“Paul, are you sure there hasn’t been any smuggling aboard the foreign boats?” he asked.
“Nay, my lord,” said Paul with a shake of his head. “Every piece of cargo has been accounted for.”
“And Richard, are you sure the imports and exports have all been taxed accordingly?”
“I have watched as both halves of the seal are placed on the document tallies by both the Collector and Controller of Customs themselves.”
“I see.” He just nodded and put the parchments into his pocket. “You are free to go. Just keep a close eye on what goes on at the docks.”
“Aye, my lord,” they both said, and bowed and made their way across the crowded wharf. The creaking of winches filled the air, as barrels and boxes were lifted in the loading and unloading of the trade ships. Merchants from town mingled with the merchants from overseas and from up and down the English coastline.
“Shoes and leather goods for sale or trade,” called out a man walking by, holding a shoe above his head.
“Spices from the far east, get them now before they’re gone,” came another shout from a man with a heavy accent.
Gulls swooped overhead as a vendor walked by with a large flat tray of freshly baked bread. The man swished one hand in the air and growled at the pesky birds as they tried to snitch a beak full of food as he walked by. The air was crisp this morning since the sun was hidden behind the clouds. The waves slapped against the sides of the ships all lined up and docked in the harbor, making a rhythm all its own.
Nicholas knew there was a discrepancy somewhere, and he would have to find it before King Edward returned to England. As baron of the port, he was responsible for the dozen main men who assured that trade and taxes were being carried out properly. If things didn’t add up, it was his name and reputation that would be brought before his liege lord. If he wasn’t sharp at controlling the ports as well as the ships that were in service to the king, than his position would be replaced by someone who could do the job better.
He couldn’t have that. He had to find who and how they were cheating the king out of taxes if it was the last thing he ever did.
“My lord, my lord!” Roger ran through the crowd, dodging fishermen with nets slung over their shoulders, and women with small children who’d accompanied their merchant husbands here today.
“Roger, what is it?” he asked, thinking the boy tended to get too excited about things and he needed to keep a calm composure if he planned on keeping his position as his squire.
“Thank the heavens I finally found you. It is terrible, I tell you. I just can’t believe it is so.”
“Squire, calm yourself and regain your composure. The fishermen and merchants are starting to stare. Now not another word until I tell you to speak.”
Nicholas headed down the wharf, nodding as he was acknowledged by the bows of his knights and the curtsies of the whores who were hoping to get into his bed. A ship’s whistle split the air in the harbor as another ship lined up to wait its turn to dock. Finally, when he got to the end of the wharf, he turned back toward his squire, hooked his thumbs in his belt and looked out over the sea.
“All right, Roger. Now you can tell me – in a calm voice – what is so important that you have to hunt me down on the docks yelling like a wild banshee?”
“Your steward asked me to find you. He said you would want to know. He discovered it this morning after the servants cleaned up the meal. He said he’s not sure how it happened, but he had an eyewitness in town so he knows it’s true.”
“God’s breath, you are exasperating, squire. You ramble on worse than the gossiping alewives. Now out with it. What the hell are you talking about?”
“Henry, the kitchen servant who carves the meat just the way you like it. It’s him. You do remember him, don’t you? He also makes that tart with fish and fruit that you like so much.”
“Of course I remember him. He’s better with a knife than any of the Carvers, and no one can come close making the Tart de brymlent that I love so well. Now what about Henry?” Nicholas was getting hungry just thinking about his favorite meal.
“He’s up to his old tricks again.”
“Tricks? What tricks? What in bloody hell are you trying to say?”
“I’m trying to tell you that your servant has run away. He’s been seen in town, and is obviously hiding out, wanting to become a free man.”
“Bid the devil! Not again. This is the third time this year.” Nicholas ran a weary hand over his face. “We need to find him and bring him back immediately.” Nicholas’s stomach growled at the disappointment. “Why the hell are you just standing there, squire? Get my horse from the dock stables and let’s go. I’ll not lose my servants to the town and have no one left to work in my manor. Now hurry up, I say. This is important.”
“Aye, my lord.” His squire nodded but just stood there.
“Why are you still standing there?”
“I’m being calm, my lord. Just like you.” The boy looked up and smiled and Nicholas reached out and swatted him on the head.
“Point made, you fool. Now if you want to remain my squire and continue in training to someday become a knight, I suggest you do as ordered. Because I won’t have a slow squire, no matter how much noble blood flows through your veins. Now go!”
“Aye milord, right away!” Roger ran through the crowd, bumping into people along the way. He knocked into a merchant carrying a basket of fruit, and it spilled at his feet, with apples rolling across the dock. He stopped and quickly helped the man scoop it up before he shouted out once again. “Out of my way, everyone. I’m on a mission. Move aside, the baron is coming through!”
Nicholas just shook his head and smiled. He remembered when he was young, he was a lot like this boy. Roger was wild at times, but had potential to be a good knight some day.
He looked over to the marshlands he owned, feeling bad that no sheep grazed in the pasture. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the girl’s ring and held it between his fingers. It sparkled in the sunlight, a gem in the rough. Just like her. He jammed it onto his little finger and headed towards the stable.
It had been a long two days, but the girl’s time was up. He would stop at her home while he was in town, and today she would give him his answer.
*
“Muriel, you really should take the baron’s offer,” said Cecily, as she and Muriel made their way through the streets of the town, trying to sell some of her belongings. Her brother was up ahead, having had more luck than them. He’d managed to sell off their table and benches on Tanner’s Row. It was a smelly, disgusting part of town, and the people who could be found lingering in the streets could not be trusted. Muriel was thankful Isaac hadn’t been robbed on his way back. They were now headed down Brewers Street.
She didn’t usually go to this end of town. Her shop was a two-storey stone and wood building, like the rest of the establishments in town. The Carpenters’ Guild and the Stone Masons’ Guild had been commissioned to do the work and keep up repairs as well. All the shops on each street were connected in a row. The second storey extended far out over the first, and often times people cut holes in the eaves to use as their privy. One never walked directly under these overhangs, because if so, they might end up covered in urine or feces.
“I won’t go work at the castle as nothing more than a servant,” complained Muriel, holding up her skirts, making her way through the sludge-filled streets. She wore pattens, or wooden platforms on her feet that were held on by leather straps. This ensured that her feet were high enough off the ground and wouldn’t be soiled as she trudged through feces, mud, discarded fish heads, and animal entrails in the streets. Most people wore their leather shoes with the pattens, but she opted to leave her shoes at home and wear the pattens over her hose that had leather sewn to the bottom of the feet instead. This way, her shoes were sure to keep clean since she only had the one pair.
“But you’ll never be able to keep the shop now,” Cecily told
her. “You know that as well as I. You need money, and the only way to get it is to do as the baron offered.”
They passed up the town alehouse that had a large barrel hanging over the door, telling people what they sold inside. Across the street was a bakery with a large wooden sign with a painted loaf of bread on it. And down the street at the corner was the cordwainer’s shop with a large wooden shoe hanging above his door.
“Silver spoons for a shilling each,” she called out, holding out her last two eating spoons to a merchant passing by.
“One shillin’ fer the both of them,” the man said, holding the coin in her face. He was old and smelled like urine, and was dressed in clothes meant for those of a lower class. He obviously wasn’t a guild member, but then again the guild wouldn’t trade with her so she had no other choice.
“Fine,” she said, no longer having the will to barter. She snatched the coin from the man and gave him the spoons.
“How would you like to buy a loaf of fresh baked bread for only a shillin’,” asked the man, now putting a steaming hot loaf of brown bread under her nose. She hadn’t had anything to eat yet today, and her stomach growled and her mouth watered. She held the shilling in her hand he’d just given her, staring at it blankly. She was so hungry she could no longer think straight. All she knew is that she wanted the bread.
“Aye, I want it,” she said, and probably would have given the money to the man which was about a dozen times too much for the bread, if Cecily hadn’t pushed her hand away.
“Nay,” said Cecily, handing the man a half-pence instead. “We’ll take the bread but since you already got a steal on the spoons, not to mention were trying to cheat her, you’ll get only this instead.”
The man looked down at the half-pence and frowned. He ran a hand over his long beard and mustache. “My bread is worth twice that.”
“Ah, so you admit you were trying to swindle my friend. I should report you for trying to cheat a guild member.”
“Guild member?” He looked up, perusing her, as if he were trying to assess if what she said was true. Then, obviously not wanting to take the chance it wasn’t a lie, he squinted one eye and nodded. “All right. I’ll take it,” he said, exchanging the bread for the coin and leaving quickly.”
“Muriel, what is the matter with you?” asked Cecily once the man left. She broke off a piece of bread and handed the rest of the loaf to her. “You almost seem as if you want to be without money. And you tell me you don’t want to go with the baron, but I don’t believe you.”
Muriel greedily ripped off a chunk of bread and stuck it in her mouth and chewed. Never had a plain brown bread tasted so good. She looked up at her friend. Cecily was eight and ten years of age, just like her, and they’d grown up together. While Cecily was tall and a brunette, Muriel was a short blond. Muriel still considered them sisters, since she didn’t have a sister of her own. Cecily was a good friend, and they always watched out for each other.
“I’m sorry, Cecily. I’m not sure what’s the matter with me lately. Normally nothing gets past me where the price of goods are concerned.”
“Give me the rest of the things you are trying to sell. I’ll do it for you, or you’ll be giving away everything for free in a few minutes.”
“Nay, I have to find a way to make money so I can take care of Isaac.”
“Isaac isn’t a child anymore, Muriel. You need to start thinking of yourself, not him all the time. It’s past time you marry and have a family, and you just need to find a man who will take care of you. Hopefully one who has money and a good business. I hear the cordwainer is looking for a wife. And the son of the chandler is of marrying age now too. He has just turned Journeyman and has a very bright future ahead of him.” Cecily giggled at her jest.
Muriel looked at her friend and just shook her head at her friend’s play on words. “I’m not interested in the chandler’s son, no matter how ‘bright’ his candles may burn. He is overweight, ugly, and is already missing some teeth.”
“Then what about the cordwainer?” asked Cecily, stretching her neck to see his shop at the end of the street. “He could really keep things afoot for you. I hear he’s high-spirited and has a lot of . . . sole.” Cecily giggled again.
“Not funny,” Muriel sniffed. “Mayhap the man can keep those six children of his in shoes, but I don’t want to be their mother. Besides, he’s old. One of his children is almost the same age as me!” Muriel stretched her back and yawned.
“Then just go back home and lie down, Muriel. You look very tired.”
“I have to admit, I haven’t slept much in the last two days.”
“Mayhap that’s because you sold your sleeping pallet and are sleeping on the hard floor,” Cecily pointed out.
“I had to sell it. I’m trying to make sure I have enough money to at least pay the rent on our shop next month or we’ll have nowhere to live.”
Muriel looked down the street and saw Isaac heading their way. He had grown in the past few months, and was starting to fill out and look like a man. His jaw was beginning to darken with a thin stubble, and she’d noticed muscles on his upper arms that weren’t there a month ago. Mayhap Cecily was right. Perhaps her younger brother didn’t need her to mother him as much as she’d been doing. She needed to think of herself as well.
“Give this bread to Isaac, please, and here is my bag with the rest of my wares.” She handed the items to her friend. “Wait.” She reached over to Cecily and pulled the bolt of blue silk from her bag, looked at it one last time, then reluctantly stuck it back in. Her heart already ached to have to sell this.
“Muriel, we’re not selling this,” said Cecily, taking the silk out and shoving it into Muriel’s hands. “It means too much to you, plus no one around town will give you what it’s worth. Just keep it.”
“It is special to me,” Muriel admitted, gently running a finger over the soft layer. “My father told me if we had enough money leftover this month after paying the bills, he was going to let me make a gown out of it for myself.”
“Don’t worry,” said Cecily, hoisting the travel bag over her shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll do better selling the other items than you would have. I don’t doubt you would have traded the silk next for a loaf of stale bread.”
“Thank you for being a good friend.” Muriel reached out and hugged the girl.
“Stop it, Muriel, or I’ll start crying. Now go on home and I’ll watch over Isaac.”
“Thanks,” she said, and then reached out and tore off one more piece of bread to take with her.
She made her way slowly through the streets, managing to keep the hem of her gown clean until she made it to her home. She left her pattens at the door, and picked up her leather shoes in one hand, still having the bread in the other, and her silk under her arm. She walked into the front of her shop, gently placing her silk down on the cupboard. With nowhere to sit since they’d sold their table and benches, she eyed a trunk in the corner. She walked over and plopped down atop it. The lid wasn’t closed all the way, and when she sat down it snapped shut.
“Ow!” she heard a cry, and jumped up, dropping her shoes as well as the bread. She turned and faced the trunk, her heart beating rapidly as she realized someone was inside.
“Who’s in there? Come out anon!”
The lid creaked as it opened slowly, and a lanky, ragged-looking man with orange hair stood up, holding his hands above his head. He seemed to be only a few years older than herself.
“Don’t turn me in to the baron, please,” the man begged. “I mean you no harm. I just want to be a free man.”
“You’re – you’re a servant?”
“I am the baron’s Carver. I have run from the castle and need to hide. If I can stay hidden for a year and a day, I will be a free man.”
Her heart went out to the man. She had no idea what it was like not to be free, but this man held such desperation in his eyes that she knew she needed to help him. She saw him staring at the bread on the floor
. She bent down and picked it up and handed it to him. He was reluctant to take it.
“Go ahead,” she said. “It’s yours. And tell me your name.”
“I am Henry,” he said, taking the bread and shoving big pieces into his mouth eagerly. This man needed the food more than her, and she was happy to help him.
“Why are you running away from the baron? Does he treat you harshly? Does he starve you?”
“Oh, no,” said the man, continuing to eat. “The baron is very fair. He’s never been very harsh, and feeds all his servants well. However, if I’m caught, I’m sure that will all change. After all, this is the third time I’ve run away and the baron is running low on patience.”
“I still don’t understand. Why do you want to leave?”
The man looked up to her, and she could see a certain sadness in his hazel eyes. “You wouldn’t understand. You have always been free. But I will tell you that to have my freedom is something I’m willing to die for if I have to.”
“Don’t say that. I’m sure the baron wouldn’t kill you for running away. Would he?”
There was a commotion in the street, and she looked up and out the window to see a huge destrier coming down the street. The baron sat atop the warhorse, being followed by his squire on a horse of his own.
“The baron!” cried the man in fear, dropping the bread to the ground.
“Oh, no,” said Muriel aloud, remembering that the baron said he’d be at her door in two days to hear her answer. “Henry, I am afraid to tell you that he is coming here.”
“Don’t tell him I’m here. Please, I beg you.”
She glanced out the window again and saw the baron getting off his horse outside her door. She frantically looked around the room, but since it was so sparse of furnishings, there was really nowhere else for Henry to hide.
“Get down, and don’t say a word,” she said, pushing the man back into the trunk, and closing it quickly. She heard her door open, and whirled around to see the baron standing inside her shop, looking around the room. She moved forward to greet him.
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