The Tainted Coin hds-5
Page 21
John Thrale’s goods were stacked neatly upon the floor, beside a table. I did not take all of the items. The sack was not large enough, and if all the goods were missing John would surely notice and wonder at the loss. But if only a part of the stuff was gone he might never notice.
John Chamberlain and Lord Gilbert might never know that some of the chapman’s goods had been appropriated, but I would. These things, as well as the horse and cart, might have been Amice’s had the chapman lived a few weeks longer. But he had not, so I must pray that the Lord Christ forgive me the theft. My conscience was some troubled later, when I thought upon the pilferage, but not so much as it would have been if I had consented to Osbert’s death at the hands of an evil lord.
With the sack slung over my shoulder I returned to Galen House and found three anxious people, convinced that Father Thomas had refused and that I lingered at the vicarage, attempting to persuade him otherwise. They were much relieved that their fears were not realized.
I took pen, ink, and parchment and wrote to my nephew, explaining only so much as he needed to know and requesting that he provide land to Osbert, waiting to collect gersom and rents until the fellow was able to harvest a crop. I do not know my nephew, as he was but a lad when I left Little Singleton for Oxford and Balliol College, but most manors are in need of labor and good tenants, so I thought he would prove amenable to allowing Osbert and Amice to settle upon his estate. Perhaps there might be a house, empty due to plague, which could be made suitable for a tenant.
We supped on maslin loaves and cheese, and when we had eaten our fill Kate filled a sack with the leavings. As she did, the evening Angelus Bell rang from the tower of St. Beornwald’s Church.
Osbert and I went to the toft behind Galen House and readied the horse and cart for the journey to come.
The hour passed slowly. Amice and Osbert alternated in pacing about the room and sitting upon a bench. Occasionally, when they thought neither Kate nor I saw, they exchanged timid smiles.
“It’s time,” I said finally. And we donned surcoats — Osbert wearing an old one of mine, for he had none — and set out for the church. I carried Bessie upon my shoulder and Amice’s lads followed sleepily behind. They had been put to their bed after supper, and were unwilling to be drawn from the warmth of their pallet into a cold night.
Father Thomas awaited us at the porch, and set immediately to his work. There would be no formality this night; no ring to give, nor coins to distribute to the poor, no dower or dowry announced.
When Father Thomas had asked Osbert and Amice if they wed freely, and of no compulsion, and received their reply, he pronounced them man and wife and led the way into the church. A row of candles flickering to denote souls in purgatory gave some light to the nave. Standing before the altar, Father Thomas spoke a brief mass, presented the eucharist to Amice and Osbert, and announced that the sacrament was done.
Bessie slept through the business, Amice’s children yawned, and I thought I saw the mark of a tear glistening upon Kate’s cheek as we passed the row of candles while leaving the church.
At Galen House I placed a pallet in the cart upon which the children might sleep. The sack of John Thrale’s goods lay in the cart already.
“At the north edge of the town, on the right side of the road,” I said to Osbert, “you will see the bishop’s new tithe barn. Before the door there will be two sacks for you, one of oats and one of barley. To find the manor of Little Singleton you must travel north and ask for roads to Preston. At Preston travel west to Kirkham, and when you reach that place Little Singleton will be but a few miles to the north. Folk thereabout will know the way. You have the letter?”
“Aye. How many days travel, you think?”
“’Tis a far journey. A fortnight, perhaps longer if the roads be mud.”
Osbert looked to his feet, silent in the dark behind Galen House.
“Don’t know what to say,” he finally said. “You might ’ave sent me to die… be less trouble for you.”
“More trouble for my conscience.”
“I’ve no way to repay.”
“Tell my nephew, Roger, and his mother, Maud, that I am well. I have taken a wife, and our Bessie is healthy and growing. Deliver that message and I will consider myself paid well.”
“’Twill be done.”
“Take no heed of the beadle, if you see him. He has been told you may be on the streets after curfew. Now we must all go to our beds. When you are sure Kate and I sleep, rise and be off.”
Osbert and Amice were eager to be away. I was not yet asleep when I heard the door to the toft open. What time of the night this was I could not tell, so if Lord Gilbert asked I might yet honestly say that I did not know.
Kate also lay awake. “They are off,” she whispered.
“Aye… and God speed,” I replied.
Soon after I fell to sleep, worries behind me for a few hours, and did not awaken until Kate’s cock announced the dawn. I was of two minds how I should tell my employer that Osbert was away. I might wait until he remembered that the man was convalescent under my roof, and demanded again to know when he could be sent to Sir Philip. Or I could this day seek Lord Gilbert and inform him that Osbert was gone.
To give this news today might mean that Lord Gilbert would demand that I organize a body of grooms and pages and set out after Osbert. This I would not do, although ’twould be simple enough to search the roads to the south, toward London, where we would be sure not to find our quarry.
If I waited until Lord Gilbert called me to him he would ask why he had not been told sooner that Osbert was away. I would have no ready answer.
So after a portion of maslin loaf, which seemed tasteless in my mouth, I walked to the castle, found John Chamberlain, and told him I wished to speak to Lord Gilbert.
Lord Gilbert was in the solar, with Lady Petronilla, when John ushered me into his presence. I bowed, and before I could speak Lord Gilbert said, “Ah, Master Hugh. We are well met. I was about to ask for you.”
My heart fell at these words, for I was certain he was about to demand that Osbert be sent to Sir Philip forthwith.
“We will soon be away to Goodrich for the winter. How do my tenants and villeins do? Harvest was plentiful this year, was it not?”
“Aye. John Holcutt is much pleased.”
“So the poor will see themselves through the winter?”
“A man who has but a quarter-yardland will find it difficult to feed his family even in a year when the harvest is plentiful.”
“Oh,” Lord Gilbert said, and the eyebrow rose again. “Well, I will leave funds for you to assist the poor while I am at Goodrich and Pembroke, so no man may starve upon my lands this winter.
“And another thought has come to me. The dead chapman, found near to St. Andrew’s Chapel, have you discovered the murderers?”
“Aye, I have.”
“Has Sir Roger held them for the King’s Eyre?”
“Nay, m’lord. They have fled, and we do not know where to seek them. ’Tis said they have gone to London.”
“Ah… and the coins the fellow found, do you know where they came from?”
“Nay. Arthur and I searched, but found nothing.”
“The fellow’s cart and horse, and the goods found in the cart… I’ve no need of them. You said that the priest of St. Andrew’s Chapel wished to have them to help the poor. He may do so. I have no need of coarse wool and crude buckles, nor of such a horse and cart. Sell them, or give the stuff to the poor.”
I could not tell Lord Gilbert that I had already done so, but was much relieved to hear him speak these words. My conscience would rest easier.
“One more thing. The villein who fled Sir Philip Rede, is he whole enough to be returned to East Hanney?”
I swallowed, then replied. “He has fled, m’lord.”
“Fled?”
“Aye. He knew his fate if he was returned to Sir Philip, so arose in the night and made off.”
“Wh
at night?”
“Just last night, m’lord.”
“So if I sent men after him he might be found? You’ve probably no idea where he went?” he said sarcastically. I made no reply.
“Well, bolting as he has done solves two problems. I no longer must send a man to his death, and you must no longer leave my service so to soothe your tender conscience. I am glad he is no longer a concern for either of us.”
I had not been aware that Lord Gilbert was troubled about Osbert’s fate. Perhaps I had misjudged my employer.
For the next months, when the weather was not foul and the ground not frozen, I prowled the forest to the east of St. Andrew’s Chapel where I had found John Thrale’s horse and cart, and where Arthur and I had discovered the rows of strange stone mounds. Occasionally John Kellet accompanied me, or Arthur, but I brought no other man to the search, and required of John and Arthur that they tell no man of what we did. If folk of Bampton learned that treasure was perhaps buried somewhere in that wood, the forest floor would soon be ploughed as if an army of hogs had been set loose to pannage the place.
I lost interest in the search when spring came. I am yet convinced that the chapman’s discovery is somewhere in that forest, upon Lord Gilbert’s lands, but no longer trouble myself seeking it. Perhaps, many years hence, some other man may find the hoard. If so, I pray the consequence will not be as it was for John Thrale.
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