[Sir Richard Straccan 01] - The Bone-Pedlar

by Sylvian Hamilton

  So many days to the south coast, to Christchurch, barring accident or incident; so many days back to Shawl; so many days from Shawl to—And what the hell was that noise? The tocsin was clanking. He dropped the axe, leaped over the logs and ran.

  ‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,’ Straccan said. Bane followed him into the office. On the table was the prior’s thank-you letter and a bottle of wine. Gilla and Janiva were happily occupied watching the new lambs.

  ‘I have,’ said Bane. ‘And so have you, so did all of us. We all saw them.’ His eyes seemed to gaze through Straccan into the distance. ‘What is it? Are you all right?’

  ‘Listen. Sit down and listen,’ Bane said. He paced back and forth as he talked. ‘I went to the priory. I gave the money to Prior Ranulf. I told him how I’d met Brother Celestius at Altarwell, and how he turned up again in Scotland and healed me when I was dying. I was dying, wasn’t I?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘He asked me, the prior did, when it happened, what day I was healed. The sixth day of June, I told him. Were there witnesses? Oh yes, I said. Were they reliable people? Three knights, I said, and one spy. Can’t get much more reliable than that.’

  ‘There have to be witnesses if they want to prove a miracle.’

  ‘I know. He asked me, was I certain of the day? A little scribe chap was writing it all down, and the sub-prior and the sacristan were there, staring at me as if I had two heads. I said yes, it was the sixth day of June without any doubt, Saint Gudwal’s day. And then they told me.’ Bane picked up his cup; it was empty. He put it down and Straccan refilled it.

  ‘Brother Celestius,’ Bane said, ‘and all his poor dear loonies were killed in a fire at a hospice near York, on the eve of Saint Pamphilus, seven days before the sixth of June.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Straccan after a while.

  ‘It was an old wooden building. The pilgrims slept upstairs, and there were fleeces stored below. Somehow they caught fire and went up like thistle down. All the pilgrims were asleep and none of them got out. Fourteen bodies, they found.’

  Straccan was silent for some time and then said, ‘When you were dying, Blaise and I, and Miles, we wondered … We thought he might be a saint. Christ, Hawkan, he was a bloody vision!’

  ‘That prior is going to get him canonised no matter what it costs. He’s already mortgaged most of the priory’s lands and sold what he can. They’ll be famous. Rich.’

  ‘He wouldn’t take any money,’ Straccan recalled. ‘After he healed you, when he was leaving, we tried to give him some money and he wouldn’t take it. Funny … He took your raisins.’

  ‘I wonder what happened to them? Visions can’t eat, can they?’ Bane yawned hugely. ‘I’ve got to get to bed for a while. I’ve never been so tired in my life. How’d you get on with the king?’

  ‘He was very affable,’ said Straccan. ‘He gave me a horse.’

  ‘Watch out he don’t send you the bill for it.’ On the bottom step up to the bedchamber, Bane paused. ‘Remember the dice that spy gave me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I got them out, just for a friendly game with a couple of lay brothers at the priory. I opened the box and tipped it on to the board. They leaped up and started yelling. Know what? That little sod had given me his bloody box of maggots instead!’

  Straccan laughed. ‘I expect it was a mistake,’ he said, wiping his eyes.

  ‘Mistake my arse! I hope we meet again, I’ll give him bloody maggots!’

  The tocsin was clanking. Straccan, about to farewell a knightly client who’d taken the unusual step of coming in person to pay his account, thought—not for the first time—that he really ought to get a decent little bell. He could hear Gilla calling excitedly from the watchtower. ‘Father! Father! It’s Sir Miles!’

  ‘Excuse me, Sir Walter. A friend is arriving. Won’t you stay and meet him?’

  ‘Well, just to say hallo, you know,’ said the client, eyes alight with curiosity. ‘Must be off soon, though. Promised to pick up the wife from her cousin’s; she gets ratty if I’m late.’

  Straccan and Miles hugged each other, beaming and both talking at once, as if it was a year since they’d parted and not just a few weeks.

  ‘Nice little place you’ve got here,’ said Miles, admiring in one sweeping glance the lambs, the cabbages, the steaming dung heap, the kitchen cat and Gilla’s new blue dress. ‘Thank you,’ to Adeliza as she offered him a cup of ale. ‘That’s just what I need, I’m full of dust. Gilla, you’ve grown. Master Bane, I am glad to see you well. Your servant, Lady,’ with an elegant bow to Janiva. ‘Richard, I have a message from my uncle.’

  ‘Come into the office,’ said Straccan. ‘Sir Walter Covelin is there, but he’s just leaving. Let me see him off, then we can talk.’ Sir Walter was nosy. He knew Miles’s uncle, and assumed the young knight was either coming from, or going to, some tournament or petty war. What else were knights for, after all?

  ‘No,’ said Miles. ‘I’m on my way to Scotland, to take service with a friend.’ Sir Walter wanted to know who. ‘He is old and lives in retirement,’ said Miles, not choosing to tell him. ‘I shall take care of things for him for a while.’

  ‘Humph.’ Sir Walter disapproved. ‘Young fella like you should be fightin, not lookin after elderly friends! There’s a nice little war comin up in Poitou. That’s where I’m goin. Action, that’s the stuff! A good fight, and then all the customary rewards of victory. Eh?’ He nudged Miles with a bony elbow.

  ‘Rape and pillage,’ said Miles.

  Sir Walter looked shocked. ‘Oh, come now! Nothin like that! We’re gentlemen, ain’t we?’

  ‘What, then?’

  ‘Well, bit of leg-over, souvenir or two. Not a lot of point otherwise. Eh?’

  ‘See what I mean?’ Miles banged his cup down, splashing Sir Walter, who presently took a rather frosty leave of them.

  ‘Come to the bathhouse,’ said Straccan. ‘We can talk while you bathe and have a change of clothes.’

  Miles was in the tub, squeezing the soap bag over his head and shoulders, when Straccan came in with a tunic and hose and house-gown. ‘I hope these won’t be too tight; you’re a bit wider across the back than me, I think. When are you off to Scotland?’

  ‘When I leave here. Uncle William asked me to come. He put the word round to Templars everywhere, asking for news of Julitta and her husband. Arlen was caught trying to find a boat to carry him to Normandy. He had a satchel full of those queer gold coins. The king ordered him put to death.’

  Straccan shrugged. That was the price of treason. ‘So he’s dead.’

  ‘They took the coins and put them in a crucible,’ said Miles grimly. ‘They tied him down while they melted. Then they poured his Judas gold down his throat.’

  Straccan took a deep breath. ‘Quite an object lesson.’

  ‘Yes. As for Julitta, she got to France. King Philip is paying her charges but he won’t receive her at his court, in case his noble image gets tarnished. The Holy Father’s blue-eyed boy can’t afford to have his name linked with a witch.’

  ‘And the Arab; what news of him?’

  ‘No sign of him, nor the men that fled with him.’

  ‘How long can you stay with us, Brother?’

  ‘Until Friday. I’ve arranged to join a company of merchants and pilgrims as far as Durham. I’m to frighten away any robbers!’

  ‘They’ll run a mile soon as look at you,’ said Straccan.

  ‘How did you get on with the king?’ Miles pulled on the tunic and hose and put on the house-robe.

  ‘Very well.’ Straccan laughed. ‘He gave me a horse and helped himself to the icon.’

  ‘Ah.’

  Straccan handed him a towel to rub his hair. There was a soft knock at the door and Gilla put her head round. ‘Father? May I speak to Sir Miles?’

  ‘Come, pigeon.’

  She smiled happily. ‘Sir Miles, you’ll be going to the place where Hob is, won’t you?’


  ‘To Coldinghame. Yes.’

  ‘Will you take a message from me?’

  ‘Gladly.’

  ‘Just say that I send my love to him always.’

  When she left, Miles said, ‘How is it with her?’

  Straccan frowned. ‘Mercifully, she seems to remember little. But she said a strange thing. She said she saw her mother; that Marian was there, and took care of her.’

  Between Wednesday and Friday Straccan was never able to find Janiva alone. Sometimes she was with Gilla—he was overjoyed by the love that had sprung up between them—or they were both with Miles, or she was in the kitchen exchanging recipes with Adeliza, or they were riding or playing Hoodman Blind, or Janiva was teaching Gilla a new dance, or Miles was entertaining everyone with an astonishing repertoire of ballads. Still, there would be time later to talk. And before long, they would be married.

  When Miles left, all the household turned out to see him off. Gilla hugged and kissed him and cried.

  ‘I’m not going away for ever, sweet,’ he said. ‘I’ll come back and see you again.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Of course I promise. Nothing can stop me. Besides, Adeliza makes the best ale in all England. But where’s Mistress Janiva this morning? I hoped she’d wish me God speed.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Gilla said. ‘She was up before me. Yesterday she said something about the herbs in the water-meadow. Perhaps she’s gone there.’

  ‘See if you can find her, poppet,’ said Straccan. ‘She’ll be sorry to miss Miles leaving.’

  But Janiva was nowhere about, and at last they waved Miles off. Gilla ran up the tower steps, to watch him until he disappeared in the distance. She leaned her head against Straccan’s hip. ‘I hate goodbyes.’

  ‘Well, honey, if there were no goodbyes there would be no happy returns, now would there?’ He swung her up and carried her, laughing, down the steps.

  Somehow the place didn’t feel quite the same, as if it missed the young knight with his singing and laughter. If places could miss people, Straccan thought, Stirrup was missing someone. He began to feel uneasy. She’d not have forgotten Miles’s departure. Perhaps she had hurt herself in the water-meadow. It was a long way from the house. The certainty of something wrong grew fast.

  ‘Adeliza, did Mistress Janiva say where she was going?’

  ‘I haven’t seen her this morning, Sir.’

  ‘She said something about picking herbs in the water-meadow.’

  ‘Oh no, I don’t think so. She hasn’t taken the basket or the shears. She always takes them when she’s—’

  He went up the stairs to the bedchamber three at a time. The bed she’d shared with Gilla was tidy and smooth. The pegs where her mantle and travelling cloak had hung were bare. The leather satchel she’d brought with her, which had been at the foot of the bed, was not there now.

  He made for the stable at a run. Her palfrey was gone.

  He flung a saddle on Zingiber and spurred out of the gate. North, she’d have to go north; she could only be going home, but why? Why run away? He wanted to marry her, wanted her here, safe with himself and Gilla. Here to say goodbye to when he went away, to be waiting when he came back. At his table. In his bed. His wife.

  She had only gone half a league when he came up with her. Hearing hoofs, she looked back and saw him, and stopped. When he reached her he saw tears on her face and lashes. He dismounted and lifted her down. He could feel her trembling.

  ‘Why?’ he said. ‘Why run away from me?’

  ‘Richard—’

  ‘I want you to stay. We’ll be married.’

  ‘No!’ she cried. ‘That’s why I left. You’re right, I ran away, and I’m sorry, but I knew you would ask me. We can’t marry, Richard!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It wouldn’t work.’ She turned her face away, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand.

  ‘Why not? What’s wrong? I know you love me.’

  ‘That’s got nothing to do with it.’

  ‘Then explain it to me!’

  She sighed. ‘You are a knight,’ she said. ‘My mother was villein. Knights don’t marry freedwomen.’

  ‘More fool them,’ said Straccan. ‘Knights can bloody well please themselves! I don’t believe that’s all that’s worrying you.’

  ‘No. Richard, it would do you no good—it could do you much harm—to have people say your wife is a witch.’

  ‘A witch?’

  She stared at his stunned face and laughed. ‘Oh, Richard, didn’t you realise? That’s what they call women like me.’

  ‘No, he protested. ‘A witch? Julitta is a witch, not you!’

  ‘Yes, me! She chose a dark path, because it promised to lead her to power. But to begin with we would have been much alike. She hurts, I heal. I love, she hates. Two faces of one coin, Richard, but both are called witch.’

  He said nothing but stared at the trees and the sky, unseeing, trying to find the right words to shake her argument. After a while she walked away from him and sat on the grass under an oak tree. She had not mentioned the strange experience by the stream and the unease that had troubled her ever since. She would not involve him, or Gilla, in that. It was for her to deal with. Her palfrey whickered softly. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the warm rough trunk. The sun shone on her face, and then his shadow darkened her closed eyelids.

  ‘It doesn’t make any difference,’ he said.

  ‘Richard—’

  ‘No, listen. Freedwoman, witch, whatever you are, I want to marry you. Because I love you, Janiva. Understand? If you want to go home now I’ll take you, but I’ll keep coming back until you see sense.’

  ‘See it your way, you mean,’ she said, but he had turned to catch Zingiber’s reins and didn’t hear her.

  He’d take her home. She needed time to think about it. When she’d thought about it, she’d see she was wrong. She loved him. He knew she did. He’d bring her round.