, a big nose.”
“For what did they return?”
“Didn’t find whatever they sought, I suppose. Asked of John, if he had kin nearby, just like you, an’ wanted to know had ’e left goods with us for safekeeping. I told ’em, ‘Nay,’ on both counts, an’ they went to every house on the street. Askin’ the same questions, I’d guess.”
“You can describe the men?”
“Oh, aye. Like I said, one was as tall as you an’ slender, an’ wore a beard trimmed short, like you. The other was not so tall, an’ had more belly than a man ought. His beard needed trimming.”
“What of their clothing?
“The tall one wore a brown cotehardie, much like yours, an’ the fat one wore grey.”
“What color was their hair?”
“Brown, both of ’em.”
“Of what color were their caps?”
“Tall one wore red, the other wore blue.”
I was about to thank the woman for her assistance when she added, “Told ’em another had been here day before, seekin’ the same knowledge.”
“What did they say when you told them this?”
“Asked who ’twas. Told ’em I knew not, that ’twas some bailiff where John was found murdered.”
Here was a distressing announcement. If the two who had entered John Thrale’s house were the men who had murdered him, they knew who it was who sought them, and if they knew of and coveted the gold and silver from his chest, they now knew where it might be if it was not found in Thrale’s house. But of these villains I knew nothing but a description which might match a quarter of the men of Oxfordshire. I began to wish I had taken the three pouches to John Chamberlain in the castle for safekeeping.
I went to three other houses on East St. Helen Street to learn if any resident knew of Edith or Julianna. Only one resident had heard their names, and did not know more of them.
Before I returned to the New Inn I decided to see what damage was done to the chapman’s house. I walked behind the place and saw that the shutters had been torn from the single small window which looked out upon the toft. The oiled skin which had closed the window to the chill October nights was ripped asunder. Likely the two men climbed in through the torn window.
I sought the shed, and with the rake tested the filthy straw until I found the key, where I had returned it two days past. Here was evidence that my assumption was correct, for thieves would not trouble themselves to replace a key, and had they found it they would not have awakened a neighbor by forcing entry to Thrale’s house.
I opened the door farther, entered the chapman’s house, and saw before me a scene of ruin. The bed was overturned and mattress and pillow were torn apart. Straw and feathers littered the floor. The table and cupboard were likewise displaced, and the table stood askew, missing a leg. The small chest was gone from the table, but I soon found what remained of it.
When the felons had failed to discover a key they chose to force the large chest open. This they must have done by battering it with the smaller chest and a leg from the table. Splintered remains of the small chest littered the floor about the larger chest, which lay open, its top demolished. The fractured table leg lay propped in the ruins of the chest. I peered into the chest and saw there the hammer and the small iron box. The bellows lay apart, near the opposite wall of the room, as if it had been thrown there in disgust. No wonder the neighbor had been awakened in the night. Breaking open such a chest would rouse all the street, but none had intervened. Violence heard in the night will keep most men behind their own barred doors. The destruction they heard might be visited upon them if they thought to meddle in the business.
I left all as it was, shut the door behind me, and left the place. I did not trouble myself to dig the key from the straw to relock the door. To what purpose?
If neither a man with whom John Thrale had done business, nor the chapman’s neighbors, could direct me to his kin, I had no other thought as to how I might discover them. This concern occupied my mind as I returned to the inn, and so distracted was I by this failure that I came close to encountering a man upon the street before the inn whom I preferred to avoid. It was not yet dark, so I saw clearly a group of four men walking twenty or so paces before me. Much banter and laughter accompanied them. One of the four was taller than most, and wore a yellow cap with a long liripipe coiled stylishly upon his head. His friends also wore fashionable clothing. These young gentlemen entered the New Inn and as they did so I got a better view of the taller man’s misshapen ear, which I recognized with a shock.
I remembered the man’s profile as well, and his great, hawk-like nose. The ear was familiar to me, as I had sewn it to the fellow’s head when Odo Grindcobbe had come near to knocking it loose from his skull, supposing the man to be me. It was Sir Simon Trillowe who walked before me into the New Inn.
Sir Simon is a vengeful sort. He blames me, I think, that an ear juts from the side of his head in unsymmetrical fashion. ’Tis not easy work to stitch a man’s torn ear in place, and his was the first I had ever attempted. Perhaps I will do better should the need arise again.
Sir Simon also harbors a grudge against me because I won Kate Caxton, when he had set his cap for her also. I was outnumbered four to one, so decided prudence would be a virtue. Perhaps some would call it cowardice, but I passed by the door, walked through a gate to the mews, and made my bed that night in the straw beside Bruce. He seemed glad of the company, and unlike others who occupied the upper story of the inn, Bruce did not snore.
I thought it unlikely that Sir Simon would yet be found in the public room of the inn, but entered cautiously next morn in case it might be so. He was gone, and I wished to be away from the place myself, so I downed a cup of ale, then visited the baker across the marketplace for a fresh loaf which, after I had saddled Bruce, I ate as the horse ambled from the town.
Once again I arrived in Bampton just past the hour for my dinner. But this day I first left Bruce in the hands of the castle marshalsea, and so could enjoy my meal with no other obligation to intrude. That was not precisely true, for as I consumed the stewed capon which Kate set before me, my eyes traveled to my iron-bound chest and I remembered the three pouches there.
Lord Gilbert wishes to be kept informed of events upon his lands, so I kissed my Kate and left Galen House for the castle. I found my employer entertaining guests in the hall, and decided he was not likely ready to hear a complete recitation of my travels and discoveries, slight as those were. So I told him the rudiments of what I had learned, then bowed my way out of the presence of this noble entourage.
For the remainder of the day I occupied myself with manor business. John Holcutt, Bampton’s reeve, is competent to oversee these affairs, but he would be employed upon his own land and I might relieve him of some of his labor if I saw to manor concerns.
Final plowing of fallow fields was nearly complete, and upon Monday villeins would begin to sow wheat and rye upon Lord Gilbert’s demesne lands. It is a risk to sow crops so late in the year. If no rain fell soon, the seed would be much delayed in sprouting, so that when the chill of winter approached, it would rot in the cold soil rather than take root and grow.
Some villeins not engaged in plowing were gathering wheat stubble from the August harvest to mix with hay as winter fodder for Lord Gilbert’s beasts. A few tenants who owed boon work were at this task as well, and would soon be doing the same work upon their own strips. These laborers looked up from their toil as I passed by, and tipped a cap or tugged a forelock in greeting. They needed no advice from me ab
out their work, anymore than I needed their counsel before setting a broken arm.
Darkness was near when I completed my observation of Lord Gilbert’s manor, and herders who had been in the forest with their swine, pannaging, were driving the beasts to their sties for the night. I walked to Galen House well content with my lot. I had wed a beautiful lass, and was father to a healthy babe. I owned freehold a house worth ten pounds, and another of like worth in Oxford, part of Kate’s dower, a gift of her father when we wed, which brought twenty shillings each year rent. I did have an obligation to seek who murdered John Thrale, but the responsibility did not undermine my spirits on this fine autumn evening as I approached Galen House, Kate, Bessie, and my supper.
I suspected some mischief as I came close to Galen House and saw the front door standing open to the chill evening. I broke into a run, plunged through the door, and found Kate trussed upon the rushes of the floor, her mouth stuffed with a gag made of fabric ripped from Bessie’s tiny gown. The rushes were disordered where Kate had thrashed about to free herself, but this she could not do, for her wrists were bound tight together and then to a leg of our table. Our daughter lay beside her mother, unharmed but for the damage to her clothing. As I ran to free Kate I saw, from the corner of my eye, my chest standing open.
I first drew the gag from Kate’s mouth, and she immediately shouted that I must make haste and be after them. I made haste, rather, to free her wrists and ankles from their bonds, then asked what had befallen her.
“Two men,” she gasped, rubbing chaffed wrists, “came upon me unannounced and asked for you. I told them you were at the castle, upon Lord Gilbert’s business.”
“They did not leave to seek me?”
“Nay. They exchanged glances, then one seized me and put a hand over my mouth while the other picked Bessie from the floor.”