Lucifer's Harvest

by Mel Starr

  Arthur ducked the blow, and as Sir Simon passed him, he swept his left hand across the back of the knight’s head. Sir Simon went to his knees, stunned, and his dagger flew from his hand.

  His men crouched, ready to come to his aid. One or two stepped forward, but then considered the armed men who opposed them and hesitated.

  I plucked Sir Simon’s dagger from the mud and studied it as he regained his feet.

  “A fine dagger,” I said, turning the weapon in my hand. “Worth two shillings, perhaps more.”

  Sir Simon blinked in the morning sunlight and considered his condition. His bluster had vanished. He stepped back, then looked over his shoulder to discover what aid he could expect. He found little.

  “This will be returned to you when Uctred receives his two shillings,” I said, then turned my back to Sir Simon so that he would understand that I did not fear him. Not when I had Arthur and six other brawny men at hand.

  Sir Simon stood speechless as I returned to the path where Uctred waited. I assume he stood. He said nothing and I doubt that he resumed his seat upon the bench, but I did not turn to see that this was so.

  One by one Arthur and the other of Lord Gilbert’s men followed me, but unlike me they did not turn their backs to Sir Simon and his men, nor did they sheathe their daggers. Just in case.

  Chapter 4

  By the time we returned to Lord Gilbert’s encampment the tents were struck, beasts harnessed to carts, and our cohort ready to take to the road. Lord Gilbert, unaware of recent events, mounted his ambler, waved to the knights, men-at-arms, and carters to follow, and we set off behind the train of Sir Henry Thorpe. Sir John Trillowe’s party was somewhere behind us upon the road that morn, and I confess to peering over my shoulder more than once when I thought I heard hoofbeats approaching more rapidly than should be. Sir Simon’s dagger I had placed secure in my instruments chest, which was now in a cart otherwise laden with arrows, pikes, and poleaxes.

  ’Twas near to midday when I saw Sir John Trillowe ride past me and continue till he was abreast Lord Gilbert. An animated conversation followed – animated on Sir John’s part. He gestured vigorously with his right hand to emphasize his words, and twice looked over a shoulder in my direction. I smiled a polite greeting.

  Lord Gilbert and Sir John are not friends. I know of no past quarrel between them; they simply do not care for each other’s company. From my experience there are many others who share Lord Gilbert’s antipathy.

  Sir John rode beside Lord Gilbert for perhaps a mile, then yanked most cruelly upon his horse’s reins, spinning the beast about in the road. Sir John spurred the beast to a gallop and thundered past without another glance toward me.

  A moment later Lord Gilbert turned in his saddle and beckoned me to join him.

  “Sir John is displeased with you,” Lord Gilbert said when I drew alongside him. “Of course,” he chuckled, “you have much fellowship. Sir John is seldom pleased with anyone.”

  I said nothing, awaiting Lord Gilbert’s instruction in the matter of Sir Simon’s dagger, which I was sure was the cause of Sir John’s lively conversation with my employer.

  “Where is Sir Simon’s dagger?” Lord Gilbert asked.

  “Safe in my instruments chest.”

  “Hah … a good place for a blade. Worth two shillings, you think?”

  “Thereabouts,” I replied.

  “And you are sure ’twas Sir Simon’s men who attacked Uctred?” Lord Gilbert had heard rumours of the blows Uctred had taken. A purpled face will be spoken of in camp.

  “Aye. He identified one of them.”

  “What if Sir Simon will not pay two shillings to recover his dagger?”

  “I will give the weapon to Uctred. He may do with it as he wishes. If Sir Simon does pay I will give the two shillings to Uctred to ease the pain of his wounds.”

  “Why would Sir Simon’s men set upon Uctred?” Lord Gilbert asked.

  “He is seen with me, and wears your livery, so is easily identified. Sir Simon is much like his father. He can sustain a grudge longer than most men.”

  “Ah, just so. He courted Kate, did he not, and then burned Galen House when you took her from him? Well, your actions this day will not have soothed his wrath. Best you keep a close watch for Sir Simon or his men.”

  “So I intend. I have already met him unaware and suffered for the encounter.”

  Lord Gilbert stared at me and raised one eyebrow, a thing he does when curious about some matter. I tried in years past to emulate the expression but gave it up.

  “Wonder why your Kate encouraged Sir Simon’s suit,” Lord Gilbert mused.

  “As did I,” I replied. “Shortly after we wed she spoke of it. I did not press her about the matter. She felt the need to explain, I think.

  “Sir John was sheriff of Oxford at the time, and to gain a return on the fee he paid to the king to acquire the office, he was fining the burghers of Oxford for every violation, real or imagined. Kate feared that if she rejected Sir Simon’s suit her father would suffer financial loss at Sir John’s hand. She was much distressed, finding Sir Simon repugnant, but worried for her father’s business if she refused Sir Simon’s suit.

  “When King Edward dismissed Sir John because of the burghers’ complaints against him Kate was no longer compelled to consent to Sir Simon’s court.”

  “Ah,” Lord Gilbert said. “So that’s why he took revenge by burning Galen House?”

  “Aye. Now I must watch that he doesn’t seek revenge for his dagger.”

  “And his humiliation before his men,” Lord Gilbert added.

  “Sir John rode away just now seeming much annoyed,” I said.

  “Aye. He demanded return of the dagger. I told him that I knew nothing of the matter, but would speak to you of it. I have done so.”

  “You did not promise the dagger’s return?”

  “Nay. Sir John was not pleased.”

  “I admit that I took the dagger without measuring the consequences,” I said. “Sir Simon was an enemy before this day. He is even more so now.”

  “Will you return it, then, to soothe his ire?”

  “I will think on it. Whether or not returning the dagger will moderate his anger, I do not know. But Uctred deserves some recompense for the pain he suffers.”

  “Aye, he does. And if Sir John and Sir Simon are not made responsible for what their men do to one of mine, I am made to appear weak, unable to defend those who serve me. Keep the dagger until he pays two shillings. But go nowhere alone.”

  I did not need Lord Gilbert’s advice upon this matter, for I had already resolved to keep companions about me. I touched my cap, bowed in the saddle, and reined my palfrey to a halt beside the road until Lord Gilbert’s knights had passed and I could rejoin the procession with grooms, archers, and men-at-arms. Lord Gilbert had, in the past month, occasionally summoned me to ride in company with him, but I thought it presumptuous to do so without invitation.

  Uctred’s nose and eyes were fading from purple to greenish yellow when, four days past Assumption Day, we crested a hill and saw before us the walls of Bordeaux. We pitched tents beside the main gate to the city and awaited news of the Duke of Berry. ’Twas not long coming.

  But a few days before we made Bordeaux the duke had received the surrender of Limoges. Prince Edward was furious at the perfidy of the Bishop of Limoges, who, men said, was responsible for giving the city to the French. We would not remain long at Bordeaux. The prince intended to march on Limoges forthwith and recover his lost possession.

  Great men had gathered at Bordeaux to aid Prince Edward. His brothers, John of Gaunt and Edmund of Langley, were present, as was that great warrior the Captal de Buch, and also the Earl of Pembroke, John Hastings.

  Lord Gilbert said our force now numbered more than three thousand men: knights, archers, and men-at-arms. Prince Edward demanded that this force be ready to descend upon Limoges by St. Bartholomew’s Day, but in part due to the prince’s illness the army did not be
gin its march till nearly a week after its intended departure. In the intervening days, much to my surprise and with trepidation, I was called to wait upon the ailing prince.

  Prince Edward had not been well since returning from his successful, if expensive, campaign to Spain to restore Peter of Castile to his throne. Many physicians had been called to the prince, but none could cure him, not even his personal leech, William Blackwater, who, I was told, is paid forty pounds each year to care for Edward.

  My name was mentioned to Prince Edward whilst Lord Gilbert was in conversation with him. He required that I be brought to him, saying to Lord Gilbert that, as long as no physician could make him well, he might try what a surgeon could do for him.

  I heard Lord Gilbert tell me of the prince’s command with mixed feelings. I was eager to meet such a great knight, but feared bringing him bad news. And this I was sure I must do. If the best physicians could not cure Edward, a surgeon would not. Nevertheless, ’twas an honor to be called into the presence of the Prince of Wales. What would my father say, could he have guessed that his youngest son would be presented to royalty? And when I tell my Kate she will surely be impressed by her husband’s rise.

  Some days, I learned, the prince was so weak he could not mount a horse, and must be carried from place to place upon a litter. When I entered his palace, accompanied by Lord Gilbert, I did not know if I would find him seated or abed.

  Edward was seated, attended by valets and aides, and took our bows with a wave of his hand. I had never seen my employer bow to another man. But I had never before seen him enter the presence of royalty.

  “My Lord Gilbert,” the prince began, “has told me that you are a cunning surgeon. For four years I have been unwell. I have consumed herbs and physics and observed odd diets. Some learned doctors say the humors are out of balance and I must eat more meat. Others suggest I eat apples and berries and such stuff to restore my body to stability. One physician said I must take more wine, another said I must drink none. What say you, Master Hugh?”

  “I am no physician,” I replied. “Should you fall from your horse and break an arm I am your man, but I have no training for the diseases which plague mankind.”

  “Hah … if no man can cure me of this malady I may become so feeble that I will topple from my beast. I will then call for you. As for your training, the physicians who have attended me are all scholars, so they claim, but for all their knowledge are unable to make me well. You can do no worse.”

  The prince’s logic was unassailable. Of course, when a man is to become the next King of England his logic is always unassailable, and those who would disagree will find themselves in uneasy embarrassment.

  “You have been ill for four years?” I asked. “What do you suffer? How does the ailment show itself?”

  “In every way,” the prince replied. “Often a bloody flux, and my arse so sore I cannot sit a horse. One day a fever, next a chill so that I wrap myself in blankets, in Aquitaine, in the summer! I pass wind so foul that folk do not wish to be in the same chamber with me.”

  “What do the physicians say?”

  “I told you,” Edward replied with exasperation in his voice. ’Tis best not to exasperate a prince. I told myself I must measure my words more carefully.

  “Oh, aye … that your humors are unbalanced.”

  “Just so. What say you?”

  “Nothing,” I shrugged. “Mayhap they speak true. But I will be frank. I’ve never seen a man ill as you are who regained his health because a physician altered his diet from hot to cold or wet to dry, or the other way ’round.”

  “You say that the leeches who offer advice and take my coin for it are knaves?”

  “Perhaps they have seen their counsel succeed with other patients,” I said.

  “But you’ve not seen it so?”

  “Nay,” I replied.

  “What, then, is to become of me? Am I to meet the Lord Christ soon?”

  “I cannot say, m’lord. There are herbs which may reduce your suffering, if not work a cure.”

  “Oh? What?”

  “Tansy, thyme, cress, and bramble leaves crushed and made into an oily paste, mixed then with wine. And an oil from the roots of fennel.”

  “You have offered such to others and seen them relieved?”

  “Nay, m’lord. I’ve heard of good success with these, but surgeons are not called upon to deal with complaints these herbs may soothe.”

  “Until now, eh?”

  “Aye. Until now.”

  “Hmmm. An honest man. Most physicians brought to me promise a cure. They assign me remedies and take their pay, and after all I am no better. Worse, indeed, sometimes. What about you? What is your fee for advising me to take … what herbs again?”

  “Tansy, thyme, cress, bramble leaves, and the root of fennel. These are claimed to reduce wind. And I ask no fee from those I cannot serve.”

  “Hah. A man who will not enrich himself at my expense. Very well, I will send for my leech and have the fellow prepare the herbs you suggest.”

  Prince Edward turned to a valet and said, “Fetch Dr. Blackwater. I pay him enough,” Edward said to me. “He can collect herbs and pound them to earn his wages.”

  Lord Gilbert and I bowed our way out of Prince Edward’s pavilion, and as we departed I saw the prince helped from his chair and taken toward a couch. Evidently he had mastered his weakness long enough for my interview, but was now required to lie down. I hoped that the herbs I had suggested would serve to better his weakness. If they did, what then? Would my reputation be aided? Would the prince ask me to serve in his entourage? Would I want to do so, were he to ask? And if such an invitation came, what would Kate think? Would she want to leave Galen House and travel at the whim of Prince Edward? Would I?

  Whilst we waited outside the walls of Bordeaux, men readied themselves and their weapons for battle. Archers sharpened already keen arrows on portable wheels and men-at-arms did likewise with pikes and axes. When there was nothing remaining to be done men drank too much ale and wine and gambled at nine man morris or dice. I care little for gambling, drunkenness does not appeal to me, and I had no weapons to sharpen. I was bored. I took to wandering about the city, comparing it to London and other great cities I have seen. A man could do worse than make a home in Bordeaux. Perhaps this is why so many of English royalty have spent time there.

  Four days after our arrival at Bordeaux a man of Sir John Trillowe’s company approached our tents. He asked for me, and when I stood before my tent he opened his pouch, produced two shillings, and demanded the return of Sir Simon’s dagger. I remembered the fellow. John de Boys. He had accompanied Sir Simon at Leeds Castle on the evening when Sir Simon struck me.

  I went to my chest, drew forth the dagger, and made the exchange. It was a fine blade. Perhaps I should have required three shillings for its return. The youth took Sir Simon’s dagger, glared at me, and stalked off. Perhaps the fellow was chosen for the task because of his excellent scowl. I have seldom received a more venomous glance.

  Word of the groom’s appearance passed quickly through Lord Gilbert’s tents and men gathered to see what the fellow’s arrival might mean. Uctred was among these. I gave him the two shillings and he grinned.

  “Worth a busted nose,” he said.

  A few minutes after the groom had left with Sir Simon’s dagger we heard an uproar from a distant part of the camp. Bored men always seek entertainment, and the tumult, distant though it was, promised amusement. We left our tents and sought the source of the racket.

  Twenty or so men were battering each other in an open space between two clusters of tents. One group wore Sir John Trillowe’s livery, the other wore Sir Henry Morley’s colors. No daggers flashed, but men beat upon each other with fists, lengths of firewood, and kicks to the ribs of fallen foes. One man entered the fray with a rock larger than my fist and threw it with all the force he could muster toward an opponent. He missed, and the missile bounced harmlessly from the wall of a tent.


  Dozens of men soon gathered about the bloodied combatants, but most chose to encourage the contest rather than end it. Eventually a few of the less pugnacious of the brawlers began to fall away from the field of battle, and others of Sir John’s and Sir Henry’s men who were not involved stepped between the exhausted few whose dander was yet up, and brought the spectacle to an end.

  Quiet returned to the encampment, and we who had been briefly diverted from the boredom of waiting drifted back to our tents.

  “Wonder what caused that?” Arthur said as we came to our place.

  “Heard one fella say that Sir Simon was cheatin’ at dice,” one of Lord Gilbert’s archers said. How he would do that I knew not, but knowing Sir Simon, if there were a way to defraud another at dice, he would find it. There is, and he did. Perhaps I was prejudiced against the man.

  Chapter 5

  Two days later, with no more fights to entertain us, we learned that the army would move next morn for Limoges. The journey was not far. Most were pleased to be on the way to our destination, for the sooner Limoges was dealt with the sooner we could return to England. But it was annoying to give up the comforts of the camp we had made, and pack all for the move to Limoges.

  On the second day of travel, when I had left the road to seek a private place to relieve myself, I saw Sir Simon Trillowe and the man who had ransomed his dagger riding past, side by side. Comrades, evidently, joking and laughing as they rode. But then the laughter changed abruptly to shouts and curses. From what I knew of Sir Simon’s temper, I thought it likely that his friend had said something to which Sir Simon took offense. From forty or so paces away I heard the friend shout in response, “You’ll not find another.” Another what? I wondered. Sir Simon then turned his back upon the fellow and spurred his beast ahead. I managed to circle ahead of the quarreling pair and rejoin Lord Gilbert’s cohort without them noticing me. I think.

  Ten days later we arrived before the walls of Limoges and erected our tents in a circle about the city. Prince Edward was so unwell that he traveled in a litter, which must have been mortifying to so great a knight.