by S. D. Sykes
Mother threw me the stoniest of stares, before turning back to Hatcher. ‘Will you at least stay for some more ale and cheese, Edward?’
Hatcher nodded. ‘Is there any pottage, my lady? I’m sure the men would appreciate some warm food on this cold day.’
Once again Mother blushed like a girl. ‘Of course, Edward. And I bet you would prefer something warm yourself?’ And then I believe she winked at the man. What was she thinking of? A woman of her age! Most of her contemporaries were either dead or propping up the corner of a fireplace, and yet it seemed that my mother was making crude insinuations to a steward. Thankfully she left the solar to make arrangements with the kitchen.
‘What a woman,’ said Hatcher, as Mother made her exit. He smiled to reveal a set of stained teeth. Unable to say anything to this comment, I merely pulled a face, but my response went unnoticed, for the man now appeared to be mining his ear for something with his little finger.
Finding this distasteful, I distracted myself by poking again at the logs on the fire. ‘I think we need a little more wood,’ I said. ‘I’ll just summon a servant.’ In truth this was an excuse to leave the room, since I found it awkward to be alone with Hatcher. What would I speak to the man about? I doubt he read books, ever thought about geometry, or cared the slightest bit about the trajectory of Venus. It was more likely that we would have to discuss the breeding lines of our bulls, or the quality of our wheat harvest – both of which subjects held no interest for me. And then I had the idea of inviting Featherby to join us. The two men were of the same station in life and would doubtless find endless interests in common. I must have said as much, for Hatcher stopped me. He put his hand upon my arm – very firmly. He saw no impropriety in such an action, but I did.
‘No, my lord,’ he said. ‘I think it’s better that we have a private conversation. Let your reeve stay in the hall.’
I stepped away from him and dusted down my sleeve, as if his touch had somehow dirtied my arm. ‘I thought this was a social visit, Hatcher?’
He laughed jovially. ‘I was only passing nearby. I thought it rude not to pay Somershill a visit. And I do enjoy my lady’s company. There are few such lively women in this county.’
‘She is nearly sixty you know.’
He only laughed at this comment. ‘Well, I would have thought her half that age.’ Was the man blind as well as bald?
He cleared his throat and patted his large hands upon the tops of his legs, drumming his fingers rhythmically upon the hard muscles of his thighs. If ever a man were displaying his strength to a minor, this was it. If Hatcher had been a bull he might have snorted and dropped his head to display the points of his horns, before pawing at the ground with his hoof and despatching me with a charge. Instead he continued to look at me with his eyebrows raised.
‘The earl has requested that I visit all his tenanted estates,’ he said, ‘to ask certain questions:’ He savoured the word tenanted. He and I were not so different after all. The name of the de Lacy family was carved over the door, but we did not own this land, we only held it from the earl, who in turn held it from the king. In some parts of the country there were yeoman farmers who rented nearly as much land as I did. In truth the de Lacys were no more noble than pigherds with a pot of money.
‘What questions are they?’ I said.
He broke his stare and began to scratch at his ear a second time, now as urgently as a dog with fleas.
‘Are you unwell?’ I asked.
‘I think there is something inside my ear,’ he said. ‘Would you take a look, my lord? I can feel it itching and wriggling.’
I hesitated, but now he knelt down in front of me and cocked his head so I might inspect the cavity of his ear. ‘I’m not qualified for such a diagnosis,’ I protested. ‘My near sight is not always
Now he banged the side of his head with his fist. ‘Please, my lord. There is something inside. I can feel it wriggling.’ He appeared to be panicking.
I had treated men with madness at the infirmary. Under Brother Peter’s guidance, I had learnt to indulge the fantasies of lunatics in order to appease them – since a flat denial of their claims often led to a violent outcome. I had assured one patient that I could see the Minotaur that was hiding in the room, though when I looked beneath the table the beast was listless and tired. Another poor demented priest had claimed to be the Pope. Whereas the other brothers would inflame the man’s anger by calling him a heretic, I managed to keep him calm by calling him Your Holiness, and bowing upon entering the room.
Of course, I didn’t believe that Hatcher was mad, though this sudden episode with his ear was troubling. ‘Have you put a maggot inside?’ I asked, as this was common practice amongst some of the villagers, in the hope the small grub would devour the person’s ear wax and thereby relieve their deafness.
Hatcher shook his head. ‘No. Please. Look further inside.’
His voice was now urgent, so with great reluctance I leant further towards his head, seeing only a small black hole fringed with hair.
‘Can you see anything?’ he asked.
‘No.’
‘Look closer.’
‘But I cannot see inside your head Master Hatcher.’
‘Put your finger in and feel about.’
I recoiled. ‘What? No. I don’t think that would help at all.’
His voice sharpened. ‘I said put your finger in.’
‘But—’
‘Do it!’
I put my hand in the small opening to his earhole, but no further. ‘There’s nothing there,’ I said, quickly removing my finger.
‘Press in further. Feel about.’
I felt sick, but also terrified. Hatcher was as cross as a baited bear, ready to strike out his paw at any moment. ‘This won’t do any good,’ I protested.
He took my hand and pressed it against his ear, squeezing it firmly until I had no option but to obey his instruction. The interior of his ear felt greasy, but clear of any obstructions or indeed any small, crawling intruders.
‘Anything there?’ he asked.
‘No.’
He let my hand go and quickly got to his feet. ‘That’s good,’ he said, his tone now rational. ‘Thank you, my lord. I just needed to make sure I could hear properly.’
I shrank away from him, for it was clear that he had been playing a game with me and I felt feeble for having surrendered so easily. ‘Perhaps next time you should ask to see a physician to inspect your ear,’ I said, making a point of wiping my finger on the edge of a tapestry.
He only laughed at this suggestion. ‘I cannot afford to travel with a physician, my lord. I’m just a lowly steward.’
‘I’m sure the occasional consultation would suffice.’
‘But I have such problems with my ears. So many people tell me lies, you see. Then they deny what they’ve said.’ He leant towards me in an attitude not dissimilar to Featherby’s. But whereas Featherby’s posturing was an irritation, this man’s bearing exuded menace. ‘I must make sure to hear their answers clearly.Then I can tell the earl exactly what has been said.You see, he hates lies as much as I do.’
‘You won’t hear lies here, Hatcher.’
He threw up his hands in sham alarm. ‘God bless you, my lord. I was simply talking about some of the other estates I visit. The earl has the greatest faith in you. He often says how well he can trust the young lord of Somershill and Versey. He doesn’t expect to hear lies here.’ Then he straightened up and moved to the window. ‘The spring is late, don’t you think?’
Was this another trick? I answered ambiguously. Something about a mixture of rain and sun.
‘Have you started to sow yet?’ he said.
‘In some fields.’
‘And how are you paying your men this spring?’
‘In the same way as before.’
‘Have they asked for higher wages?’
I hesitated. ‘No. They are being paid according to the Statute.’ Hatcher put his finger to his ear and t
wisted it about again. ‘Would you mind repeating that?’ he asked.
I took a deep breath. ‘Do I need to?’
He threw me a look. ‘I believe you do, my lord.’
It was difficult to stop my voice from shaking. ‘I am paying my men according to the Statute of Labourers,’ I said. ‘They receive the same day rates as they did in 1346.’
‘And you will continue to do so?’
‘Yes.’
He bowed his head. ‘Thank you, my lord. This will certainly please the earl.’ He looked out of the window again, appearing to focus on something in the distance. ‘You see, my master has become very concerned that some of his estates are breaking the law. And once one lord gives in, then others will. You do understand that, don’t you?’
‘I’m not breaking the law,’ I said.
‘Of course not. But others try.’ Then he turned back to me. His voice now the cruel hiss of an adder. ‘They are foolish enough to think that they may hide what they’re doing. But you see, the truth is this. I always find out.’
I let my mouth fall open. ‘And then what happens to them?’
‘Don’t worry yourself about that, my lord.The earl trusts you.’ He smiled, revealing his yellowed teeth. Like a row of tiny wax tablets – tarnished and flecked by years inside this man’s noxious mouth. ‘He would not throw your family from this estate. The earl is your friend.’ I took his meaning well enough.
He broke his gaze and suddenly clasped his hands together, as if we had just concluded the arrangements for a forthcoming marriage, or the sale of a piece of land. ‘I can smell the pottage, my lord. Shall we join the others in the great hall?’
‘You go ahead Hatcher,’ I said, with all the churlishness I could muster. ‘I need to wash my hands.’
Mother had invited the four squires and Hatcher to join her at the family table on the dais. Seeing this was the arrangement, I deliberately seated myself at the other end of the long table, to be as far away as possible from this unpleasant group. Clemence was my only company.
We ate our meal in silence, though we were disturbed every few minutes by the peal of raucous laughter and the stamping of feet. ‘Look at Mother,’ I whispered to Clemence. ‘Anybody would think this was her wedding feast.’
Clemence scraped the spoon about her empty bowl. ‘Are you going to eat all of that?’ she asked, looking at my own bowl, which was still half filled with pottage. The kitchen had struggled to stretch our midday meal to suddenly accommodate another five guests, and the pottage delivered to our end of the table was decidedly watery and bulked out with bread.
I pushed the bowl to my sister. ‘You have it. Mother is ruining my appetite.’
Clemence greedily spooned the pottage into her mouth. ‘She’s enjoying herself, Oswald. Why don’t you just ignore her?’
‘But she’s an old woman,’ I whispered. ‘Those young men don’t find her company amusing.’
‘I wouldn’t say that.’ At that exact moment one of the squires jumped from his seat to perform a dance like a flapping chicken, which nearly caused Mother to fall from her seat in laughter.
Clemence licked her spoon. ‘You see, Oswald. Older women still enjoy the company of men. Their bodies are not yet dead beneath their gowns.’
I pulled a face.
‘Does that disgust you?’
‘No,’ I lied.
She exhaled with a sudden weariness. ‘You are still such a stupid little boy.’ With that she stood, bowed indistinctly – possibly to me or to Mother, or perhaps it was merely to the hall itself – and then she left us. The raucous crowd at the other end of the table didn’t notice her departure. I thought to leave myself, but knew this would be shirking my duty. Instead I fiddled with my fingernails and attempted to ignore Mother’s continual mirth until a sudden commotion disturbed the hall. We heard shouting from outside, and the door was banged heavily. Somebody threw a stone against one of my grandfather’s beloved windows, though thankfully it did not break the precious glass.
As I looked along the table I saw an alley of faces looking back at me. ‘I’ll go and see what’s going on,’ I said, getting to my feet.
‘Is it the Danes?’ asked Mother.
I quickly wiped my mouth on my sleeve. ‘No. Mother. Not
Gilbert opened the cumbersome door of the hall to a great horde of faces with Thomas Tulley at their head. In his hands he held a pile of wrinkled green cloth that was torn and muddy.
‘What do you want?’ I said, though I might have predicted Tulley’s answer.
He stepped forward. ‘John Barrow.’
The others repeated his words – now swaying with rhythmic menace. ‘Barrow. Barrow.’
I was tempted to step back inside the house, but suddenly found Gilbert behind me. I would almost say he was blocking my retreat. ‘I’ve told you before,’ I shouted. ‘You can’t have Barrow. Go home!’
Thomas thrust the pile of cloth at me. ‘Recognise this, do you, sire?
The cloth fell onto the soil at my feet, leaving me dumbfounded for a few moments. ‘No,’ I said. ‘What is it?’
Tulley knelt down to pick up one of the items, and then held it aloft for me to view. It was the gown of a child. The cloth was cut asunder and stamped with mud. ‘These are the dresses of the de Caburn sisters.’
The garment was now familiar. Horribly so. ‘Where did you find them?’
‘In the nest of the butcher bird.’
‘That’s not true,’ I said, but my voice was disobligingly small.
Another man now pushed his way through the crowd to join Tulley. He was small and wiry with clouded blue eyes, which were striking against the dark tan of his skin. I recognised him as Silas Beck, though I rarely saw his face about the village, since he kept to the furthest meadows with his sheep. ‘We found this in its nest, sire.’ Silas held a skull aloft, whitened and free of any flesh. ‘The bird has been taking my lambs.’
‘When it isn’t taking children,’ said Tulley. These words caused a shrieking from the crowd that was almost deafening.
‘Where is this nest?’ I shouted above the cacophony.
They didn’t listen to me until Tulley turned to them and put his finger to his lips. When he had achieved the silence that I had failed to impose, he had the impudence to serve me an ultimatum. ‘Give us Barrow, and then we’ll show you.’
I made my answer plain. They would no more have Barrow than I would organise a search for their foolish bird. When I told them all to go home again, they began to advance upon the door, all the while shouting Barrow’s name. I commanded them to leave, but my voice was once again lost in the tumult, and I was about to bolt back behind the door when I felt a tap upon my shoulder. Quickly turning, I expected to find Gilbert’s dour face looking into mine. Instead it was the hard jaw and bald head of Edward Hatcher.
‘What’s going on here, de Lacy?’ he said.
Once again my voice was not cooperating. I wanted to tell Hatcher to go back to the table, as the disturbance was under control, but only managed a dithering mumble.
Hatcher pushed me to one side and then stepped forward. He said nothing to begin with, but merely the fold of his arms was enough to halt their progress. ‘How dare you approach this house?’ he said, hardly raising his voice. ‘Get back to your fields.’
Most people withdrew, but Tulley remained rooted to the spot. ‘We want the sinner.’
Hatcher tipped his chin upwards and regarded the man with light, cold-blooded eyes. ‘I told you to go home.’
Tulley was now sweating, despite his bluster. ‘The sinner’s name is John Barrow. Lord Somershill keeps him under his protection.’
Hatcher shrugged. ‘Then that’s where he’ll stay.’ He pointed his short, calloused finger at Tulley. ‘If Lord Somershill wants to protect this John Barrow, then that’s his business. It has nothing to do with you.’ The crowd looked to me, and I have rarely felt smaller and more utterly feeble. Hatcher was standing the ground that I should have been standing
myself.
But Tulley would still not concede. ‘Barrow released a great bird on this village. A monster that stole my infant daughter from her cradle and left her dead body in a bush.’
Another shrug from Hatcher.
Anger flared in Tulley’s eyes. ‘If you don’t care about my daughter, then you’ll care enough about the two noble children the bird has killed.’
‘Which noble children?’ said Hatcher.
‘Mary and Rebecca de Caburn.’Tulley pointed to the heap of discarded clothes. ‘These were their dresses. Torn from their bodies.’
This time Hatcher did not shrug. Instead he laughed. ‘What nonsense is this?’
‘Don’t laugh at me!’ said Tulley.
‘I’ll laugh at who I like. And I’ll tell you this. The de Caburn sisters haven’t been murdered by a bird. They were certainly wearing dresses when I saw them last week. In London.’
Tulley dropped the gowns. He looked askance. ‘You’re lying.’
Hatcher pointed his finger at Tulley a second time. ‘Watch your tongue, churl. Or I will cut it out.’
I tugged at Hatcher’s sleeve. ‘Are you sure you saw them? Mary and Rebecca de Caburn?’
Hatcher swivelled his head to regard me, his amusement now completely extinguished. ‘I don’t have a problem with my eyesight. They are the daughters of Walter de Caburn, are they not?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I saw them.They are guests of Eloise Cooper.’
‘Eloise Cooper?’
Hatcher folded his arms. ‘She is their aunt. She lives in London.’ ‘London?’
‘Yes, de Lacy. London. It is a city on the River Thames.’
A few bystanders smirked, but soon stopped when Hatcher turned to stare at them. ‘Is something amusing you?’ To which nobody answered.
I quickly dusted down my tunic and straightened my back. ‘The girls ran away and we thought they were dead. I’m very relieved to hear they are safe.’
Hatcher hesitated. ‘Safe enough.’
‘What do you mean?’
Hatcher shifted his body to speak more privately. ‘Let’s go inside and discuss this, shall we?’ Then he turned once more upon my unruly subjects. ‘Get your ugly faces out of here.’