The Tainted Coin

by Mel Starr

  I heard Kellet ring the bell of St. Andrew’s Chapel as I left the churchyard and its tumbled-down wall. I noted several places where someone – Kellet, I presume – had replaced fallen stones so as to halt the decay. My eyes traveled to a section of the wall where, three years past, I had hidden to escape Thomas atte Bridge and the priest, who intended my death. Kellet, for this felony and others, was sent on pilgrimage to Compostela. He returned a transformed man, and was assigned to assist the almoner at the Priory of St. Nicholas, in Exeter. There he was so assiduous at seeking the poor that he came near to impoverishing the priory, it not being a wealthy house, and the prior beseeched the bishop to be rid of him. As no curate had been found for St. Andrew’s Chapel, Kellet was reassigned to the place. He left it three years past a corpulent hedonist, but returned a year ago an emaciated pauper, who wore no shoes at any season and gave to the poor nearly all of the meager living he was awarded as curate. I have never seen a man so reformed, and indeed, when first I learned of the change, doubted it was truly so. May the Lord Christ forgive me for mistrusting the alteration He can work in a repentant man’s life. All saints were once sinners, and any sinner may become a saint.

  Hubert Shillside, Bampton’s haberdasher, was no more pleased than I had been to open his door so early, but accepted his duty as coroner, and when told of the death at St. Andrew’s Chapel, set out to assemble a jury while I walked to Church View Street and Galen House.

  I told Kate of events at the chapel, hurriedly gobbled the loaf she had set out for me, swallowed a cup of ale, then set out again for the chapel. I arrived with Shillside and his coroner’s jury. The haberdasher asked of the priest what he knew of the corpse, and was told what I had already heard. Kellet could think of nothing more to explain the dead man’s condition.

  All who viewed the corpse agreed that the death was murder, not misadventure, and so Shillside did readily declare. No weapon was to be found, so the coroner, no doubt hungry to break his fast, absolved himself and his jurymen of further responsibility in the matter and turned the death over to me.

  As the coroner’s jury departed the place, I told Kellet to once again take in hand an end of the pallet. Together we carried the corpse through the porch, into the chapel, and deposited it on the flags before the altar.

  “I’ll say a mass, have a grave dug, and bury the man this day,” the priest said.

  I wished to know where this stranger had been attacked, to see if there might be at the place some evidence of his assailants. It could not have been close to the chapel, for he would have cried out when attacked, and Kellet would have heard him. But the dead man had been so badly injured that he would not have crawled far. I searched the grass of the churchyard for blood and found traces which led to the lychgate. The curate saw, and followed. Beyond the gate was the path, dry from absence of rain for the past fortnight. In the dust it was easy to follow the track of a crawling man back to the east, for the sun was now well up over the fields and meadow which bordered the narrow road. Nearly two hundred paces to the east the path entered a wood, and a few paces beyond that the marks of a crawling man disappeared into the verge.

  I studied the place where the man had crawled from the forest. Why did he struggle to leave the place and crawl to St. Andrew’s Chapel? In his battered condition this required much effort. Was he familiar with Bampton, so that he knew help might be found could he reach the chapel?

  John Kellet had followed from the chapel and with me studied the path where marks in the dust told of the man’s entry upon the road.

  “Look there,” the priest said, and pointed a few paces beyond. Between road and forest was a swathe of dry grass and across this patch of vegetation two parallel tracks of bent-down foliage showed where a cart or similar wheeled conveyance had turned from the road and entered a narrow opening which led into the forest. Marks of the cart wheels and a horse’s hooves, and the footprints of men were visible in the dust of the path where the vehicle entered the wood, but although we searched for many paces in both directions from the place, neither Kellet nor I could find any mark where a cart might have left the wood and regained the road. Whatever had entered the forest was yet there.

  The priest followed as I traced the path of the cart into the wood. Fallen leaves covered the forest floor, so the track was soon obliterated, but it was possible to guess the way by seeking openings between the trees and bushes large enough to admit passage of a horse and cart.

  We had walked perhaps fifty paces from the road when I heard a horse whinny. Another forty paces brought us to a shaded clearing in the wood where before us stood a horse, harnessed to a cart, its reins tied to a small beech. The horse neighed again, no doubt pleased to see men who might offer it water and food.

  “Why is this beast here, so distant from the road?” Kellet wondered aloud. “And did it belong to the man now lying dead in St. Andrew’s Chapel?”

  My mind had posed the same questions, and I thought it likely the answer to the second question was “yes.” An inspection of the cart might confirm this. It was well made, with two wheels. A waxed cloth had covered the cart, but was drawn aside and hung from the cart to the forest floor. I peered into the cart and saw there several chests, open and upended. Their contents were strewn about. There was a packet of combs, some of wood and cheaply made, but others of fine ivory. Another small chest had held an assortment of buckles, pins, buttons, and a package of needles. These were all tossed about in the cart. A larger chest had held several yards of woolen cloth in a variety of colors. This fabric was flung about, and one bolt lay partly over the side of the cart, dragging upon the leaves. Here was a chapman’s cart. The owner made his living selling goods in villages too small to have haberdashers and suchlike merchants.

  I began to form an opinion of what had happened here. The chapman, I thought, had decided to sleep the night under his cart, the weather being yet mild. He led his horse deep into the wood, away from the road and felons who might prowl the countryside, but was followed. Perhaps men saw the track his cart made in the dust of the road, as did the priest and I, or mayhap he was trailed from the last town where he did business.

  Here in the forest men surprised the chapman and demanded his purse. He refused to give it up, so they set upon him with a club, but yet he would not tell them where it was hid. They beat him senseless, near to death, ransacked his cart, then left him in the forest to perish.

  Kellet had inspected the contents of the cart from over my shoulder. As I pondered the discovery I saw him reach for a sack and untie the cord which closed it. He examined the contents, then poured some into a wooden bucket which lay in the cart beside the sack. The horse smelled the oats, and neighed in anticipation. The priest took the bucket to the beast, which plunged its muzzle in eagerly. No doubt the animal was thirsty as well.

  A fallen branch next caught my eye. It lay at the edge of the clearing, three or four paces from the cart, and seemed freshly broken. One splintered end was white in the dappled sunlight, and the limb lay atop the fallen leaves, not under, as should be had it occupied that place for a day or more.

  I lifted the broken limb and saw a thing which caused me to recoil. At a place where a twig had broken from the branch and left a raised and thorn-like barb was the dark stain of blood and what appeared to be a bit of flesh. The priest saw me examining the club, and when the horse had consumed his ration of oats Kellet joined me in studying the cudgel.

  “Broke it over ’is ’ead, I’d say,” Kellet said.

  The limb was as large around as my arm, and as long. Blows from it would easily break a man’s ribs or skull.

  I was not optimistic that I could find the felons who had done this murder. Had they taken goods from the chapman’s cart, I might seek in villages nearby for men who had wares to sell, or whose wives wore new buttons upon their cotehardies or bragged of ivory combs. But if the villains did take goods from the cart, they left much behind. Why so? Unless some men boasted of this attack, I would have n
o clue which might lead to the assailant.

  Even the horse and cart might be carried away to some town and sold. The beast would fetch ten shillings, perhaps twelve, and the cart another eight or ten shillings, for it was well made and sturdy. Whoever murdered the chapman had left here in the woods goods to the value of as much as three marks. Did the chapman cry out loudly as he was attacked, so as to frighten the felons away? Kellet had heard no such screams, but I could think of no other reason thieves might leave such loot here in the forest.

  “Whose goods are these now?” Kellet asked.

  “Unless we can discover some heir to the dead man, they become Lord Gilbert’s possession, being found upon his land.”

  “Oh, aye. There is much wealth here. I had thought some might be sold to help the poor through the winter to come.”

  “Lord Gilbert is not a greedy man, no more so than most of his station. Some of the buttons and buckles of the meaner sort he will give to his grooms and valets, but there may be some he will allow to be sold. I will speak to him about it.”

  I replaced the waxed cloth atop the cart, then led the horse through the wood to the road. Here I halted to again study the dust of the road to see if it might tell me more of what had happened here. Many men had walked this way since the last rain, and horses also. It was impossible to tell which of the tracks might have been made by the men who had slain the chapman.

  We walked to St. Andrew’s Chapel, where Kellet left me to set about his duty to bury the chapman in the hallowed ground of the churchyard. I led the horse and cart through the town and under the Bampton Castle portcullis to the marshalsea, where I told a page to unharness and care for the beast, but to leave the cart where it stood. I then sought John Chamberlain and requested of him an audience with Lord Gilbert. I awaited John’s return in the hall, but was not long abandoned. John returned with announcement that Lord Gilbert was at leisure and would see me in the solar.

  That chamber, smaller and more easily warmed than the hall, was Lord Gilbert’s choice when the weather turned cool and damp. The day was mild, but a fire blazed upon the hearth when I was ushered into the solar. A great lord cares little for use of firewood, as he will always have supply. And, in truth, the warmth was pleasing. If I had such resources to hand I would this day have a blaze in all of the hearths in Galen House.

  “Hugh, what news?” Lord Gilbert said, looking up from a ledger. Lord Gilbert is a bearded, square-faced man, ruddy of cheek and accustomed to squinting into the sun from atop a horse. Unlike most lords, he desires to keep abreast of financial dealings within his lands. Each year I prepare an account for his steward, Geoffrey Thirwall, who resides at Pembroke. Thirwall visits Bampton once each year, for hallmote, when he examines my report. Most nobles allow their stewards final say in matters of business, as, in truth, does Lord Gilbert. But, unlike most, Lord Gilbert wishes to keep himself informed of profit and loss first hand, rather than rely only upon the accounts of bailiff and steward. Many great lords have lately been reduced to penury, and must sell lands to pay debts. The plague has taken many tenants, and dead men pay no rents. Lord Gilbert is not in such straightened circumstance. Perhaps his inspection of my accounts and those of his other bailiffs is reason why.

  “A dead man was found this morning upon your lands,” I said. “Well, he was not dead when found, but died soon after.”

  “A tenant, or villein?”

  “Neither, m’lord. A chapman, I think. We found a place in the wood where the man was attacked, and a horse and cart were there.”

  “We?”

  “Aye. John Kellet found the man moaning and near dead under the porch roof of St. Andrew’s Chapel. I have brought horse and cart to the castle. Neither I nor Kellet recognize the dead man, nor did Hubert Shillside or any man of his coroner’s jury. If no heirs can be discovered the goods in his cart are yours, m’lord.”

  “Oh, aye… just so. What is there?”

  “Two chests of combs, buckles, buttons, pins, and such like, and another of woolen cloth of the middling sort.”

  “A traveler, then,” said Lord Gilbert.

  “Aye. ’Tis why he is unknown in Bampton. Hubert Shillside sells much the same stuff. The man has probably passed this way before, perhaps traveling from Cote to Alvescot or some such place, and this may be why he sought St. Andrew’s Chapel when men set upon him.”

  “If thieves,” Lord Gilbert wondered aloud, “why did they not make off with his goods?”

  “Before he died he looked at me and said, ‘They didn’t get me coin.’ Poor men might find it impossible to hide possession of ivory combs for their wives. Even selling such things would raise eyebrows. But coins… even a poor cotter will have some wealth. Perhaps whoso attacked the chapman thought disposing of his goods might point to them as thieves, so wished only for his purse.”

  “Did you find it?”

  “Nay. He had no purse fixed to his belt, nor was there one in the cart or the forest, unless it is well hid.”

  “Then why, I wonder, did he say the fellows had not got his coin?”

  “This puzzles me, as well. Perhaps the purse was in his cart, and he was too knocked about to know that the thieves made off with it.”

  “Aye,” Lord Gilbert agreed. “Let us have a look at the cart, and see what is there.”

  “John Kellet has asked, if the chapman cannot be named, and no heir found, some of the goods found in the cart might be sold and the profit dispensed to the poor, to help them through the winter to come.”

  Lord Gilbert is not an unjust man, but the thought of surviving a winter, or possibly not, does not enter his mind, nor do any nobles give the season much thought other than to make ready a Christmas feast. That many folk might see winter as a threat to their lives and the survival of their children was an unfamiliar thought to my employer.

  “Oh, uh, well, let us see what is there and I will consider the matter.”

  Most great lords need an extra horse or two, even if the beast be of the meaner sort. Lord Gilbert ordered the chapman’s horse placed in an empty stall, and after inspecting the contents of the cart, commanded two grooms to take the goods to John Chamberlain’s office, where he might hold them secure while I sought for some heir to the unidentified chapman. The empty cart was placed beside the castle curtain wall, behind the marshalsea, there to await disposition.

  My stomach told me ’twas past time for my dinner, and as I departed the castle gatehouse the noon Angelus Bell rang from St. Beornwald’s Church tower to confirm the time. Kate had prepared a roast of mutton, which I devoured manfully, though such flesh is not my favorite. I have never told this to Kate, as I dislike disappointing her. So I consumed my mutton and awaited another day and a dinner more to my pleasure.

  I decided after dinner, of which a sizeable portion remained for my supper, to revisit the clearing in the forest where John Kellet and I found the cart, then travel east to Aston and Cote. Perhaps the chapman did business in the villages and some there would know of him, or perhaps his murderers lived there and might be found out.

  The path to the forest took me past St. Andrew’s Chapel, and as I approached the lychgate I saw the curate and another man leave the porch, the dead chapman between then upon the pallet. In a far corner of the churchyard was a mound of earth where a grave lay open to receive its unidentified tenant. I turned from the road, passed through the rotting lychgate, and became a mourner at the burial.

  Kellet lifted his eyes from his task when I approached and this caused him to stumble as a toe caught some uneven turf. He tried to regain his balance while maintaining a grip on his end of the pallet, but was unable to do either. The priest was a man who, three years past, could draw a longbow and place arrows in a butt as well as any. It is unlikely he could do so now, or even break an arrow shaft across his knee. Kellet’s gaunt frame seems hardly robust enough to keep him upright, much less sustain a burden, and the chapman had been a sturdy man.

  Kellet had provided no shroud for the
corpse. The priest gives away so much of his living that he probably had no coin with which to purchase a length of even the coarsest hemp. So when he dropped his end of the pallet the chapman rolled uncovered to the sod, face down.

  I hastened to help Kellet to his feet, and together with his assistant we lifted the corpse back upon the pallet. But when the chapman’s face was raised from the grass I saw there a thing which arrested my attention and caused his dying words to return to my mind. A small coin lay upon the turf where a moment before the corpse had lain face down.

  When the dead man was again upon his pallet I searched in the grass and retrieved the coin. It was worn and corroded, and looked like no coin I had before seen. It was of tarnished silver, smaller than a penny, very near the size of a farthing.

  Kellet and his assistant watched as I inspected the coin. The priest finally spoke, “How did that come to be here in the churchyard?”

  “It fell from the dead man’s lips when he was turned onto the grass,” I replied.

  “Is that what he meant when he said the felons had not got his coin? He had hid it in his mouth?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “’Tis an odd thing,” Kellet said.

  “Aye. Words are inscribed upon it, and the profile of a king, but they are so worn I cannot make them out.”

  “Why would men do murder for a small silver coin?” the priest asked.

  I shrugged and said, “That is the service Lord Gilbert requires of me, to find who would do such a thing on his lands, and why.”

  Chapter 2

  When the chapman was properly buried I walked to Aston and Cote and learned there two things. The man was named John Thrale, and he visited Cote and Aston three or four times each year. October was the latest month he was likely to appear, as roads would soon be ankle-deep in mud and travel would be cold, wet, and unpleasant. No one knew of a certainty where he made his home. A crone of Aston thought he was of Abingdon, but I mistrusted her memory.