Mistress Meg and the Prigger of Prancers

by Miriam Bibby

  George regarded him closely. He was frowning. "Did this man threaten you in some way?"

  Peter nodded unhappily. "He threatened to burn my house over my head if I didn't help with his ruse." This much was true and he did not have to dissemble in any way. In fact, he was becoming increasingly concerned about what was happening at his home.

  "And the ruse was?"

  "That he would steal a horse from you and hide it, and let me know of its whereabouts so that I could bring you to it and claim a fee for its return." At this point Peter glanced at the Constable, who was sitting there open mouthed. Follett's face reddened and he gave Peter a conciliatory, almost pleading look. Peter realised that he now had the upper hand; not that this was of much comfort to him. He decided to say nothing about the Constable's suggestion. Things were sufficiently troublesome as they stood.

  "But ..." continued Peter, in slight confusion as he remembered something, "... he said something about stealing a mare, not a stoned horse. That ... and his injury ... I do not understand what has happened, or who has done this thing. I received word that I thought was from this man and acted upon it. That is what he instructed me to do."

  There was a long, long silence, whilst George stared first at the fire, and then into the ale that was cooling in the jug.

  "I believe you," he said, finally. "Though I do not understand why you did not come to one of us first." He meant one of the Justices, or the Constable.

  "I was in fear," said Peter simply. "And, in truth, I am still in fear for what might be happening now to my home as I sit here."

  "Revenge?" said George. "No, I do not think there will be revenge. For one thing, I think our rogue - or rogues - will have fled as far as they can and I do not think they will approach your house for fear of being caught. However ..." He turned to Follett. "I believe it will be as well if you return to Guildern now. And set a watch on this man's house. Do you know where it is?"

  "Yes, Sir George," said Follett.

  "Here," said George, finding some money for the Constable. "This to pay your reckoning at the inn and this for any other expenses that you need."

  "Thank you, Sir George," said Follett gratefully, and from his tone it was clear that George had been generous.

  Peter imagined that George expected him to stay so that he could be questioned further.

  "You may go also, Peter Siskin," said George. "I believe you are an honest man who has fallen in with a rogue. And tomorrow you will make a deposition of all that you know."

  "Thank you, Sir George," said Peter, surprised, but grateful.

  "Oh ... and one last thing, Follett," said George. "Make order for the removal of the ass from the barn and find housing for it. It may, after all, prove material to our enquiries."

  "Yes sir," said Follett. "Tomorrow, Sir George?"

  "Of course," said George.

  Bemusement, Follett's normal condition, seemed to have returned. Then George suddenly remembered. Tomorrow was Good Friday.

  His mind turned to Jostler. Had the rogue arranged to have his horse taken - or had someone else taken it? From what Peter had told him, the message he had received had the stamp of Jostler; but George had been a Justice long enough to have some knowledge of the ways of rogues. The most successful he had encountered had been those who were most able to pretend to be what they were not. Also, the greatest were constantly aware of the opportunities that were around them. There was no "honesty amongst thieves" in George's experience. The constant moving on, the daily survival, the living hand to mouth, did not lead to honesty of any kind. Convenience and advantage were the qualities that governed their daily existence. If Jostler's plan had been overheard by someone else, for instance; but there was the matter of the burned straw, about which Peter had spoken. Arson was a common threat though and hard to prove. And his horse. Where was Bayard now? At least, he knew for certain, he was not in the miserable and lonely barn under the moonlight.

  * * * * *

  To the north of Guildern stood the ruins of an old Cistercian foundation that had the reputation of being haunted. The forest had grown up surprisingly quickly around the remaining walls. Everything of value had been taken and most of the stone robbed for reuse. Beneath the floor of the old church, which, perhaps for superstitious reasons, was the building that had suffered the least damage, lay a crypt. A fire in more recent years had taken most of the timber that hadn't already been removed for reuse and part of the church floor had collapsed into the crypt, leaving some it open to the sky. Fragments of the upper wall of the church stuck up raggedly above. Stone stairs down to the crypt still remained, with a door at the top, now crazily exposed, as much of the wall above and alongside had collapsed or been removed.

  Something was moving restlessly in the crypt. A large something, that scraped and blew, in fear or anger. There was a pause, and then a long, long exhalation, more like a lonely sigh than anything else. Smaller animals moved rapidly in the darkness. The moon cast its light over part of the floor of the crypt but the small animals kept away from that area, for the most part.

  As the large animal shifted restlessly, the moonlight caught its movement and threw shadows across the floor and what remained of the vaulted ceiling. The large animal - a horse - balked at the shadows and snorted again.

  From high up in the wall, came a creaking noise. The door, almost hanging in space, was opening. A slim figure, dressed in servant's clothing very similar to that worn by Matthew, entered and paused at the top of the steps, listening, before beginning the descent.

  The horse began circling, its body suddenly flashing light in the moonlight, turning to shade and then disappearing again, like a fish moving through water. It called, loudly, and then gently, as though asking for sympathy. The figure reached the base of the steps and lifted a chain that stretched between one of the pillars and the wall, blocking the steps. Ducking under the chain, the form paused again and spoke gently. There was a strong smell of herbs in which the oily, distinctive scent of borage predominated. The horse blew through its nose again, a sound of relief and pleasure.

  "Well, my beauty," said Meg softly, "I am sorry that you have to suffer this, for the present, at least."

  * * * * *

  Soon after George and the others left the loft where the men slept, Jostler, who had been lying along one of the roof beams that led into the grain loft, dropped down onto the floor. Then he made his way over to the window and threw a piece of blooded bandage out onto the ground. That would give the hounds something to think about. Then he entered the neighbouring loft, climbed down a ladder and left through a door at its foot. He made his way onto the mare's paddock, found some horse dung and liberally applied it to the soles of his boots. It would help to cover scent. Then he began to run towards the Guildern road. After a mile or so, he intended to leave the road and turn back across country, following the stars, an unerring instinct for survival keeping him out of the track of the hounds.

  Chapter 11: Guildern Fair

  The prospect of a fair was a cheerful one after the solemnity and sadness of Good Friday and the rejoicing and sanctimony of Easter Sunday, and the residents of Guildern took to it with relish. The inns found themselves with more than enough business to go round. Musicians with pipes, drum and lute, took up temporary residence next to the Goat in Chains. When not making music, they spent their time in the common room of the inn alongside the regulars, where they were welcome on both counts, the music and the spending.

  A cool morning brought a slow start to the fair. Then a pale sun, with a hint of warmth in it, began to gleam through hazy cloud. Someone laughed; a young cart horse colt flung up its heels and snorted, briefly leaping and bucking; and as if that had been the signal for the fair to wake into life, Guildern's shivering dignitaries declared the day open and took themselves to a tent for refreshment. People began to chat, dispute, haggle and criticise; to sample the hard cheeses that had survived the winter, which often improved them. There were a few crates containing
chickens, ducks and geese and a couple of milking ewes, one or two with early lambs at foot.

  Sim and George had been out and about since dawn. They saw nothing unusual. There were broom sellers, a few women selling early violets, a shepherd with some pups, gingerbread and apple stalls; the cooper, who had a fine trade in town, was looking around him, assessing the crowd. Apparently there were not enough of them, or perhaps they were not rich enough, for he had a word or two with his apprentices and then left them to it with a bored look on his face.

  The loss of Bayard was cried just after the fair opened. A few curious people, not residents of the town, gathered around to listen.

  "Oyez, hear ye, oh all honest men and women, that recently has gone missing, from the residence of Sir George Paston ..."

  Some of the Justices were still in town, ostensibly to see how Guildern managed its affairs with regard to regulation and licensing. The fair gave an excellent opportunity to show that all was well-ordered and overseen by the local keepers of the Queen's Peace. It was also a good excuse for another dinner, an even greater one than those that they had enjoyed so far.

  Guildern's weekly market had been held time out of mind on church ground in the centre of town but on special occasions, such as this horse fair, it moved to the flat ground by the river that George was considering as a location for regular racing. He and Sim had been determined to make their presence known today. With the Justices so visible, it was highly unlikely there would be any irregularities with regard to selling or buying horses. The toll system worked well, on the whole. Any horse seller at this fair - or any other throughout her Majesty's realm - would have his name, address and a description of his horse or horses lodged in a special book. If he was not already known to the toll book keeper, he would have to present a reputable acquaintance to vouch for him. Of course, horses did change hands without this procedure, behind the backs of the Justices, toll book keepers and fair and market officials; the easiest way to do this was for two people to simply swap horses. One might have a carting horse, whilst the other had a mare; and they might wish to exchange them for perfectly valid reasons. However, this was frowned upon by the officials at all times.

  George was reasonably confident, knowing how quickly news travelled and that everyone would be well aware of his missing horse, that there would be very little underhand dealing today. He might hear of something though. He and Sim had ensured that there would be sufficient of their people moving covertly about the market and the fair. Then there was the Watch of course, a much more visible deterrent; and the train-band, that had been paraded again for the Justices. It was hard to see how law and order could not be maintained today.

  George did not expect to see many horses on sale as it was early in the year; those that he saw were mostly cart horses and small nags. May was the great month for horse sales. This was, however, a good opportunity for some horse coursers and dealers to meet and discuss prospects, to take a note of interest and remember the faces and names of those who said they might be needing a horse later that year. He and Sim stopped to talk to the toll book keeper at regular intervals; all in order, not much in the way of sales and all those by people that the toll keeper knew. In fact, George and Sim knew most of them too.

  Eventually Sim left George to his circuits of the fair, whilst he went to deal with some matters at the Market House. George, with Hal and Sim's servant Nat, had stopped at one of the several apple stalls. "Try one, your honour," said the elderly apple woman, smiling. Her face looked like one of the apples she sold. George sampled one.

  "It's good," he nodded. It was one of those keeping apples, that, properly stored, improve in flavour.

  "They makes a lovely drop of cider, your worship," said the apple woman.

  "Not that you'd be selling that without a licence," said George, with a grin.

  The woman laughed along with him, shaking her head. "No, no, not I, o' course not!" George took a few more apples and nodded to Hal, who paid her. They moved on.

  There was plenty of entertainment, of a sort. Most people in Guildern were still impressed by fire eating, juggling and tumbling. There were the old games and side shows and later there might be dancing. There was the scent of roasting meat everywhere, now that they were able to make up for the restrictions of Lent. No doubt the Puritan Inspector of Highways would be somewhere in the vicinity, taking note of anything untoward to report righteously to the Justices. George thought Cowbury would probably have liked Lent to extend throughout the year.

  He was walking back towards the horse fair when he heard the sound of someone breathing hard. He turned and saw a portly man with a red face and white beard trotting up towards him. He was still some paces off but his wheezing was loud. The man was dressed in an old black cloak and tattered buskins. There were occasional glimpses of white, like a tunic under the cloak, as the man grew nearer. Then he stopped and looked at George as though weighing him up.

  "Be you - Sir George Paston?" asked the man, looking at him with wide blue eyes whilst attempting to catch his breath. He gave a half bow and looked at George deferentially. George was trying to remember something. Where had he come across a description of a rogue like this recently? No, it wouldn't come to mind. Too much to think about lately.

  "I am," said George. "Can I assist you in some way?"

  "Well, I hope that ye can," said the man ingratiatingly, "I had heard that you was one of the Justices of these parts. Is it so, sir?"

  George nodded, frowning slightly as he tried to catch the memory. "Yes."

  "Well, I was hoping that you might be minded to help an old man who has served his country faithfully and well and now finds himself in straightened circumstances ..." began the man.

  George looked at him under raised brows.

  "No, not like that, Sir George," began the other. "Although if you could see your way to help with a coin or two ..."

  "You have a begging licence?" said George.

  "Of course," said the man, as though surprised to be asked. "Here ..." and he brought out a document from under his tattered cloak and thrust it at George. George examined it closely. All seemed in order but then so had Jostler's documents ... and they were of course ... still some mystery there, he was sure.

  "Well, all's in order with that," said George. "But if it's not money you require but some other help, what would that be?"

  "I've lost something, your honour," said the man. "Or had it taken. Or maybe it's just wandered, like, but if so someone must have taken it afterwards - that's my suspicion."

  "What have you lost?" asked George.

  "It's me ass, sir. Gone, just gone. And it was the one comfort I had now I can't walk so far ..." he coughed and his voice broke into a hoarse whisper "... what with me chest and me legs and ..."

  "Your...ass..." said George, frowning even more.

  "Yes, sir, I was on the road on the way to the fair where I hoped to meet with some acquaintances and I fell asleep; and when I woke some thieving scum had taken my ass!" The Frater's voice rose indignantly. George considered him. If it was an act, it was an impressive one; the man's face grew even redder and he looked genuinely angry.

  "Well now," said George, enjoying the irony of the encounter, "I do know that there are horse thieves in this very county; but never fear, I and my fellow Justices have made sure that there are plenty of watchmen about and if we find them ..." George looked thunderously at the Frater and, squeezing his hands into two fists, he twisted them in a meaningful gesture. The Frater didn't falter.

  "And a good thing too, sir! If you find the bastard that stole me ass, I'll make the rope for you! Aye, and hang 'em too!"

  "Hmm," said George. "I have to tell you that - although I can state with total honesty that I am not the bastard that stole your ass - I am, I suspect, the current keeper of that miserable animal. However, I have no intention of putting my neck into a rope, either silken or hempen. Now," and he suddenly grew brisk, "I am requesting that you accompany me to the pl
ace I shall take you and you will there advise me whether the creature in question is your ass. Or not. But before that, describe it please."

  "It has a nick out of one ear," said the Frater, "and that's it's most distinguishing mark; and it has a dark cross on its back and over its shoulders, but so too do all asses, because they carried our Lord, and it has a dark ring round one eye and ... some scars upon its backside."

  "Likely that is the one," said George. "Let us go and compare."

  The little ass had found himself comfortably ensconced in an interesting stall in a stable at the Constable's house. The town lock-up was just on the other side of the wall. There was a reasonable amount of coming and going to give activity to follow and he had come to enjoy watching this, with a wisp of straw hanging from his mouth. There was also interest in the ass itself and he had found that one or two pleasant people even offered an apple or something tasty on their visits to the stable. In short, the ass was happy with the outcome of its unexpected adventure.

  When the Frater walked in with Sir George, the ass was unpleasantly reminded of his previous existence and expressed this in clear and unmistakable terms. His ears went back, his teeth were bared, and his rear swung round as far as it would go in the direction of the man that it thought it had left behind. One hind leg waved warningly in the air and from the other end came a bray of disgust.

  "Oh yes," said the Frater with certainty, "that's my ass all right."

  "Hmm," said George, who had watched this scene with amusement. "Well, for the moment at least, he must remain in our custody, since there is the possibility that there is some connection with the loss of a valuable horse from my premises."

  "Oh?" said the Frater, with his guileless look.

  "Also, I wish you to give a deposition with regard to the loss of your animal. It may be of significance in helping us find our thief - or thieves. Can you write?"