by Starr, Mel;
“Aye. But perhaps he believes you must have abandoned the search by this time, so he feels no need to inform us.”
“Perhaps.”
“But you do not believe it so, do you?”
“Nay. And this is why I doubt it was those felons from Didcot who took Lady Philippa.”
“Because when the ransom for the maid was delivered she was released?”
“Just so. As far as we know, Lady Philippa is not free, even though Sir Aymer met the demand for two pounds.”
“So you will not travel to Didcot?”
“Nay. Not yet. But I do not intend to forget Lady Philippa.”
“You will continue to seek her, even though you are not required?”
“Aye.”
“Where? What will you do next? Who may have knowledge of the lady, think you?”
It was my turn to shrug. In truth I did not know what direction my next steps must take. I knew only that I could not find ease ’til the matter was resolved.
My interview with my employer was nearly completed when there came a rapping upon the solar door.
“Enter,” Lord Gilbert said.
’Twas John Chamberlain who was at the door. “A rider has come from Coleshill,” he said.
Lord Gilbert looked to me. “Lady Philippa is set free,” he said.
“Nay, m’lord,” John replied. “Sir Aymer wishes Sir Hugh to attend one of his servants. The man was injured two days past. His arm is out of joint.”
“The rider said nothing of Lady Philippa?” I said.
“I asked it of him. She is not released.”
“Where is the messenger?”
“I sent him to the kitchen for a loaf and ale.”
“Good. Come,” Lord Gilbert said to me. “We will learn what we can from the fellow.”
’Twas Maurice we found at a table in the kitchen. He stood when he saw Lord Gilbert enter and tugged a forelock.
“What news?” Lord Gilbert said.
“I am sent to ask your surgeon to attend Sir Aymer. John Cely’s arm is out of joint at his shoulder. Sir Aymer asks if you can put it right.”
“Is John Cely the man who guided Lady Philippa’s wagon?”
“Aye, the same. He was pitching hay from the loft. He lost his footing, bein’ old an’ wobbly on ’is feet, an’ fell to the ground.”
Lord Gilbert looked to me. “Can you mend such an injury?”
“Aye, probably.”
“Your mistress has not been returned to Sir Aymer, my man said. Is this so?” Lord Gilbert said.
“Aye. She is not returned.”
“Has there been a further ransom demand? Do her captors require more coin?”
“Nay. Nothing is known of them.”
“Is there no physician or surgeon near to Coleshill who can deal with the man’s injury?” Lord Gilbert asked.
“There is a physician resides in Faringdon. Sir Aymer sent for him yesterday. He could do nothing but torment John, yanking his arm about. His howls were pitiful.” Maurice shook his head, compassion clear in his face, as he remembered.
“Sir Aymer sent me to fetch you as soon as dawn came this morning. He begs you to come quick. The man is in much pain.”
“I will, surely. A shoulder out of joint, which is likely what afflicts John, can be put right. But this must be done soon after the injury. After a few weeks the remedy becomes more difficult. I will have the marshalsea make ready a palfrey, visit my home to tell Kate I am away, and return within the hour.”
“What?” Kate said when I told her my plans. “You intend to ride to Coleshill without first having your dinner?”
“Apparently not,” I replied. “Is there something ready now?”
“I will seek Adela and hurry the meal.”
’Twas worth the wait. I enjoyed stewed herrings with maslin loaves for my dinner, and was not too much beyond the hour when I returned to Bampton Castle. I found three palfreys, Arthur, and Uctred awaiting me.
“I ’eard you was called to Coleshill,” Arthur explained, “and thought you’d best not travel alone. Uctred wants to come along for the journey. There’s little enough to keep a man busy these days.”
This was indeed true. The work of ploughing and planting was done, the labor of harvest yet to come. Other than hoeing weeds and repairing houses, barns, roofs, and fences there is small demand on a man’s time and labor come midsummer.
Four strangers passing through a village – Maurice returned to Coleshill with us – always attract attention. So it was in Clanfield. Folk tending their onions leaned upon hoes to watch us pass, and in a field planted to dredge I saw Janyn Hoard and another man unknown to me raking weeds from the furrows. The other spared but a glance but Janyn watched until we passed from view. He was not near the road, but close enough that I saw distrust in his eyes. Perhaps it was my imagination. Due to the nature of our duty we bailiffs are accustomed to receiving malevolent glares. So much so that we expect them.
Badbury Hill was green and gold in the slanting sunlight as we passed the place. How many days had passed since I ventured to the top – well, near the top – to leave several hundred coins where directed?
We halted before Coleshill’s manor house in time for a late supper. Sir Aymer’s grooms took our palfreys in hand, and Arthur and Uctred and I were invited to a meal of beans yfryed. I did not see the injured wagoner and asked Sir Aymer of him.
“He ate his dinner, but complains of the hurt and will take no supper. How will you deal with his shoulder?”
“I require a length of stout hempen rope, perhaps three yards long, and an old kirtle or some such garment which may be folded to a pad.”
“That’s all?”
“Aye. Maurice says you have still received no messages from those who took Lady Philippa.”
“True.”
Sir Aymer’s shoulders seemed to fall. “I have no wife. I have no word from those who have her. What is worse, I know not what I may do now to find her.”
While we ate I told Sir Aymer of the lass of Didcot seized at Candlemas.
“Sir John Willoughby safeguards this Howes fellow?” he said.
“Aye. Do you know Sir John?”
“I do,” he said with contempt. His tone of voice intrigued me, but I did not press him for an explanation. I thought it likely Sir Aymer would account for his opinion without prompting. He did.
“Our fathers fought at Crécy. Or, I should say, my father fought at Crécy. Sir John’s father was present, but no one saw him while the battle raged. ’Twas not ’til the French withdrew that he was seen.”
“Men may lose track of one another in the heat of battle,” I said.
“Aye, they may. But Crécy was fought upon muddy ground, after days of rain. Those who fought were bespattered with mud and filth. Not so Thomas Willoughby. No man saw him ’til after, when our archers were stopped from slaying the wounded French knights.”
“I have heard that the archers slew many wounded after the battle,” I said.
“They did. Knights whose ransoms could have amounted to hundreds, nay, thousands of pounds. But of course the commons care nothing about that. No French knight would ransom himself from an archer. My father and others stopped the slaughter, and the kindness proved profitable. He held two French knights and gained twelve pounds for their release.”
“And Thomas Willoughby?”
“He and his squire collected three knights, I heard.”
“And his armor was unstained?”
“It was.”
“Did the men who were present speak of this in the days after the battle?”
“Not when Sir Thomas was within earshot.”
“But at other times?”
“Aye. And Sir Thomas knew they did so.”
“Was your father one of these?”
“He was. Sir Thomas would speak of Crécy as if he alone saved King Edward, when all know ’twas the bowmen, not the gentlemen in their armor, who vanquished the French that day.”
“Sir Thomas harbored a dislike for your father because of this? Does the son also resent what was said of his father?”
“Surely. And has little regard for me or others because of it.”
“I wonder if he would set Gaston Howes to seize your lady as revenge for your father’s opinion of his own?”
“Hmmm. I had not considered such a thing. He might, I suppose. But he would need to abduct half the ladies of the realm if he wanted to avenge all the words spoken by knights behind his father’s back. But when will you deal with John’s shoulder? The light is failing. Must you wait ’til morning?”
“Much light is not necessary. A few candles or cressets will serve. Putting a dislocated shoulder aright – and I must see the man before I know if this is truly his injury – is more a matter of touch than sight.”
John Cely was brought to the hall when supper was done and a moment of testing the joint told me that dislocation was his complaint. The arm was not broken, nor was his collarbone. I saw the raised lump of his right shoulder before his cotehardie and kirtle were removed. The old fellow gasped with pain when his arm was raised to remove the garments.
I asked for a cup of ale, and in it placed a thimbleful of crushed hemp seeds and another of the dried flakes of lettuce sap. I have had good success with these herbs when I wished to reduce a man’s pain while I treated his hurt.
The dosage requires an hour or so to take effect, and I shouted into the codger’s ear so as to make known to him the reason for delay in putting his shoulder right. He nodded understanding, and I pointed to a bench and bade him sit. ’Twould be a sorrow if the herbs so dazed him that while standing he toppled to the flags. I might then have two injuries to deal with.
I repeated to Sir Aymer that to complete the repair to John’s shoulder I would need rope and some worn discarded garment. He sent Brom to fetch these items. And while we awaited his return and the effect of the hemp and lettuce Sir Aymer and I renewed our dinner conversation regarding Sir John Willoughby and Gaston Howes.
“I cannot charge Sir John with this villainy on nothing more than a suspicion,” Sir Aymer said. “And if I did, his cousin would not permit his arrest.”
I agreed that we lacked evidence. We mulled over our possibilities – threats, an armed band appearing before Sir John’s door, or plotting to seize Sir John’s oldest son for exchange? All these we abandoned, for the good reason that we could not be sure if the felon he protected was guilty of taking Lady Philippa.
So an hour later, when John Cely swayed upon the bench as if he was about to entertain Morpheus, we were no nearer to a plan to seek Lady Philippa than when the conversation began.
Brom laid the rope and kirtle before me. I tied two loops at either end of the rope, about as far apart as from my chin to my waist. I shouted into John’s ear that he should rise, and Maurice took hold of his good arm to assist the feeble old groom to his feet.
I draped the folded kirtle over the crook of John’s right arm, as a pad for the rope, then drew a loop from one end of the rope over his right hand and rested it upon the kirtle. This left the other loop dangling a foot or so above the flags.
I took firm hold of John’s useless arm with one hand where it had been drawn from his shoulder, then placed my left foot in the dangling loop. I told Maurice to hold firm, then took hold of John’s right wrist and raised it ’til the loop was tight about the folded kirtle and his elbow. The old groom seemed untroubled by this, but his equanimity would soon change, I knew.
Of a sudden I put my weight upon the dangling loop whilst I continued to raise John’s wrist. The tightening rope pulled down upon his upper arm, as it could not move the lower arm due to my hold upon the wrist.
The codger winced and cried out, but I pressed down with my foot the harder. I felt, and heard, a popping sound. The dislocation was no more. The tightening rope had drawn the bone back into its proper place in the shoulder socket.
I felt the joint to be sure the remedy was complete and successful. As I did I saw a tear trickle down the old man’s cheek. He looked to his right shoulder and smiled through his tears when he saw the disfiguring knob was no more.
Next I took the old kirtle, ripped it in half, and made a sling. I shouted into John’s ear that for a fortnight he must rest his arm in the sling and do no labor. A shoulder which has become dislocated, and restored, is likely to be dislocated again if much force is too soon applied to the joint. John nodded, and Sir Aymer, who had until then watched the procedure in silence, said, “There is no need for John’s labor ’til Lammastide, and perhaps even then he will not be needed.”
The long day was past when I finished with John Cely. Sir Aymer paid my fee, sixpence, and with Arthur and Uctred I went to the chamber Sir Aymer had assigned me, and sought my bed.
Arthur spoke, and his words were not conducive to sleep. “Did you watch the old fellow whilst you an’ Sir Aymer was talkin’ about Lady Philippa?”
“Nay. What would I have seen had I done so?”
“He suffers the disease of the ears, ’tis said. You needed to shout in ’is ear to make yourself understood.”
“Aye, I did.”
“Mayhap ’e hears more’n folks think.”
“Why do you say so?”
“He was sittin’ on the bench whilst you an’ Sir Aymer was speakin’ of the lady. His head was goin’ back an’ forth, to you, then to Sir Aymer, dependin’ on who was talkin’.”
“What of it?” I said. “He could see who was speaking. Perhaps he has learned to follow a man’s speech by watching the movement of his lips. I’ve heard it said that there are men who can do so.”
“Mayhap. But I thought ’is eyes was cloudy-like. So how could ’e see a man’s lips movin’ so clear? An’ ’is face said ’e understood what you an’ Sir Aymer was sayin’. Some of it, anyhow.”
Arthur’s words planted a seed of doubt which sprouted overnight. Were John’s ears as defective as men thought? Surely his eyes were. The white of his cataracts was plain to see. Before I fell to sleep I devised a plan to learn if John Cely could hear more than others thought. After I broke my fast I would try the scheme.
Chapter 10
Sir Aymer provided maslin loaves and ale to fortify us for the return to Bampton. I told him I wished to examine John Cely before we set out, to reassure myself that all was well with the groom’s shoulder, and he sent Brom to rouse the man from his bed and bring him to us.
“Watch the old fellow while I speak to Sir Aymer,” I said to Arthur and Uctred. “I will have my back to him so he will not see my lips, even through his clouded eyes. I wish to learn if my words cause him distress.”
Arthur nodded understanding. I had spoken these instructions in a whisper, so Sir Aymer, who was speaking to Brom, would not hear.
John appeared, rubbing rheum from his eyes, a few moments later. He had the sling about his neck, supporting his mended shoulder. I shouted into his ear that I wished to inspect my work once again before I departed Coleshill. The old codger looked to his shoulder while I removed the sling and pressed my fingers against the joint. This examination caused him to wince, but I was satisfied all was well.
Then I turned from him and in a normal voice addressed Sir Aymer. “I am pleased. It is sometimes the situation that if the dislocation of a man’s shoulder is profound, the tissue holding the bones together will die.”
This is not so, but neither Sir Aymer nor John Cely would likely know it. I lied. For a good cause. May the Lord Christ forgive me.
“If so be it this happens, the only recourse is to amputate the dying limb. Such surgery may also be fatal, but if ’tis not done a man will perish.”
Sir Aymer stared at me open-mouthed. The information shocked him, as it surely would John, if the man heard it. I did not then turn to see the fellow’s reaction, if such there was. I would rely upon Arthur and Uctred, who had also heard my falsehood, to tell if there was any sign that Cely heard and was anxious for his life.
&n
bsp; I did not need to hear their opinion. When I finally turned back to the old fellow to replace the sling I saw his mouth agape. He said nothing, but it was clear to me that while John Cely might have a disease of the ears he heard more than most folk thought.
The stairs from the upper floor of Sir Aymer’s manor house opened into a corner of the passage between kitchen and hall, beside the screens passage. I heard footsteps and from the corner of my eye saw movement. ’Twas a woman of perhaps twenty years. Her complexion was dark, as those who work in the fields, under the sun, but she wore a spotless linen chemise and a bright green woolen cotehardie. Her hair was braided with yellow silk ribbons.
Sir Aymer followed my gaze. “My guest,” he said. “Isobel Davies.”
I bowed a greeting and wondered if she was his only guest, or if a man would follow her down the stairs. None did. Isobel bowed in return and silently passed into the kitchen.
“What am I to do if John’s arm seems to fail him?” Sir Aymer said.
“Send for me straightaway,” I replied. I knew this would not happen, but I must continue the subterfuge as I was now certain Cely could hear more than he would admit. Why this might be puzzled me, but I considered that when Lady Philippa was taken he likely heard more of the event than he would say, even if he saw nothing of it. A man may feign deafness, but the white film over his eyes can be no sham.
Arthur and Uctred confirmed my opinion of John’s reaction to the suggestion that I might need to lop his arm off. “Watched ’is Adam’s apple bounce like the tail of a suckling lamb,” Uctred chuckled.
“Will you truly saw ’is arm off if need be?” Arthur said. I thought his features seemed pale, as if he feared I might require his aid in such a surgery.
I assured him that such a surgery would not be required as we walked to Sir Aymer’s stables to ready our beasts for the return to Bampton. We found Giles Stonor there, attending to his steed.
“Were you able to deal with John’s displaced shoulder?” he asked.
“Aye. It was corrected last night.”
“He will be as good as new?”
“None of us will ever be good as new,” I replied.
