by Mel Starr
The Tainted Coin
By the same author
(in sequence)
The Unquiet Bones
A Corpse at St Andrew’s Chapel
A Trail of Ink
Unhallowed Ground
The Tainted Coin
The fifth chronicle of Hugh de Singleton, surgeon
MEL STARR
Copyright © 2012 by Mel Starr
This edition copyright © 2012 Lion Hudson
The right of Mel Starr to be identified
as author of this work has been asserted by him in
accordance with the Copyright, Designs
and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Monarch Books
an imprint of
Lion Hudson plc
Wilkinson House, Jordan Hill Road, Oxford OX2 8DR, England
Tel: +44 (0) 1865 302750 Fax: +44 (0) 1865 302757
Email: [email protected]
www.lionhudson.com/monarch
ISBN: 978 0 85721 250 4
e-ISBN: 978 0 85721 401 0
First edition 2012
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Cover image: Corbis/Ron Nickel/Design Pics
For Peter and Muriel Horrocks
Thanks for the wonderful memories of days spent at Trethevy Farm
Contents
Cover
By the same Author
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Glossary
Map
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Afterword
Acknowledgments
Several years ago when Dan Runyon, professor of English at Spring Arbor University, learned that I had written an as yet unpublished medieval mystery, he invited me to speak to his fiction-writing class about the trials of a rookie writer seeking a publisher. He sent sample chapters of The Unquiet Bones to his friend Tony Collins. Thanks, Dan.
Thanks to Tony Collins and all those at Monarch who saw Master Hugh’s potential. Thanks especially to my editor, Jan Greenough, who excels at asking questions like, “Do you really want to say it that way?” and “Wouldn’t Master Hugh do it this way?”
Dr. John Blair, of Queen’s College, Oxford, has written several papers about Bampton history. These have been invaluable in creating an accurate time and place for Master Hugh. Tony and Lis Page have also been a wonderful source of information regarding Bampton. I owe them much.
Ms Malgorzata Deron, of Poznan, Poland, has offered to update and maintain my website. She has done a wonderful job. To see the results of her work, visit www.melstarr.net
Glossary
Alaunt: a large hunting dog.
All Saints’ Day: November 1st.
All Souls’ Day: November 2nd.
Almoner: monastic official in charge of charity and care of the poor.
Aloes of lamb: lamb sliced thin and rolled in a mixture of egg yolk, suet, onion, and various spices, then baked.
Angelus Bell: rung three times each day; dawn, noon, and dusk. Announced the time for the Angelus devotional.
Apples in compost: apples cooked with a sauce of malmsey wine, sliced dates, sugar cinnamon, and ginger.
Bailiff: a lord’s chief manorial representative. He oversaw all operations, collected rents and fines, and enforced labor service. Not a popular fellow.
Baxter: a professional baker, usually female, who often sold on the streets.
Beadle: a manor official in charge of fences, hedges, enclosures, and curfew. Also called a hayward, he served under the reeve.
Blanc de sire: ground, cooked chicken, thickened with rice flour and cooked in almond milk.
Boon work: the extra hours of labor service villeins owed the lord at harvest.
Bruit of eggs: an egg-and-cheese custard.
Buttery: a room for storing beverages, stored in “butts” or barrels.
Cabbage with marrow: cabbage cooked with bone marrow, breadcrumbs, and spices.
Calefactory: the warming room in a monastery. Benedictines allowed the fire to be lit on November 1st. The more rigorous Cistercians had no calefactory.
Capon farced: chicken stuffed with hard-boiled egg yolks, currants, chopped pork, breadcrumbs, and various spices.
Cellarer: the monastic official in charge of food and drink.
Chapman: a merchant, particularly one who traveled from village to village with his wares.
Chardewarden: pears cooked in wine sauce with breadcrumbs and various spices.
Chauces: tight-fitting trousers, sometimes of different colors for each leg.
Compline: the seventh and last of the daytime canonical hours, observed at sunset.
Coney in cevy: rabbit stewed with onions, breadcrumbs, and spices in wine vinegar.
Coppice: to cut a tree back to the base to stimulate the growth of young shoots. These were used for anything from arrows to rafters, depending upon how much they were permitted to grow.
Cotehardie: the primary medieval outer garment. Women’s were floor-length, men’s ranged from thigh to ankle.
Cotter: a poor villager, usually holding five acres or less, he often had to work for wealthier villagers to make ends meet.
Cresset: a bowl of oil with a floating wick used as a lamp.
Cyueles: deep-fried fritters made of a paste of bread crumbs, ground almonds, eggs, sugar, and salt.
Demesne: land directly exploited by a lord and worked by his villeins, as opposed to land a lord might rent to tenants.
Deodand: an object which had caused a death. The item was sold and the price given to the King.
Dexter: to the right hand. Also a large, powerful war horse.
Egg leech: a thickened custard.
Extreme Unction (or Last Rites): a sacrament for the dying. It must not be premature. A recipient who recovered was considered as good as dead. He must fast perpetually, go barefoot, and abstain from sexual relations.
Farrier: a smith who specialized in shoeing horses.
Farthing: one fourth of a penny. The smallest silver coin.
Fistula: An abnormal passage developed between two organs, sometimes from an abscess to the body’s surface.
Gentleman: a nobleman. The term had nothing to do with character or behavior.
Gersom: a fee paid to a noble to acquire or inherit land.
Groom: a lower-rank servant to a lord, often a youth and usually assistant to a valet.
Haberdasher: a merchant who sold household items such as pins, buckles, hats, and purses.
Habit: a monk’s robe and cowl.
Hallmote: the manorial court. Royal courts judged free tenants accused of murder or felony. Otherwise manor courts had jurisdiction over legal matters concerning villagers. Villeins accused of murder might also be tried in a manor court.
Hamsoken: breaking and entering.
Infangenthef: the right of the lord of a manor to try and execute a thief caught in the act.
King’s Eyre: a royal circuit court, presided over by a traveling judg
e.
Kirtle: the basic medieval undergarment.
Lammastide: August 1st, when thanks was given for a successful wheat harvest. From “loaf mass”.
Leach lombard: a dish of ground pork, eggs, raisins, currants, and dates, with spices added. The mixture was boiled in a sack until set, then sliced for serving.
Leech: a physician.
Liripipe: a fashionably long tail attached to a man’s cap.
Lychgate: a roofed gate in a churchyard wall under which the corpse rested during the initial part of a burial service.
Maintenance: protection from punishment for misdeeds; provided for knights who served a powerful lord and wore his livery.
Mark: a coin worth thirteen shillings and four pence.
Marshalsea: the stables and their associated accoutrements.
Maslin: bread made from a mixture of grains, commonly wheat and rye or barley and rye.
Mews: stables, often with living quarters, built around a courtyard.
Nones: the fifth canonical office, sung at the ninth hour of the day – about 3 p.m.
Page: a young male servant, often a youth learning the arts of chivalry before becoming a squire.
Palfrey: a riding horse with a comfortable gait.
Pannaging: turning hogs loose in an autumn forest to fatten on roots and acorns.
Passing bell: ringing of the parish church bell to indicate the death of a villager.
Pomme dorryce: meatballs made of ground pork, eggs, currants, flour, and spices.
Pottage: anything cooked in one pot, from soups and stews, to simple porridge.
Pottage of eggs: poached eggs in a sweet sauce of honey, sugar, and cinnamon.
Reeve: the most important manor official, although he did not outrank the bailiff. Elected by tenants from among themselves, and often the best husbandman, he had responsibility for fields, buildings, and enforcing labor service.
Reredorter: the monastery toilets.
Runcey: a common horse of lower grade than a palfrey.
Sacrist: the monastic official responsible for the upkeep of the church and vestments, and time-keeping.
St. James’s Wort: ointment from this plant was used for wounds, and a syrup was added to wine for easing pain.
Sinister: to the left hand.
Solar: a small private room in a castle, more easily heated than the great hall, where lords preferred to spend time, especially in winter. Usually on a castle’s upper floor.
Soul cakes: small cakes given to children and the poor on All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day.
Stockfish: inexpensive fish, usually dried cod or haddock, consumed on fast days.
Surcoat: an overcoat.
Tenant: a free peasant who rented land from his lord. He could pay his rent in labor on the lord’s demesne, or (more likely by the fourteenth century) in cash.
Terce: the canonical office at 9 a.m.
Toft: land surrounding a house. Often used for growing vegetables.
Valet: a high-ranking servant to a lord – a chamberlain, for example.
Vigils: the night office, celebrated at midnight. When the service was completed Benedictines went back to bed. Cistercians stayed up for the new day.
Villein: a non-free peasant. He could not leave his manor or service to his lord, or sell animals without permission. But if he could escape his manor for a year and a day, he would be free.
Wattle: interlacing sticks used as a foundation and support for daub (plaster) in building the walls of a house.
Whitsuntide: Pentecost; seven weeks after Easter Sunday.
Yardland: about thirty acres. Also called a virgate, and in northern England an oxgang.
Yeoman: a freeholder below the rank of gentry, generally more prosperous than a tenant.
Chapter 1
I would have preferred to remain in bed a while longer. The October morn was cool, my bed warm, but Bessie stirred in her cradle and Kate was already up and bringing the coals to life upon our hearth. I arose, clothed myself hurriedly, and bent to lift my daughter from her cot. She smiled up at me from the woolen layers into which Kate had tucked her the night before. Elizabeth was now nearly a year old, and beginning to sleep through the night, much to Kate’s joy, and my own. Children are a blessing from God, but not when they awaken before dawn and demand to be fed.
I had placed the babe upon my shoulder and turned to the stairs, when from below I heard an unwelcome pounding upon Galen House’s door. When some man wishes my attention so soon after the morning Angelus Bell has rung, it can be to no good purpose. A window was near, so rather than hasten down the stairs, I opened it to see who was at my door so early in the morn.
My visitor heard the window open above him and when I peered down I looked into the gaunt, upraised face of John Kellet, curate at St. Andrew’s Chapel.
“Master Hugh,” he shouted, “you must come at once. There is a man wounded and near dead at St. Andrew’s Chapel. Bring your instruments and make haste!”
I did so. Kate had heard Kellet’s appeal and awaited me at the foot of the stairs. She took Bessie from me, and over her shoulder I saw my breakfast awaiting upon our table – a loaf and ale. It must wait. I filled a sack with instruments and herbs from my chest, unbarred the door, and stepped into the foggy dawn.
“Quickly, Master Hugh,” the skeletal priest urged, and set off down Church View Street at a trot, his bare, boney feet raising puffs of dust from the dry dirt of the street. I flung my sack over a shoulder and followed. I had questions about this abrupt summons, but Kellet was already too far ahead to allow conversation. I loped after the priest, the sack bouncing against my back.
Kellet led me to the High Street, thence up Bushey Row to the path to St. Andrew’s Chapel. The parish Church of St. Beornwald is a grand structure, but the chapel is old and small. ’Tis little more than a quarter of a mile from Bampton to the chapel, and soon the ancient building appeared in the fog. Kellet plunged through the decrepit lychgate and led me to the porch. There, upon the flags, I saw a man. The priest had placed the fellow upon a pallet so he did not rest upon the hard stones. I bent over the silent form and thought Kellet’s trouble unnecessary, for the man before me seemed insensible, if not already dead.
“Found ’im here at dawn, when I rose to ring the Angelus Bell. I heard a moan, so opened the door an’ found the fellow under the porch roof, just where he now lies. Put a pallet ’neath ’im an’ sought you. I could see ’e was bad off, even in so little light as in the porch.”
The curate lived in the chapel tower, in a bare room but four paces on a side. He need not go far from his bed to ring the bell of St. Andrew’s Chapel, for the bell-rope fell through a hole in the center of his chamber to the base of the tower at ground level.
The porch lay in shadow, so the nature of the man’s wounds was obscure. I asked Kellet to take one end of the pallet, and I grasped the other. Together we lifted the unconscious stranger to the churchyard where the rising sun was visible through the thinning fog and his wounds and injuries became apparent.
The man had been beaten senseless. His nose was broken and askew, his scalp lacerated just above an ear where a blow had found his skull, his lips were purple and swollen, and it seemed sure his jaw was broken and teeth were knocked loose.
“You heard him moan when you rose to ring the Angelus Bell?”
“Aye,” Kellet replied.
“Did he say anything when you found him?”
“Nay. He was as you see ’im now.”
Whoever this man was, he had used the last of his strength to reach sanctuary, as I think he assumed the ancient chapel to be. I looked closely at the face, but could not recognize him as any man I knew. I asked the priest if he knew the fellow.
“Nay. ’Course, he’s so abused, he might be someone I know. In his state his own mother’d not know ’im, I think.”
I silently agreed with the priest, then bent to examine the man’s injuries more closely to learn was there anything I migh
t do to save his life and speed healing of his wounds.
I am Hugh de Singleton, surgeon, trained at the University of Paris, and also bailiff to Lord Gilbert Talbot at his lands in Bampton. Many would find the work I must do as surgeon disagreeable, repairing men’s bodies when they have done themselves harm, but I find my duties as bailiff, collecting fines and dealing with obstreperous tenants, more irksome.
With my dagger I cut away the wounded man’s cotehardie and kirtle, the better to inspect his hurts, and as I did so considered that the supine form presented me with two tasks: I must treat his injuries, and discover who had dealt with him so.
The man’s body presented as many wounds as his head. So many bruises covered his ribs that they might have been one great contusion. I tested one purple blemish and felt the ends of a broken rib move beneath my fingertips.
My examination roused the unconscious fellow. I saw his eyelids flicker, then open. Perhaps he saw my face above him, perhaps not. His eyes seemed not to focus, but drifted about, hesitating only briefly when they turned to me. Did he take me for a friend? Who can know? He surely did not think me one of his assailants, else he would not have spoken as he did.
With pain and effort he opened his swollen lips and said, so faintly I had to ask John Kellet if he heard the same words, “They didn’t get me coin.”
I had learned two things: whoso attacked the fellow had sought a coin, or perhaps many coins, and more than one had done this evil. I would learn no more from him, for as I began to inspect a bloody laceration between two ribs, his chest heaved and was then still.
“Dead?” Kellet asked after a moment.
“Aye. You must think back on finding the fellow. Is there anything you can remember of this morn which might tell who he is and who has done this?”
“I will think on it while I ring the Passing Bell. I have already offered Extreme Unction, before I sought you. I could see how ill used he was, even in the dark of the porch, and feared he might not live till I returned.”
“While you do so I will fetch the coroner. Hubert Shillside must convene a jury here before we may do any other thing.”