Mistress Meg and the Prigger of Prancers

by Miriam Bibby

  "Aye, well, I will then," said Bess, slightly mollified.

  Davey knew that she did not really mean to have the dog hanged but his stomach, that had been growling with hunger, had turned slightly sick at the thought. The little creature had stopped running now, all the meat was roasted and what was left was keeping warm in the oven. It was not likely they would start more roasting this late in the day. The dog was resting in the wheel, one paw outside the wooden bars. It looked not only hot and exhausted but simply weary beyond belief, as though it could not tread one more step.

  Bess popped her head into the kitchen for a last round of orders for the maids. Davey looked at her in surprise. She was wearing a ruff and a hat and a tight fitting doublet that gave her a waist. She looked uncomfortable and happy at the same time. It was strange. And her face was pale. Davey narrowed his eyes. She was wearing some kind of powder on it, he was sure. And a faint, beautiful hint of scent wafted over to him.

  Davey forgot about the dog for a moment. What had got into Bess?

  * * * * *

  "His Honour the Justice is waiting for you," said the man. "Upstairs."

  Hearing the laughter of the assembled Justices in the room as he entered froze Peter's blood, but he quickly realised they were laughing at some jest and not at him. A few examined him curiously when he came in. Sir George, who had just filled himself a glass of wine, glanced up at him with no great sympathy, it seemed to Peter.

  "So," said George, regarding Peter. "Thank you for coming at my request. But - no more moonlight chases, I hope."

  "I trust not," said Peter, slightly breathlessly. He found that his heart was pounding hard and his hands were shaking. "How can I ... can I help ... what ..."

  "More mystery," said George, feigning boredom, but he was unable to keep a touch of curiosity from his voice. "What is this? Can you tell?" As he spoke, he was unwrapping a small packet. Peter looked at the contents. There were three small pieces of clay lying in it. The clay looked as though it was not quite dry. Perhaps the packing had kept it moist. Peter half smiled.

  "Ah, I see," he said.

  George looked at him enquiringly. "What ..." began George, but Peter, now that he had caught his attention, strove to hold it.

  "It is an old means of divination, Sir George. I am familiar with it." Peter was surprised at how confident his voice sounded. He must hold that confidence. "How did you come by them?"

  "They were sent to me in this packet - I don't know by whom. What is it about - oh, there was this, too ..."

  Peter read the verse. He smiled, confident now, in what he was doing. "The ruler of the signs of both Capricorn and Aquarius is Saturn, Sir George."

  George's face showed he was thinking hard. "I believe I knew that, now you mention it."

  "Saturn governs time and loss; he is the slowest moving of the planets. He is named the 'Greater Malefic'. He is earthy, leaden and he limits ambition. Those who would fly, fall instead ..."

  George was listening, half frowning. He opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it.

  Peter held up a hand. "The ancients knew him as the most powerful of all the wandering stars - and the highest power, below the fixed stars. In his own sign of Capricorn he is at his most earthy, most material and he breeds covetousness, lying, theft and imprisonment, litigation amongst men and suspicion ..."

  There was a burst of laughter from the Justices, over something else entirely, but George smiled ironically.

  "... lack of charity, fights, coldness and viciousness, with dryness of manner and continuing thirst for more, for Saturn's children are never satisfied with their lot ... he is the ruler of tanners, leatherworkers and those who dig and plough in the earth, and the fruits of the earth; ... vindictive drunkards come under his rule ..."

  * * * * *

  It was hard to tell whether the drinker at the Widow Patterson's was more delighted by his fortune or Ruby's charms.

  "You tell a fine fortune, my maid," said the man. "I've much to anticipate, ain't I?" He grinned at Ruby.

  The Frater, who had been silent for a while, suddenly snickered. "Maid!" he said suddenly, as though it was a great joke. "Maid!"

  "Stow it, Jack," said Ruby crossly, giving him a slight dig in the ribs.

  The Frater looked puzzled. "It's only the truth, ain't it? The truth never hurt."

  "Puh!" flounced Ruby, turning her shoulder towards him. Her blouse slipped a little further down.

  "Take no notice," said the man in a low voice, now staring at her bare shoulder. "Don't listen to him, my maid. He's drunk."

  Ruby, catching his glance, smiled provocatively and reached for his hand again. "For another little drink - and a coin - I could tell you some more, mister."

  "What more can there be to tell?"

  "Oh, plenty," said Ruby, meaningfully. "Lots, lots more. I ain't told you about the gold ... yet ..."

  The man reached for his purse and found another coin, laughing. "Tell me about it then." He leaned round, still laughing and gestured for more drink. The Widow, with complicated emotions showing on her face, brought more ale. It was not her best but she certainly didn't intend to waste any more of that on this party. It was good business though, she had to give them that. There was a lot of money as well as a lot of drink going down.

  "Well now," said Ruby, patting up her hair. She took a sip of her drink in a ladylike fashion and took his hand again. "I see gold in your future - oh yes, much gold and this is gold that you're due. This gold should ha' bin yours by rights but I see trickery. I see rogues. I see a man who cheated you ... now let me see ... there's an animal in this. Is it a cow I see, or perhaps ... no, it's a pig. Oh yes, a good fat hog. That should have brought you gold but ... there's trickery here." She looked up at him triumphantly. The man was regarding her with astonishment.

  "It's like you was there," he said. His surprise was apparently genuine. "That's how it was. I was cheated of the full price for that hog!"

  "Don't you worry, my dear," said Ruby, drawing up his hand towards her eyes. She peered closely at the slightly grubby palm that still smelled faintly of pig muck. "That'll be on its way back to you like a homing bird back to its nest. That'll be returned to you and more, my dear. I see good luck coming your way. And bad cess to the one who cheated ye!"

  The man was hooked. The Frog had seen that look on a man's face before as he dangled helplessly. Or rather, as Clink viewed it, Ruby had scored a hit right in the gold of the target with her mix of cunning, intuition, common sense and flirting charm. Clink shifted almost imperceptibly in his seat. He rubbed his thumb gently against one side of his jaw and as quickly as he had made the movement, dropped his hand back down. He did not look at either Ruby or the Frog, but they both noticed it.

  Ruby holding on even more tightly to the man's hand, said, "Now for your other hand, my dear. There's fortune in that hand too." The man hesitated, and then put both hands into her own two cupped palms.

  "Oh," breathed Ruby, smiling with pleasure and making sure her chest expanded as she did so, "this hand has even greater fortune, for sure ..."

  Clink, sipping his drink and staring at the wall behind the Frater's head, was the picture of innocence. The Frog's eyes shifted from side to side slightly and he began to sweat.

  A warning shout boomed out across the room.

  "Ye've just had yer purse nipped, brother!" It took Ruby's victim a second or two to realise that he was the focus of the shout and then he stood up, red faced and angry, fumbling at his side. The purse was no longer there. It had been neatly cut.

  "I was watchin' 'em like hawks!" came the loud voice again, but the rogues had waited no longer. Ruby, as soon as she heard the shout, had thrown away the man's hands and leaped to her feet. The Sad Mort was already opening the door. The Frog, to whom Clink had passed the purse under the trestle, was first through the open door with the Sad Mort just behind him. Clink flung the bench on which he was sitting backwards, leaving the rogues' victim flat on his ba
ck on the floor.

  The Widow's giant servant was striding across the room, making an impossibly loud booming roar that would have frozen the blood of anyone. The cords in his neck were throbbing with anger and his fists were clenched. He began to lift the bench with one hand and the rogues' fallen victim with the other.

  "Come on, you!" roared Clink, at the Frater, but without waiting for him, he grabbed at the trestle and flung it into the room at the crowd that had gathered their wits and started to turn on the rogues. The Frater, looking surprised, started to follow Clink but only succeeded in blocking the doorway to the angry alehouse drinkers as he stood there wobbling right under its frame. The others were already heading hell for leather down the street.

  "Here! You hold this'un!" roared someone, pushing the Frater into the rough hands of some of the crowd. "We'll get after the rest of 'em."

  The other rogues, running for their lives, headed down the street, hoping to scatter and meet up again. However, their stars were against them. Coming towards them was part of the Watch, a sturdy looking band of ten or so. Behind the rogues, fifteen or so drinkers from the Widow's were standing grinning in the street with the Frater, witless with drink, looking confused and occasionally smiling drunkenly in their midst as he looked from one to the other. The Frog had a look of panic on his face as he realised he was trapped between the Watch and the drinkers.

  "My god, Ruby girl," said Clink. "We're done for this time. You didn't see this coming!" The Sad Mort began to cry. Ruby started to swear, loudly.

  * * * * *

  Peter was finishing his exposition of the nature of Saturn. "Prisons, cold, dark earthy places and dank caves come under his rule also ... and deception and treachery. Clay, you see. Earth - and if you can arrange a pail of water, Sir George, perhaps some of the mystery will be revealed."

  "Very well." George looked around for the servant and then said, "Not here though. I am sure that we will find water in the kitchen, or in the scullery. We'll go there."

  There was water, none too clean, to be found in the scullery. They were viewed with some surprise by the kitchen maids and men, but it was found.

  "What now?" said George.

  "We drop the balls of clay into the water, so ..." said Peter, dropping the first one in. As it fell through the water, pieces of clay began to fall off and eventually it lay on the bottom, disintegrating. There was something in the clay, some other material, for periodically a burst of bubbles came out and streaked to the surface, blowing the clay away. And then, suddenly, a slip of paper rolled out, opening out as it floated towards the top of the pail. George reached for it quickly, just in time to see that it had an image on it and the image was washing away. Enough remained for him to see what it was. A goat with chains dragging behind it. A laughing, jesting goat, drawn by a quick and lively hand. As he and Peter looked at it, then at each other, the image began to disappear into a smeary mess.

  * * * * *

  The rogues, including the Frater, were being hustled along in the middle of an arguing, noisy crowd. All the money they had taken had gone, mostly dropped on the floor of the alehouse. For a while they wondered where they were going as they were pushed and pulled across the main street of Guildern, past the Goat in Chains. Ahead of them, they could now see the duck pond, clear and rippling slightly, surrounded by rushes and perky yellow spring flowers. Some ducks were bobbing about happily on it. When the rogues saw what stood by the pond, realisation dawned.

  "Oh god, Clink, not the stocks again!" Ruby began swearing and kicking even more violently. If she had been able to reach any of her captors with her teeth she would have rent them like a tiger. The Sad Mort had lost a shoe and was limping and sobbing pathetically.

  "You'll not be so lively once we've got you under our good local wood," sneered one of the men to the Egyptian Mort. "And we can always send for the scold's bridle from the church. That'll curb that vicious tongue."

  Protesting, arguing, digging their heels in, wriggling, swearing and pleading, the rogues were dragged along with irresistible force towards the stocks. Cowbury, spotting an opportunity, looked as happy as his miserable Puritan ways would allow as he encouraged the crowd as much as he dared without being too obvious about it.

  Follett, arriving late and seeing that things were getting out of hand, was conscious of the dangers that could ensue when tempers were inflamed to this degree. He had given up trying to reason with the crowd but was still trying desperately to maintain the illusion of the authority invested in himself and the Watch. If he had Guildern's train-band here, he could have stopped the crowd, but they were on the other side of the Fairground. His voice could scarcely be heard above the yammering and laughing of the mass of people, now much swollen by others who had joined along the way. It sounded like the cry of hounds as they close for the kill.

  "Now just listen here ..." he began, trying to pitch his voice above theirs,. "I have the key for those stocks and no-one is going to ..."

  There was a roar of laughter and a jingling sound. Follett swung round with an oath to find a man standing behind him, holding the keys to the stocks.

  "What the ... " began Follett, but it was too late.

  The rogues were quickly locked into the stocks, the women sitting and the men standing.

  "It'll be a sight more comfortable for ye on the ground, missus," said the purple faced tradesman who had been drinking at the Widow's. His tone was sarcastic. There was another great roar of laughter. Ruby gave one last desperate wriggle and then her shoulders sank dejectedly.

  "Yer shouldn't ha' done it," she hissed at Clink. "Yer wits were fuddled with drink."

  "Now," said the countryman with the booming voice who had spotted Clink cutting the purse. "Who can find me a rotten egg - or three? There must be some about, eh? " They all started to laugh. The rogues looked at each other in despair. The Frater, who was still looking confused, but on whom consciousness was slowly dawning, spoke. "Eh? What's ... what's to do?"

  The countryman ignored him. He was glancing back to the street, where an old cart, pulled by an aged dun horse, was bumping and squealing its way slowly up the street with a full load.

  The countryman smiled long and slowly. "Oh, yes," he said slowly, his lips drawn back hard against his teeth as he caught Cowbury's eye and nodded at the turnips on the cart. "That'll do it right, it will."

  The next minute the carter was under siege from a laughing jeering crowd, all desperate to strip the turnips from his cart.

  "Wha' ... but ... " he began. Never before had there been such interest in his wares and it had to be said these were not the best turnips that had ever come into his possession.

  "Good and hard, or rotten to the core, it don't matter to us what your turnips are like!" roared the countryman.

  The dun horse, having opened its eyes in astonishment as the crowd descended, now stood thoughtfully in the street. Humans. Never would it understand humans. Best avoided, wherever possible.

  A turnip flew through the air and there was a shout and a curse from Ruby. Blood trickled down from the Frater's forehead and he at last realised what was happening.

  "Here," said someone, nodding at Ruby. "Wasn't that one telling fortunes? We got a good ducking stool here in need of some use!"

  Ruby, all her fight gone, began to wail and sob like the Sad Mort as they dragged her out of the stocks.

  Follett grabbed one of the Watch. "Run for the Justices."

  * * * * *

  "Well, that's clear enough!" said George. "The Goat in Chains Inn ... two remain ..."

  "Ready," said Peter, preparing to drop the second one in. "By tradition, when a theft has occurred, the victim takes enough papers to write the names of any and all suspected in the deceit; and places them in clay. They are all put into the water and the first to arise gives the name of the thief."

  "Hmm," said George sceptically. "I'll trust to the law, under most circumstances. That's a method I see could be open to coercion; although I have known the
same of juries, to be sure ... can we not simply break the balls of clay open to see what they contain?"

  "We could, Sir George, but I fear there is something in the clay that might destroy the contents; best to do it this way, I believe. These have had some sort of... preparation ... I am not familiar with it ..."

  "Very well. Continue."

  The second ball of clay went into the water and this one fizzed and bubbled.

  "I've seen naught like this before," said Peter, fascinated. He wondered how it was done. Another slip of paper floated up and on this one was ... an ass with a piece of hay in its mouth, under the moon. The ink on this one too began to run as George picked it out of the water. He laughed despite himself, waving it to try to dry it.

  "The final one," said George. It was the largest lump of clay. Almost by habit, Peter had placed the smallest one into the water first, thinking that would be the most significant since it should in theory give up its paper first, thus, he had thought, be the one with the most important clue. This last one fell through the water like a stone and simply lay on the bottom. Nothing happened for a few seconds. George, impatient, wanted to take it out and break it open.

  "No, sir, by your leave," said Peter. "Watch, something is happening."

  They had knocked the bucket slightly and the clay ball rolled over as though it had something heavy in it. Then, it disintegrated suddenly and neatly, like a sliced fruit, and the paper came floating up.

  An image of a prancing horse and a few words, the lines of a well-known saying. It was a warning to care for one's valuables: "Keep Bayard in the Stable." Peter looked into the pail and gave a sudden exclamation. There was something else floating on the water. He had not seen it arise from the clay, but there it was on top of the water. Something red. A seal.

  He drew it out. A small wax seal, but clear and sharp. It showed a rider on horseback - a woman. Around the edge there were some letters, again, clearly cut and easy to read. "Tris*Meg*Istus".