by Rosie Lear
The business in the market was brisk. The sight of the busy stalls mended Matthias’ good humour to a degree. The colour and chatter of the market place restored his feeling of purpose and he found himself exchanging pleasantries with fellow customers. There was always noise in the market place..street cries, itinerant entertainers hoping for coins and dogs and children dodging in and out of shop fronts and stalls. Matthias paused to smile at a dog fight between two dogs with the same stolen bone, their owners calling them frantically as they caused mayhem amongst the crowded street.
He dawdled at the cloth merchant’s stall, uncertain of what to buy. He would have liked to have asked the Lady Bridget’s advice, but the connection was too tenuous. There was some Salisbury cloth available today, its distinctive dyed stripes making a cheery statement, but eventually Matthias chose some locally dyed dark red cloth for heavier hangings. He parted with what seemed to him an extortionate amount of coin, ruefully aware that in the past his mother would have encouraged him to question the price and quality.
A crowd had gathered at the edge of the market, and aware of Sir Tobias’ instruction to him to watch, Matthias wandered over, the cloth heavy in his arms. The Abbey gatehouse was thronged with townspeople, jostling and muttering angrily. Matthias joined the crowd, and craned his neck over the people to attempt to see the cause.
Father Samuel was at the front of the crowd, standing on the steps of the almonry.
“This is a disgrace!” he shouted, his voice reaching clearly to Matthias, who stood at the back of the crowd. Clutching his cloth awkwardly, he tried to push further forward to see better.
“Look how little food has been put out for the poor! And this Abbey is a rich abbey! Where is the charity we have a right to expect?”
The crowd murmured its agreement, and Matthias pushed through to the front, where he could see the steps leading to the almonry. The door was closed. There were a handful of beggars fighting over a basket of bread, seemingly oblivious of Father Samuel.
“I shall demand an audience with Abbot Bradford!” Father Samuel announced. “Those who would be numbered amongst the complainants, follow me! This is no act of charity – this is scandalous!”
Half the crowd followed him through the lane and onto the Abbey green, where the building work was still progressing apace.
“These masons and their labourers are taking liberties with our church,” Father Samuel shouted. “At Easter, we need to see a clear nave, - not all this building rubbish. Have some reverence for the great work you’re doing,” he shouted up at the working men. They waved to him from their perches on the scaffolding. Matthias thought it unlikely they’d heard what he said.
There were some townspeople left by the almonry steps. The last beggars had emptied the basket and scuttled away with their meagre pickings.
“Father Samuel is too hot,” the butcher, Walter Gallor, declared. “Much of what he says is true. This is a disgrace – the good brothers have plenty of waste food. Not enough appears here for the poor, but little will be gained by antagonizing Abbot Bradford. He is the Abbot. Whatever he decrees should be regarded. I cannot agree with the spittle Father Samuel produces.”
“I warrant the Easter procession will not be as good as usual, Walter,” Thomas Twogood commented. His trade was slack on this day, and he was undecided whether to support Father Samuel or the moderates.
The miller grunted, and turned back to collect his cart.
“It doesn’t do to stir up trouble,’ he warned. “Abbot Bradford is a powerful man. Look how he takes port-rent from you all. We can do nothing in this town without the Abbot’s say-so, and if not the Abbot, then the Bishop of Salisbury. They’ve got us all nicely tied up.”
Walter Gallor watched his retreating back.
“Daniel couldn’t be more right,” he observed. “The Abbot owns Daniel’s mill – Daniel pays him rent. The Abbot owns the market, We pay him port-rent. The Bishop even taxes the brewers – they still have to pay him croukpenny. The church has got it tied up nicely. But I still don’t like to oppose the Father Abbot – we need to be reasonable.”
Matthias drifted away. There was nothing to be learned here, except town dissent. He wondered what would happen on Easter Sunday, when the townspeople tried to enter the Abbey church through the narrowed doorway, with their crosses and banners. It might be worth going down to Sherborne on Easter Sunday to mass to see what happened rather than hearing mass in Milborne Port as he usually did.
He reclaimed his horse and laid the cloth across the front of his saddle. He should have brought Davy with him to carry his purchases, but this would have to do.
He retraced his steps down Long Street and then, mentally flattened by his lack of activity, turned the horse towards Newland, where he’d last seen Roger. This took him up Cheap Street, past Thomas Copeland’s house and then swung him into Hound Street, where Mistress Fosse lived. He passed her house, but there was no sign of life there, - and climbed the hill towards Newland. It was here he’d last seen the lad. He’d lost him by the ale house.
It was a trail gone cold – not that it had been much of a trail in the first place. Matthias felt he could waste no more time, and trotted towards Castleton Mill to join the track to Shaftesbury.
He arrived at Barton Holding feeling he’d used his time badly. Davy had reached home before him, in despondent mood also.
“We’re getting nowhere, Master,” he said, gloomily. “No sign of the lad – I’m not the right person to ferret out information. My mind just doesn’t work quickly enough to sound convincing.”
He set Matthias’ meal on the table, topped his goblet up with ale, stoked the fire and left Matthias in peace to eat.
The shadows flickered on the walls of the high roofed hall. The candles were lit and mellowed the surrounding room, soft light filling the corners. Beeswax candles were one of Matthias’ few luxuries – tallow candles smoked too much and smelt unpleasant.
“One day,” thought Matthias, as he took his knife out to start his meal, “One day I could build above this hall – make an upstairs sleeping room…..maybe more than one, if I ever have a wife and children.”
His thoughts turned once more to Alice – trim and lively , sweet of face, and gentle towards her little son….he wondered glumly what chance he had of finding a suitable wife. He imagined Alice presiding calmly over her household – husband – child – serving girl – serving man for her husband – what did her husband do? – and in due course, another child on the way….making plans for her garden possibly – herbs to be planted – maybe she and her husband had a little land, and they’d plant a rose garden and a lavender bed.. some medicinal herbs – possibly they’d add to their home as the children kept coming….would Luke go to school in Sherborne?
Without brothers and sisters, parents, companions around him, how could he expect to meet anyone suitable? It would have been so easy if his sisters had lived…..their friends…. their acquaintances…. daughters of his mother’s friends…..
A shout of alarm cut across his thoughts. Doors banged and Davy’s voice calling brought him to his feet.
“Out the back, Master Barton! Intruders!”
Matthias followed Davy out of the door, across the cobbled courtyard and into the darkness beyond. He saw Davy’s shadow crumple as he drew level with the box hedge and heard his shriek of pain.
Instinctively he drew back a few paces and jumped onto the low wall which ran beside the hedge. He heard the rustle of leaves under softly clad feet and hoped Davy wasn’t too badly hurt. Whoever the intruder was, he was waiting for Matthias to appear at the other end of the hedge.. Matthias kept still, peering through the thickly twigged hedge. His eyes grew accustomed to the dark, and he could hear Davy’s heavy, shuddering breathing. He could dimly make out the shape of a man standing the other side of the hedge, tensed for attack. Without stopping to consider the consequences, Matthias ran lightly over the wall and round the hedge so that he was behind the tensed figu
re, and before the man could turn to see the cause of the flurry behind him, Matthias, from his slightly elevated position on the wall, leapt onto the attacker’s back and wound his legs round his waist, raining blows on his head with his two clenched fists.
His attacker whirled round, snarling and punching back, lashing out in the dark. One hand held a glittering knife, and the violence of Matthias’ blows raining on his head caused him to drop this, making a clatter on the cobbles, although not before he had caught Matthias’ arm, slicing him down his forearm. Davy, groaning in pain but the breath now returning to him, rolled over onto the knife, and with a quick sideways movement, the attacker was gone, leaping over the gate into the paddock, and before either men could give chase, they heard the thud of hooves as the man mounted his waiting horse and was off.
“Up, Davy – quick!” gasped Matthias.
Davy staggered up, shuddering with a winded gullet. “Over there, Master!”
“A large horse- the same as when Lydia’s house was fired!” Matthias panted.
“We’ll never catch him!” Davy groaned, clutching the gate post and lowering himself down to the ground again.
“I’m bleeding,” Matthias said in some surprise, as he felt the hot, sticky fluid run down his arm and soak into his tunic.
Pressing his good hand against his bleeding arm, Matthias ran to the gate, but he was too late, - in the weak moonlight he could see the horseman, dark-cloaked and hooded, bending low over his steed, swerving round a clump of bushes and so on to the track. It wasn’t even possible to ascertain whether he was bound for Shaftesbury or Sherborne, but Matthias guessed Sherborne.
Elizabeth’s frightened voice called to them from the door – she stood there holding a guttering candle, and in its weak light, Davy hauled himself onto his knees and leaning hard on the little wall, eased himself up, breathing laboriously. He paused to rest, his breath coming unevenly. Matthias moved into the circle of light and Elizabeth gave a cry of concern as she saw his arm, sliced down the inside from shoulder to wrist.
With his good side, Matthias supported Davy, and together they re-entered the house. Elizabeth, practical in emergency, and with a little knowledge of herbal remedies, administered to both of them. Davy was badly winded. He remained sitting in front of the fire for some time, grey faced, shuddering and retching, his breath coming in shallow gasps. As he began to recover his senses, he was aware that every time he breathed in, a knife-like pain attacked the bottom of his rib cage. Elizabeth felt carefully with her fingers, but Davy couldn’t stand the pain of their probing, however gentle she tried to be. She propped him up in front of the fire with the sheepskin tucked round him. He found if he stayed very still and breathed very carefully, he could stand the pain, and so he stayed, until morning broke.
Matthias’ sliced arm was easier to deal with. The attacker had been caught by surprise, and the cut was superficial, although it had bled copiously to start with. Cloths, torn in pieces and administered tightly, soon stemmed the flow, and Matthias slumped in Elizabeth’s other chair in the kitchen, his own bed forgotten, as he dreamed uneasily of hedges, shadows and mounted monks. His sleep was shallow. Every so often he would wake and find himself shaking with shock and listening for any sound. All he could hear was Davy’s broken breathing, and owls hooting softly outside.
In the morning he felt as though he was drowning in a morass of half truths, hidden meanings and muddle.
Chapter 10
Matthias knew he must visit Purse Caundle with some urgency. Davy appeared to have a broken rib for breathing hurt him, and he himself had a sore arm which would not bear much movement. He sat in the cold grey light of late March and watched Elizabeth kindle a flame in the fire.
“What’s to be done, Elizabeth?” he asked. He was not in the habit of asking her for advice, but Davy was still sleeping uneasily, and Matthias felt a need to share his thoughts. Elizabeth had been steady and quick in her actions after the intruder had left, and Matthias was grateful for her presence. They had the kitchen to themselves, for Lydia had returned to her mother’s house with the babe.
Elizabeth sat back on her heels as she stirred the ashes.
“This thing needs to be treated more seriously than you thought, sir,” she ventured, blushing pink as she realised her opinion was being sought.
“As you said last evening, you have brushed against something deeper than you realised. Ben’s death was the beginning, but there seems to be no end, and it needs taking seriously.”
“Am I not taking it seriously?” Matthias asked, leaning forward in his chair. Elizabeth frowned with concentration as she tried to express her thoughts clearly without being thought critical of her master.
“You have dabbled, sir. You went with Davy to see Ben’s body. You tried to see the coroner after Mary died – Lydia’s house was fired, but you left too much time between that happening and informing the coroner. Davy went to Oborne and asked questions and now the young lad has disappeared…..it’s all such a slow moving muddle. We live in such a quiet little corner that it’s difficult to imagine king’s spies or foreign agents here.”
Matthias was startled into total wakefulness. How did Elizabeth – a woman – know about the king’s very comprehensive spy ring? And what made her mention foreign agents? Matthias’ mind had dwelled more on theft or blackmail. He paused so long before speaking again that Elizabeth was afraid she had said too much.
“What do you know about spy rings?” he asked her eventually.
“Very little sir,” was the demure reply, “but your father knew of such things, and once said he was glad to be out of them.”
Matthias felt his jaw slacken with amazement. His father? From Elizabeth’s words it appeared that perhaps his father had once been involved in such service to the king.
“I’m only repeating what I heard,” she added hastily, “and I know the King has informers everywhere.”
Yes, Matthias knew that, too, but not here, not in Milborne Port – and for what purpose? Or even Sherborne, - the Abbey was large and beautiful and yielded much revenue to the Bishop of Salisbury, but Sherborne was small and insignificant compared to Shaftesbury, where the good nuns had their well ordered stronghold – and there was Glastonbury – and Exeter. No – King’s spies – certainly not. But foreign agents? England was still at war with France, although losing heavily now. Already, disillusioned soldiers who had not been paid were beginning to desert and filter back to England through the South Coast ports. Sir Tobias had spoken of them the other day – hungry, cold, diseased – they would tramp from their destinations without a lord to serve, and needing food and shelter. They would be lawless and desperate men who must rob and plunder to stay alive. Surely with England on the losing side now, and with little more than a boy king, there was no need for French spies? But the machinations of the great lords of the land were sowing dissent and disharmony as the young Henry struggled to live up to his father…..and my Lord Suffolk held a grip of power…Matthias thanked God for the remoteness of their lives, here in Dorset. How would the great lords of the land resolve things if the young king failed to prove strong?
But she had sown the seed in his mind, and he needed more than ever to speak with Sir Tobias.
He dozed fitfully again before the re-kindled fire, and woke when Elizabeth had prepared some oatmeal for them all.
“I must ride to Purse Caundle, Elizabeth, if you will dress my arm again for me. We need help from Sir Tobias. My confused interference in this has put my household in danger, but I don’t understand why.”
He ate his oatmeal in silence, cursing himself for his sloth in delaying carrying the news of the fired roof to Sir Tobias, and with Davy still sleeping, he allowed Elizabeth to re-dress his arm, binding it as tightly as he could bear.
She had to assist him to pull his sur-cotte and woollen over-cloak on securely, and to his shame, it was Elizabeth who saddled his horse and helped him to mount. He sheathed his father’s best dagger in his belt, an
d tucked his own smaller fine -bladed knife inside his cloak.
The sun was bright now, casting aside the shadowy nightmare, and as Matthias turned his horse out of Milborne Port onto the Shaftesbury track, he hoped to be able to shed some light on their predicament so they could return to normality, and his dreams of a peaceful, scholarly existence.
He did not ride fast, as every pothole and mudslide jarred his arm, and he passed several parties of pedlars, chapmen and other traders making for Sherborne to peddle their wares in the approach to Easter.
Outside Milborne Port, the Bishop’s great hunting forest began, offering a short cut to Purse Caundle, but Matthias had no stomach for it today. He kept strictly to the edge of the forest, finally turning towards the South, leaving the main track and taking the smaller one towards Purse Caundle. He did not see the solitary figure following him at a distance – and being still inexperienced in the matter of murder, it did not occur to him to even think that he might be followed. As he reached Sir Tobias’ house and turned in, the mounted watcher turned back; he had his answer – Matthias was visiting the coroner.
Sir Tobias and his scribe were sifting through recent cases prior to relegating them to the great wooden chest when Lady Bridget greeted Matthias. She made an exclamation of concern as Matthias dismounted, slithering down with less grace and expertise then normal, and staggering slightly to regain his balance.
“Matthias! Welcome! You’re hurt?”
“Mild compared to my man Davy,” Matthias assured her, handing his reins to the boy who had come running out from the stable.
“Have you been attacked?” the Lady Bridget asked, taking hold of Matthias’ swaddled arm.
“In my own home – an intruder,” Matthias explained.
Lady Bridget wasted no time in taking him to the airy room looking out over the garden, where Sir Tobias and his scribe Nicholas were doing their work.
“Matthias!” Sir Tobias said, rising to his feet. “Something serious brings you here?”