Mistress Meg and the Prigger of Prancers

by Miriam Bibby

  "Well now," said Follett, gulping at the ale. "Refreshing, thank you. Our warrant is to search for the horse throughout Guildern, and beyond - but my job is to search in and around Guildern only."

  "I think you can see that the horse is not here," said Peter, ironically.

  "Of course!" said the Constable with a chuckle. "No one would think that you're holding the horse. However, you might be able to assist ..."

  "I don't see ..." began Peter.

  "Peter Siskin, your uncle had a good reputation as a wise man and healer. So do you, I believe ... take after him ..."

  Peter wondered what was coming next. The man's expression was almost ... expectant ...

  "I believe you have a gift at finding things that are lost ..."

  Peter was about to say something to the opposite, but realised that he couldn't. It was true that he found missing items. Quite how he did this would be hard to explain; sometimes it just ... happened; sometimes he was able to "see" something that the person who had lost the item couldn't, as in the case of Jacob and the missing measuring cup. He had an unpleasant feeling that he knew in which direction the conversation was going.

  He nodded, a little half heartedly.

  "Well now, this horse is very valuable, very valuable indeed, and Sir George desperately wants it returned."

  "Of course!" said Peter.

  "So much so, that he's putting up a reward for anyone who helps in its return."

  "Do you know that for certain?" said Peter, quickly.

  The Constable looked at him, fatuously and knowingly. He tapped his nose.

  "Not this again," thought Peter. Any more nose-tapping and he would ...

  "Not inasmuch as he has told me, of course," said the Constable. "But I did have this of one of my neighbours, who has a relative who works for Sir George. This neighbour said it was certain that Sir George would put up a substantial reward. What I wanted to ask of you was, that you would use your skill to find the horse, and in return for an introduction to Sir George - who otherwise wouldn't see you, I'm sure, but who will if I request it ... "

  "Puffed up little ..." thought Peter.

  "... then perhaps you could see your way clear to slipping me part of the fee? There's nothing underhand in this," added the Constable quickly, perhaps not liking what he saw on Peter's face. "It's perfectly legal ... and why should an outsider benefit in this case? You and me, we share the work, we share the money? You've surely the skill, for you knew what I came to tell you before I told you."

  Peter was working hard to control his expression. Part of him wanted to laugh. If this had been happening to anyone else, he would have seen the humour in it. God knows, there had been times when he had seen the humour in situations that had brought his clients to their knees. If only, he had always thought, they could step aside from themselves, even put themselves into the shoes of a person with whom they were in conflict. Often, he had wondered how they had found themselves in these circumstances, how they had let themselves be led into it so blindly. Now, he began to understand.

  Once in the web, unexpected entanglements ensued. Watching the Constable's face he saw what really lay beneath its encouraging and trusting look, its apparent faith in Peter's skill to find the horse. Greed - the desire for gold. So now, he had two of them to deal with, the Constable and Jostler. Jostler's injury had not freed him from the web; now Peter was just entangled further.

  Chapter 8: Follow the Frog

  There was little change in Jostler throughout the day. He lay, no better, but no worse. George turned his attention to the search for Bayard, who had not returned home on his own. He and Sim went out on foot with the hounds, all around the barn and up and down the fields and meadows. The hounds had a good sniff over some blankets and harness that the stallion had used. George and Sim spent some considerable time along the banks of the brook that splashed through the Oakenhall lands and joined eventually with the Dern. They found some prints that might be those of the stallion, leading into the water, but there was no sign of where they came out. Hanging on a branch near the barn was a scrap of cloth, which George thought had a slight scent of some oil or juice, of poppies or similar. The hounds made nothing of it and Sim said it might have blown for miles and simply caught there. Eventually the hounds found a faint trail that led up to the Guildern road, but there it disappeared, whatever it was, and they simply cast up and down without luck. The road was well used and it had rained.

  George and Sim had waited until after dawn to see if there was any sign of the stallion before sending out Nathaniel with the warrants to distribute to various people in Guildern. Some of these would be forwarded on to Constables, Justices and other Officers of the Commission of the Peace in the County. They knew that some would travel faster than others and that some would be acted upon more promptly and effectively.

  In two days some of those Justices would be in Guildern, attending the Quarter Sessions, and a few would spend at least one night with Sim's family at Whitrishes. Sim's sister Serena was married to one of the Justices and was expected to travel over to join him after the sessions. However, not all Justices attended the sessions - some were notorious for non-attendance - and so both Sim and George agreed that the warrants were better distributed now, rather than waiting.

  "If only we knew how long Jostler had been unconscious before Lukas found him," said Sim, as they warmed themselves by the fire after several hours searching.

  "By my reckoning, at least the half hour, probably more," said George. "We know how much head wounds bleed and for how long - remember that time you took a tumble out of the tree in the orchard?"

  "I do remember - but not much," said Sim. "I seem to recall that it was an act of daring spurred on by your suggestion to climb out on that branch and get the largest pear; and then, not much thereafter."

  "I admit the guilt," said George. "It put the fear of God in me that day when you fell. It seemed that you would never come round. And when you did, the first thing you said was, 'Who left that stone under the tree?'"

  "Really, it was the worst of manners on my part to find one of the few stones remaining in the orchard," said Sim.

  "Misfortune," said George. "If only I had realised it was there ... but I was just a thoughtless lad. I learned quite a lesson that day."

  "So did I. And I have the scar here to prove it!" Sim reached over for some more hot spiced ale. He cut some more bread, cheese and tart and sat back comfortably. "It seems unlikely to me that the stallion could have disappeared so entirely without the assistance of human agency."

  "I agree," said George.

  "So we are dealing with a case of theft."

  "I believe so; unless the horse was frightened by something and broke free ... but what? What could have scared him? He is in his nature bold and willing; not fearful nor vicious. Also, I think that a horse of his quality would prove hard to dispose of."

  "The wind was strong at times yesterday evening; is it possible the doors were not closed properly and the wind tore at one of them, causing it to come loose?"

  George considered. "Not likely, I should say."

  "Is it possible that he escaped by some means and has then been found and taken?" asked Sim.

  "That seems the more likely to me, but we there is still Jostler to account for."

  "Ah, Jostler. Perhaps it is time we paid another visit to the sick room." They left.

  * * * * *

  To Meg, sitting in the window seat, there came an unmistakable sense of change in the air. It was the same feeling as that which comes from a change in the weather, when the wind swings from south west to north east, or back again. There was expected change, of course; Guildern was starting to bustle ahead of the Quarter Sessions and the market. That was interesting, too; to read the expressions on the faces of people as they passed, so intent on their business. Below her on the inn sign the goat pranced endlessly, swinging, grinning and dragging his one loose chain. His expression said clearly that he had every int
ention of breaking the other.

  It was more than the expected change. There was something else, an awareness of gossip, of something that was being talked over. Perhaps it was an expression glimpsed on some of the faces that passed under the window or perhaps it was just something she knew. One thing was certain: that she would not question this knowledge. It came to her and it was received with attention, like a welcome guest. No use in looking in the mirror to see what was happening. The March wind was blowing news, sensations and thoughts about in the air like leaves. Or, perhaps it was a rising tide, bringing with it things that the sea was giving up to the shore. Air and water, water and air. But this was the time of Aries, the Ram. Triumphantly he should be rising with the sun on his horns. A time of fire ... why was there a sense of water and air combined in deception? Meg looked down at the earthy goat again.

  "What are you planning next?" she said aloud to the sign. The goat grinned back at her. Cornelius, who knew her mood and was feeling neglected, gave a plaintive little bark, a reminder of his presence.

  "Come over here then, Brother Nose-all," said Meg, holding out her arms. "Let's see what you make of it." Cornelius jumped up into her arms, then looked down through the open casement and saw the goat swinging below him. He erupted into barking. The goat grinned back, not malevolently, but as if Cornelius amused it. Meg briefly thought of the client who had just departed, disappointed that Meg had no charm that would turn March milk into butter of May quality. Then she dismissed her from her mind.

  Hearing the door open, Meg did not turn round, but simply said, "There is nothing in nature that is not signed, for those that can see it, as our dear Master Paracelsus noted."

  Matthew came over to the window and looked down.

  "There are signs in heaven, as there are on earth, and in the earth; and this, hanging below us, is a sign ... and so, without my asking, I know that you have news for me ..."

  "That is true," said Matthew. "The town is ... taken by the ears - is that the phrase? - about it."

  Meg turned to him quickly.

  "Sir George Paston has lost a valuable horse," said Matthew.

  "Lost ... or stolen?"

  "Everyone is asking that question," said Matthew. "And they are saying this ..."

  Meg listened to Matthew carefully. When he had finished, she turned away from him and looked out of the window again.

  "Matthew," she said, "I have found you to be the best of servants. More than a servant - a trusted friend. However," and here she sighed gently, "I fear that our lack of income means that we - must part. This town has not proved as fruitful as I hoped." There was a long silence. Then Meg resumed. "What I must ask you next grieves me more than anything. I must ask you to leave your best clothes here - perhaps I may obtain a little support through selling them. Your old clothes are still in the chest by the box bed. There is a purse for you there as well." Her hand went up to her eyes and trailed lightly under each one in turn. There was another long pause and then the click of a door latch. When she turned back to the room, it was empty. Cornelius gave a long, unhappy, whine.

  * * * * *

  It was quite late in the afternoon when Matthew walked into the camp in the forest where the Frater, Clink and the rest of the rogues were at ease. The Frog was not there. In an instant the men were on their feet and pointing daggers at him. The Frater had an old horse pistol that he pressed against his chest and pointed at Matthew as though ready to fire. Then he recognised him.

  "Moses! By God, it's our Moor, you know, the one we told you of!"

  The Egyptian Mort suddenly appeared at the Frater's elbow. "'E won't shoot you, 'e's got no shot." Somehow she managed to make this sound suggestive, but that was the case with a lot of what she said. The Frater ignored her. Clink looked belligerently at Matthew.

  "What in hell blew you here?"

  "I followed the signs," said Matthew, with a faint air of surprise, as though this were the most natural thing in the world. His clothes were old and well-worn and his appearance was very different from his usual clean and neat self.

  "Told you 'e was one of us," said the Frater proudly, as though Matthew were a long lost relative.

  "I told you those was too easy to read," said Clink angrily to the Sad Mort, who had come over to join them, giving Matthew a sad smile.

  "I di'n't want the Jingler to miss 'em, did I?" she said by way of explanation. Clink raised his hand and she automatically made a gesture to fend off a blow.

  "Leave it!" said the Frater. "'He's one of us, like calls to like, don't it? If he can read the signs, he's one of us. What you doing here?"

  Matthew paused. "I ... was in service and ... no longer wanted to do that."

  "Why, that makes you a vagabond, boy. A runagate - so to speak," said the Frater cheerfully. "No going back for you now."

  "No," said Matthew. He sat down and began to unroll the bundle that had been tied up to the quarterstaff he carried.

  "What you brought, boy?" said the Frater eagerly. If he had been a dog, his nose would have been twitching. "More sausages? They was good."

  "Not sausages, no," said Matthew. He took out two large, split, brown topped loaves, whose fresh smell wafted through the clearing. Then he added a half wheel of cheese, some apples, and cold leg of mutton.

  "My boy," said the Frater, paternally rather than fraternally, "you are most definitely one of us."

  "And these," said Matthew. Two bottles that chinked together in a jolly fashion as he took them out from his jerkin.

  Even Clink's frown of distrust turned into a grin. Forgetting his sudden ill-humour with the Sad Mort, he hunkered down to take his share of the food.

  * * * * *

  The first rays of the sun reached the clearing, where comatose forms were contentedly sleeping off the effects of the drink. The Frater had, of course, taken control of one of the bottles which now lay, completely empty, just out of reach of his hand as he lay snoring in a heap. Clink and the Egyptian Mort were curled up together under a blanket by the remains of the fire. There was no sign of the Sad Mort, who had taken the kinchins to a shelter she had built some way off. Matthew, who had slept only lightly, was instantly alert at the sound, or sense, of movement nearby. Opening one eye, he saw the Frog glance around carefully and then start walking, slightly crouched, backwards away from the camp. After a few steps he straightened, turned and carried on walking away at a fast pace. No-one saw him and no-one followed. Matthew watched him through half closed eyes until he was a good distance away and just about to disappear within the trunks and branches of the forest. Then he rose, completely silently, looked carefully round and backed away as the Frog had done. No-one moved. He set off in the direction the Frog had taken, alert to any sound or movement nearby.

  The Frog moved silently and quickly. Matthew, no stranger to tracking and moving silently, was impressed by his ability. The Frog was also sensitive and his instincts were sharp. Several times he stopped and looked around with the alert, suspicious look of a man who thinks he is being followed. Once, he stopped, disappeared off his trail for some steps and then back-tracked the way he had come. Matthew, who had been expecting something similar, remained hidden to one side whilst this was going on. He saw the Frog appear not far from him, glancing around and almost sniffing the air. Matthew held his breath. The Frog, still looking suspicious, turned and carried on. Matthew waited as long as he dared before moving. For a while he thought he had lost the Frog, fearing that he might have changed direction entirely. Then a jay called out some way off and he realised that the Frog had probably begun to run. Matthew settled into a fast pace, as silently as he could, in the direction of the sound. He sensed as the air became cooler that there was probably running water nearby. This, he thought, might be the River Dern. Carrying on more cautiously, and occasionally dropping to a crouch when there was not much cover, he realised his sense was right. He could now hear water, loud and fast flowing. This was surely the Dern, flowing quickly through a narrow gorge, near
er to its source in the hills to the east of Guildern.

  The ground was rising to his right and he could hear water flowing away to the left. Ahead of him he was fairly certain he would reach the river directly; if he followed the rising ground to the right, he thought he would be able to overlook it. He thought for a moment before taking to the rising ground, which rose swiftly and soon led to a rocky cliff. He was sure that he would be able to see, from the top of this, right across the Dern to whatever lay on the far side. And so he nearly betrayed himself to the Frog, who was standing at the top of the rocky cliff with his arm upraised as though to dive into the river. Matthew quickly retreated and found a secure place to watch. The noise of the water from the gorge was loud and penetrating. There were tall trees growing not far from the cliff edge and a rope had been attached high up one of these. Matthew now saw that the rope was slung over the cliff edge and apparently right over the gorge itself. On the far side there were more cliffs. He could not see to what the rope was fastened, but as he watched, the Frog, who had attached something to the rope, let the something go. The something - it looked like a large sack - slid away down the rope - and disappeared. The Frog then turned and began to walk back down towards the base of the cliffs. Matthew let him go, made his way cautiously forwards, and looked over the edge of the cliff. The rope, he could now see, was attached to another tree growing out of the cliff on the far side. It was not very high up and it would have been relatively easy to attach the rope to it. The sack that the Frog had launched was now sitting right against that tree, high and dry, swaying on the metal hook that had carried it.

  Matthew looked down. Below him and to the left he could see the Frog, standing on some rocks and shingle at the side of the gorge. Ahead of him the river was deep and flowing quite rapidly; when Matthew looked to the right he saw that there were a waterfall and some dangerous looking pools and rapids. Another rope was stretched across the river with part of it lying in the pool that lay ahead of the Frog. As Matthew watched, the Frog removed his clothes, stepped into the pool and began to make his way through the water, going hand over hand on the rope as he did so. At one point he was clearly swimming. Matthew understood. He could have slid down the rope just as he had done with the sack, but the cautious Frog preferred to risk the cold water like his namesake. But where was he going?