The Tainted Coin

by Mel Starr

  Kate prepared an egg leech for our dinner and I was pleased to see Osbert consume a fair portion. I put another handful of ground hemp seeds into his ale, and when he had downed the mixture I sought to question him more of Sir Philip Rede and his manor at East Hanney. Somewhere in the village Amice Thatcher was confined, of this I was certain.

  Osbert, as he had told me some days past, knew of no other person Sir Philip had taken and detained, but I thought he might know of some places on the manor where a woman and her children might be confined without the fact being known to most who lived in the village; a loft in a barn, for example.

  “Stores oats an’ hay in the loft, does Sir Philip,” Osbert said. “Though ’is horses get their fill of oats, ’e does keep hay for winter fodder.”

  “His horses get their fill of oats? I thought you said he was in some financial plight.”

  “’E is, but spends ’is coin on wine an’ horses as if ’e had plenty.”

  “Wine and horses… these are Sir Philip’s interests?”

  “Aye. Well, an’ a pert maid.”

  “How many horses does Sir Philip own?”

  “There’s seven in the barn, includin’ two what belong to ’is brother.”

  “Are these beasts treated well?”

  “Oh, aye. Better’n we who labor for Sir Philip.”

  “Does he employ a farrier to care for the horses?”

  “Nay. Can’t afford that. Uses Sir John Trillowe’s man when ’is horses need shoein’.”

  “Have you known Sir Philip to allow a horse to go about with a broken horseshoe?”

  “Broken bad enough to maybe injure the beast?”

  “Aye.”

  “Never. Don’t care whether them who labor for ’im has shoes or not, but ’is horses is always well shod.”

  “You never saw the print of a horse with a broken shoe in the mud before the barn?”

  “Nay. Sir Philip wouldn’t tolerate that from the lads what serve in ’is stable. Minute they knew of such they’d have the beast to Sir John’s farrier, or Sir Philip would set ’em to work in the fields or herdin’ swine.”

  Chapter 12

  My theory was shattered. Sir Philip Rede, an impoverished knight, so poor that he captured another knight’s daughter and kept her for ransom, had seemed likely to me to be a man who would beat to death another in an attempt to make him tell of a treasure. And a poor knight might ignore the needs of his horse. So I thought.

  But Osbert said this was not so. Was it Sir Philip who took Amice Thatcher, or some knight unknown to me who rode a horse with a broken shoe? Was there another impoverished manor in East Hanney?

  Perhaps Amice was held in some other place. The wretches who ransacked her hut spoke of returning to East Hanney, but mayhap they confined her somewhere else. Were these scoundrels not the same men who beat John Thrale, or rode a horse with a broken shoe? How could I discover answers to these questions?

  I spent the next days nursing Osbert’s wounds and my own, thinking how I might find Amice Thatcher, and pondering a remove to Oxford. The last day of October, a Sunday, was All Hallows’ Eve. Kate had occupied herself for two days baking soul cakes for the children and poor men and women who would beg the cakes before our door on All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day.

  Mornings were worst. When I crawled from our bed it seemed as if the arrow Arthur had drawn from my back was yet there. After an hour or so of cautious movement the aggrieved flesh flexed more readily, so that by the time mass was done on All Saints’ Day I felt tolerably able to mount Bruce and make for Abingdon. As Saturn would soon leave Aries, I took along the sack of herbs and instruments which had already made the journey once.

  Osbert could not stay in Galen House while I was away and only Kate resided there with him. Sunday afternoon I had visited the castle and sought Alice atte Bridge. The lass worked in the scullery, a position I had found for her some years past, after the death of her father. She was willing, as who would not be, to leave her duties at the castle and occupy a room at Galen House, there to assist Kate in treating Osbert’s wounds and dissolve any gossip which would surely surface if Kate was left alone to nurse my patient.

  I instructed Kate and Alice in the use of salves, and told Kate to continue to dose Osbert’s ale with crushed seeds of hemp and lettuce also at nightfall. I advised Kate that, if Lord Gilbert sent a man to question her of Osbert’s recovery, she was to tell him that many weeks would pass before he could leave his bed. Then I set out for Abingdon, assured that matters in Bampton were in hand.

  ’Twas near dark when we stabled our horses in the mews behind the New Inn and sought some supper. I was concerned about leaving my sack of instruments with the innkeeper. When Arthur returned the sack four days earlier I noticed that my finest scalpel had a nick in the blade. The innkeeper had used it, I think, to bone a chicken for his stew pot. It was my intent to leave the sack with Brother Theodore, but the day was too far gone to seek him. Tomorrow, after I had concluded some other business, I would find the hosteler and make provision for my instruments. Tonight I would keep the sack near.

  While we rode to Abingdon that day I had told Arthur of Osbert’s claim that Sir Philip Rede cared well for his horses, and would not permit one to go lame because of a broken shoe. I did not doubt Osbert, but wished to be sure of the assertion before I sought some other man. That night, as we prepared for bed, I told Arthur that we must rise early, before dawn, and once more travel the road to East Hanney.

  All Souls’ Day mass is also obligatory. It was my plan to ignore this requirement, travel to East Hanney, and again approach Sir Philip’s manor through the wood. When the church bell had called all the village to mass we could cross the meadow, enter the stable, and inspect the right rear hooves of the horses kept there.

  So when the bell of the abbey church rang for matins I elbowed Arthur awake and together we stumbled down the dark stairs, across the yard, and into the mews.

  The stable boy had left a cresset lighted upon a stand, as is common, so he might see to deal with any beast which needed attention in the night. By its flame we saddled Bruce and the palfrey. I tossed my sack of instruments across Bruce’s rump, being unwilling to leave the sack with the innkeeper for even one day, and we set off down Ock Street guided by the light of a quarter moon.

  The eastern sky was growing light when we approached the wood north of East Hanney. The path into the forest was yet dark, but we had traveled that way often enough that it was no trouble to find the clearing where we had before left the horses, then make our way to the nettle-crusted stone wall. I was heartily weary of the journey and this place, and breathed a prayer to the Lord Christ that I could soon put East Hanney forever behind me.

  By the time we arrived at the wall the new day had grown light enough that we could see Sir Philip’s manor, its house and outbuildings, quite clearly. I was astonished at what else I saw.

  Two shadowy figures stood beside the decaying hen coop where we had found Sybil Montagu. Someone was once again imprisoned in that shed. Was Sybil there again? If so, the men who were to take her to her father had rather come from Sir Philip. But how would he have known that she could be found at the abbey guest house?

  Perhaps another prisoner was in the shed. Amice Thatcher? That seemed unlikely. Or perhaps Sir Philip, his scheme for ransoming Sybil Montagu a failure, had seized some other nobleman’s child, or the heir of some wealthy burgher.

  The morn was cold, and my wounds, stiffened in the night, ached as we peered over the wall.

  “Two men now,” Arthur said. “Sir Philip ain’t gonna chance ’is prisoner escapin’ again. But who could he have there now? Suppose it’s Sybil Montagu?”

  “Mayhap.”

  “We gonna free ’er again, then?”

  “I have other concerns. If Sir Philip has retaken Sybil Montagu, he can keep her for a time. Serve him right.”

  “Aye,” Arthur chuckled.

  Only those with good reason may absent th
emselves from mass on All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day. Would an assignment to keep vigil over Sir Philip’s prisoner be considered good reason?

  It was. Less than an hour after Arthur and I took station behind the wall, the church bell called East Hanney’s residents to the church, where on this day would be said prayers for those dead but not yet released from purgatory. If such souls there be, prayers can do them no harm, and if no purgatory exists, prayer is generally a good thing anyway.

  We heard the pealing of the bell and watched to see if the guards left their post. They did not.

  “Reckon Sir Philip’s got the lass back in that shed?” Arthur asked.

  “Or some other prisoner has been taken and is now held there. If it is Sybil in the shed, somehow Sir Philip learned that she was at the abbey guest hall.”

  As I spoke the words I guessed how Sir Philip might have discovered Sybil. The abbot was Peter of Hanney. Was he a friend to Sir Philip Rede, and had he learned who was sheltered in his guest hall? This could be, but I would not concern myself now with the possibility. If Sybil was once again held in the shed, the experience could do her little harm. She might even learn humility, which discovery would greatly improve her disposition. When I could, I would send word to her father of where she might be found.

  “How we gonna spy out them horses with men standin’ so near to the stable?” Arthur asked.

  I had been considering the same problem, and thought I had an answer. The guards stationed at the shed were in stature much like Arthur: sturdy and squarely built, short-legged and made for strength, not speed. I could easily outrun Arthur, and even but a week removed from being pierced by an arrow I felt recovered enough that I could successfully flee the two men I saw across the meadow.

  “If I distract one of those fellows,” I said, “can you take the other?”

  “Believe so,” he grinned.

  “Here is my plan. All others are at the church. We’ll have but those two to deal with. Walk with me on the road to the village. We’ll not cross the field. They’ll see us coming and be ready for mischief. No honest men would approach them through a wood and across a meadow rather than by the road.

  “If they see us approach the village they will likely take us for two simple travelers, unconcerned about who might see them enter the village. We will be too far away to be recognized, I think, if they were among those who witnessed Osbert’s beating and our rescue.

  “After we pass behind the first houses, you hold back. I will turn from the road just past the third house, and enter the gate to Sir Philip’s manor. I’ll try to get the guards to chase me. Few men can outrun me – surely not those fellows.

  “If they both follow, you open the door to the shed and see who is there. Then go to the stable and inspect the right-rear hooves of the beasts there. You know what to look for.”

  “If ’tis Sybil in the hencoop,” Arthur grimaced, “what am I to do with her?”

  “Nothing. Tell her, or whoever is there, to flee to the church, and after the mass seek the priest and tell him of her plight. I wish to be done with her.”

  “And if both them fellows don’t chase after you, what then?”

  “You must overcome the one who remains behind. When you have done so, toss him in the shed in place of whoso may be there now. I’ll allow the one who pursues me to keep close, so he may believe he can catch me, until you have had time to inspect the stable. We will meet here in an hour or so, after I have shaken loose from pursuit.”

  The events which followed went nearly according to my plan, which, later, when I thought back on the day, surprised me. Generally when I construe some design for catching felons, or seeking the truth of a matter, some unforeseen complication unhinges the scheme.

  The gate before Sir Philip’s manor was constructed of rotting wood and rusting iron. He needed to spend more upon his manor and less upon French wine. But even though the hinges squealed, the guards did not know of my approach and so looked up, startled, as I strode around the corner of the house and approached them.

  “Who’re you?” One of the guards found his tongue and challenged me.

  “I come from Sir Henry Montagu, of South Marston. He has sent me to demand the return of his daughter. Where is Sir Philip? At mass, no doubt. You are left here to see that the lass does not escape? Must be in that hencoop, eh?”

  “Dunno what yer talkin’ ’bout,” one said. “Sir Philip don’t like folk creepin’ about ’is manor.”

  I would not have described my approach as “creeping,” but thought the moment inopportune for a discussion of word definitions. The guard who clarified Sir Philip’s likes and dislikes was reaching for his belt, where an unornamented but serviceable dagger was sheathed.

  “Tell Sybil that her father knows of her capture, and if she is not released to me immediately, he will return with a dozen of his men to tear this manor to pieces!”

  This I said loudly enough that Sybil, were she in the shed, might hear and would not need to be told again. I would have advised the guards to say the same to Sir Philip, but the more irascible of the two had by this time drawn his dagger and begun to approach me. Sir Philip would learn of my words soon enough even if I did not instruct the guards to repeat them to him.

  I took to my heels, feigning fear of the approaching dagger. Actually, I did fear the blade. As I hoped, the guard lumbered after me, waving his dagger over his head and demanding that I halt. I had hoped that both would follow, but so long as one came after I was confident that Arthur could deal with the man left behind.

  The guard was faster than I expected, or I was slower than before my wound. I had thought I would need to keep my pace to a trot so as not to leave the fellow so far behind that he gave up and returned to the manor. I did stay comfortably ahead of the fellow, but ’twas not so easy to do so as I had thought ’twould be. I resolved to seek no more foot-races until I had recovered fully from my wound.

  I leaped a wall and turned to see if my pursuer followed. What resulted could not properly be called a leap, but he did get over the wall, dropping in a heap at its base and cursing loudly. Nettles again, no doubt.

  The sight of my pursuer toppling over the wall caused me to seek other obstacles. I was careful to stay but a dozen or so paces in front of the fellow, whose breath soon came in such noisy gasps that I thought him closer behind than he was.

  We went over two more walls before he balked at the fourth heap of stones, cursed me for a knave, and shook his dagger at me. Arthur had by this time probably completed his tasks at the manor, but I could see no reason not to extend the chase, to be sure of Arthur’s success.

  From across the fourth wall I grimaced at my wheezing pursuer and shouted imprecations at him. I loudly questioned his birth and parentage, and suggested that he possessed little appeal to the fair sex.

  The man was so incensed that his lips drew back from his teeth like an alaunt after a stag. He charged the wall and went over it head first, so wrathful had he become.

  I took to my heels, pleased that the guard had been foolish enough to continue the chase. I had run another fifty paces or so when I turned to see why I did not hear the fellow panting and stumbling behind.

  He lay in a heap at the base of the wall, unmoving. My curiosity got the better of me and I did then what might have been a foolish thing. Perhaps my training as a surgeon was to blame – leading me to aid even an enemy in distress.

  I retraced my steps cautiously, a hand upon my dagger, until I stood over the supine guard. The field had been sown to oats, and I saw his dagger in the stubble four or five paces from where he lay.

  He was not dead. His chest rose and fell rapidly. But he was unconscious and the reason was clear. A stone had fallen from the wall, and when, in his rage, the fellow dived over the wall he landed head first upon this rock. A red stain had appeared, soaking through his cap.

  I put a finger aside his throat and felt his heart beat, strong and rapid. I drew the cap from his head to inspec
t his wound. ’Twas a deep gouge, and bled much, but he would not go to his grave from it. I felt the skull about the laceration and found it whole. When the fellow awoke he would have a frightful headache, but he would awaken in this world rather than the next. I had not drawn the man to his death, and for this I was relieved. He did but his lord’s bidding.

  There was now little need to circle around the town, but I did so anyway, in case the village priest concluded the mass early and folk might be about the streets.

  Arthur had returned to our meeting place before me, and he was not alone. Sybil Montagu was with him. He saw the look of dismay upon my face, rolled his eyes, and said, “She followed me. Wouldn’t seek the priest. What was I to do?”

  I thought of a suggestion, but bit my tongue.

  “My father sent a man for me,” Sybil said. “I heard him tell Sir Philip’s men what would befall them if I was not released. We must find him.”

  I sighed. “’Twas me who spoke. No man has come from your father.”

  “Then you must take me home. Had you done so before, Sir Philip would not have seized me again.”

  “How did he do so?”

  “Don’t know. A lay brother set a meal before me at the guest-hall refectory. While I ate I heard voices in low conversation in another chamber, and a man spoke my name. After I ate I went to the cell I was assigned. I felt in need of a nap. When I awoke I was in the hencoop again. But now I know who it is has seized me, and this time he does not ask ransom of my father. I heard the guards speak of Sir Philip selling me as servant to Italian wool-buyers, so to keep my father from learning who took me.”

  Arthur and I exchanged glances. She had been dosed with some herb, likely mixed with ale, which put her to sleep. There are many plants which will cause slumber. Pounded lettuce seed is a favorite of mine when a patient is in need of sleep. But lettuce will not send a person into such deep repose that carrying them from Abingdon to East Hanney would not awaken them. Something stronger was used to so stupefy Sybil Montagu that she did not know she was being transported. I could not believe the hosteler was in league with Sir Philip Rede, but perhaps a lay brother was.