The Abbot's Agreement: 7 (The Chronicles of Hugh De Singleton, Surgeon)

by Mel Starr

  “I have put you in some danger,” I began, when I returned to the house. This news did not seem to trouble him much. He did not ask how this was so, assuming that I would explain. I did.

  “Gossip in Eynsham will say that Simon atte Pond has changed his mind and now favors your suit for Maude.” Mallory’s puzzled frown immediately became a broad smile.

  “’Tis but gossip,” I said, “and not true.” The grin faded. “At least, not yet. Who can tell? It may yet be so.”

  “How did this rumor begin?” Mallory asked. I explained events in Eynsham of the past few days, and told him that I expected Sir Thomas to soon learn of Mallory’s rise in Simon atte Pond’s estimation.

  “You think he’ll try to slay me as he did the novice?”

  “Aye. Mayhap as soon as this night, ’though I think the morrow or a day or so after more likely. I and my man will keep watch with you through the night. Perhaps ’twould be best if your lass was elsewhere. Is there a family in the village who will care for her for a few days?”

  “Jaket an’ Anne live just across the way. Got a lass same age as my Maggie. They’ll keep ’er.”

  “Take her immediately. Tell them you will explain the need on the morrow.”

  He might as well have taken time to explain the need then, for Arthur, Osbern, and I took in turn sleeping and waking all through the night, but no man came near to Mallory’s toft. Perhaps tales did not travel so rapidly in Eynsham as I had thought.

  The next night also was quiet. By the third night I began to despair of my trickery, and to worry that the Lord Christ disapproved of deceit, even when intended to good purpose. Whether or not He approved I cannot say, but if He opposed my stratagem He did nothing to subvert it.

  ’Twas well past midnight, a slender crescent of moon just rising above village roofs, when Arthur put an elbow into my ribs. Mallory and I were slumbering while Arthur kept watch. I started to wakefulness and felt Arthur put a finger across my lips to indicate silence. I was alert enough to take his meaning, and whispered for an explanation.

  “Heard a horse whinny… quiet-like, an’ some distance off. Nobody ought to be about this hour of the night.”

  I silently shook Mallory by the arm – his good arm – and he awakened with enough wit that he understood the cause for my taking his arm must be that some man approached.

  We listened silently for some time, but heard nothing. I began to think that Arthur had heard the wind sighing through bare branches of trees behind Mallory’s barn. Arthur read my mind.

  “Not my imagination,” he whispered. “There’s a beast out there somewhere, an’ where there’s a beast there’ll be a man.”

  His point was well taken, and I wished that Mallory had glass in his windows rather than skins. Sir Thomas, I thought, did not know that we lay in wait for him, but we did not know how he approached or what he intended.

  “Are your hinges greased?” I said. “If I draw open a door, will the squeal alert whoso may be about in the night?”

  “Put goose grease on ’em near to Lammastide, front an’ back.”

  “Silently as can be, open your rear door a crack, no more, so we may see if the scoundrel approaches, or hear him should he tread upon a twig. I’ll do the same at the front door. Just a crack, mind, so he doesn’t see in the moonlight and flee.”

  Mallory stepped silently through the rushes and vanished in the gloom. I turned to the front of the house and delicately raised the bar and then turned the latch. The hinges were silent as I drew the door open to the width of my hand and peered out. I saw only a village sleeping under a starlit night, a crescent moon rising over the church tower.

  I remained motionless at the door awaiting the appearance, if Arthur’s ears were reliable, of some man abroad after curfew, when no honest fellow would be.

  The house was silent, as should be if all within were asleep, so he who approached in the night was heard before he was seen. I heard a metallic “click,” and then another. Arthur soon stood at my shoulder. He said nothing, but touched my shoulder. He had also heard the sound.

  We heard it again, and a moment later a soft puffing sound. I knew then what I had heard: the sound of flint against steel. The next sound seemed like a man blowing upon tinder to urge it to flames. But where was the fellow?

  Any man attempting to set tinder ablaze in the night will tell his place by the sparks and flame. I saw neither. Did my ears mislead me? The sounds I heard surely did not conform to a normal autumn night.

  If some man did not attempt to start a blaze, what then did I hear? What else might a man do in the night which sounded like flint striking steel?

  I did not need to answer my question. Arthur tapped me upon my left shoulder while I was peering into the darkness to my right. I turned and followed the direction of Arthur’s arm as he pointed silently to the left of Mallory’s door. Behind a leafless hedge, just across the road, no more than fifteen or twenty paces away, I saw a faint orange glimmer, and then another. These brief flashes became a steady glow. I heard no more sound of flint against steel, or breath upon tinder. Sir Thomas had lit his fire. Or so I thought.

  I guessed what he intended. Some rain had fallen in the past week, but the past fortnight and more had been unusually dry. I supposed that Sir Thomas purposed to toss a brand to the thatch of Osbern Mallory’s roof and burn the house down upon him. If so, his approach to the dwelling would be clearly visible, and any flame he carried would blind him with its light and obscure we who might appear from the darkened house to frustrate his plan.

  And then the orange glow disappeared, as if it was a candle snuffed out. One instant it was there, the next, gone.

  “What…?” I heard Arthur whisper in my ear.

  And then I saw it again, nearly invisible, but a glimmer of light appeared, and as I watched, it began to move, first to the right, then it seemed to come straight toward me. Here was a mystery, but the puzzle was solved soon enough. The dim light briefly flickered, then flashed into full flame. ’Twas no more than five or six paces from me, and so bright that my eyes were dazzled. I saw only the brilliant flame and the black night surrounding it. Whoso approached the house had hidden his fire under some shroud.

  I hesitated. Too long, as happened. Before my wit returned the blaze before my eyes described a circle and then flew through the air to bounce against the thatch of the roof.

  Arthur saw this also, and made to push past me. This he could not do, for I had already launched myself in the direction of the man who thought to burn Osbern Mallory’s house. I could not see the fellow, my eyes yet disordered by darkness, the light, then darkness again. But the man I sought suffered from the same loss of vision. Surely he heard my approach, but could not, I think, see from whence the threat came.

  I stumbled in the darkness, flung my hands before me to catch my fall, and found my arms entangled in two legs. I knew whose these must be, so wrapped my arms tightly about the ankles so the felon could not escape.

  Arthur did not stumble. He was running nearly full apace when he struck his quarry. The man could not step back to absorb the blow. I had him by the ankles.

  He had been so intent upon his attack, I think, that he gave no heed to defending himself. That suddenly, out of the night, two men might be upon him, was a thing for which he was unprepared. He did not have long to consider this. He went down flat upon his back with Arthur dropping upon his belly. The fellow gasped, twitched, and lay silent, the breath driven from his lungs.

  “Got ’im,” Arthur said triumphantly.

  “Hold him here,” I said, “while I see what damage his brand has done. If he awakens and tries to escape, put him to sleep again.”

  Osbern had heard the tumult at the front of his dwelling, and arrived at the scene as I stood to seek whatever blaze might be upon his roof. I saw none. The torch had bounced from the roof and lay sputtering in Mallory’s toft. The thatch had been too damp to catch, and the flame had not alighted upon the thatching and remained, but ha
d rolled to the eave and fallen to the ground.

  “What has happened?” Mallory asked.

  “We have caught Sir Thomas trying to set your roof ablaze. We’ll take him inside, light a cresset, and see what he has to say for himself.”

  We did so. Arthur had to help the fellow to his feet. If Arthur, in full flight, struck a horse he would leave the beast reeling. Our captive staggered across the threshold into the dark interior of the house. A moment later Mallory lit a cresset from a live coal on the hearth and set it before… Squire Ralph Bigge. I was stunned to silence.

  Arthur may also have been surprised, but this did not lead to inaction. He gave Squire Ralph a vigorous shove and the stupefied squire staggered back before collapsing upon a bench against the wall.

  “Get a cord to bind him,” I said to Mallory. The fellow was nearly as robust as Arthur. It would be well to have him restrained before he gathered his wits.

  Squire Ralph may have heard these words, but if so he made no response. He remained bent double, arms pressed against his affronted belly. I thought a rib or two might be broken, but there is little a surgeon can do for broken ribs, and where he was likely to be by Candlemas ’twould make no difference to him whether his ribs were whole or shattered.

  Mallory disappeared through the rear door of his house. A few moments later he returned with a length of hempen cord stout enough to restrain a bull. He and Arthur bound Squire Ralph’s wrists behind him, which seemed to increase the pain he felt in his gut, and then bound his ankles together.

  The fellow was by this time regaining his senses, looking about as if to discover some way to escape his predicament. I had been wrong again. First I thought ’twas Prior Philip who had slain John Whytyng. Then my suspicion fell upon Sir Thomas Cyne. But my trap had caught Ralph Bigge.

  The squire ceased his searching about the house and looked to me.

  “Tell me why you wished to burn Osbern Mallory’s house,” I began. I thought I knew the answer, but wished to hear it from Squire Ralph. Wishing will not make a thing so. Squire Ralph said nothing.

  This displeased Arthur. He sat beside the knight, thrust an elbow into his aching ribs, and said, “Master Hugh asked you a question.”

  Squire Ralph gasped and bent double. A cracked rib or two, surely. I shook my head to discourage Arthur from trying any further incentive to make Squire Ralph speak. Another such poke in the ribs and the fellow might swoon. What then could I learn from him?

  When Squire Ralph was able to draw himself upright I again asked him why he cast a torch upon Osbern Mallory’s roof. He did not immediately reply, but then looked from the corner of his eye and saw Arthur seemingly poised to deliver another jab to his offended ribs. He had not seen my wordless instruction to Arthur that such goading should be discontinued, so must have thought another thrust likely.

  “Paid me,” he said.

  “Who? Someone paid you to set this house ablaze?”

  “Aye.”

  “Who?”

  The squire hesitated, considered Arthur’s elbow, then said, “Sir Thomas.”

  I was wrong again, perhaps – if Squire Ralph spoke true. I began to wonder if Eynsham village and abbey were overrun by members of the Brotherhood of the Free Spirit, in whom no truth could be found. But if I could not believe a man with broken ribs, who believes the brawny fellow beside him is about to strike him again if he speaks false, who could I believe?

  “How much were you promised?”

  “Twenty shillings.”

  I had been wrong so many times in the past days that I had no fear of once more being mistaken. “And this is to buy your silence about the death of the novice, as well? ’Twas you who helped carry the lad’s corpse from the fishpond, was it not?”

  Squire Ralph eyed Arthur’s elbow and replied, “Aye.”

  “And you will so testify to the King’s Eyre in Oxford?”

  “Aye,” he replied softly.

  “Does Sir Thomas own a fur coat?” I asked.

  Here was not a question the knight expected, and his eyes opened wide.

  “Answer,” Arthur said. There was no Christian charity in his voice, which was likely explained by the discoloration of his cheek which Squire Ralph’s fist had caused.

  “Aye,” Squire Ralph said.

  “Lined with fox, or rabbit?”

  “Fox.”

  “When dawn comes we will return to Eynsham and see what Sir Thomas has to say of this matter,” I said.

  Arthur, Osbern, and I took it by turns watching Squire Ralph, but bound and in pain as he was, there was little to fear of him escaping us. Arthur saddled our palfreys, and we untied Squire Ralph’s ankles so he could walk the road between us. His horse, he said, was tied to a sapling at the entrance to the village, and when we came upon it we lifted the grimacing fellow to its back and so returned to Eynsham.

  While yet a distance from the village it occurred to me that Sir Thomas might again be at his window, see us approach with Squire Ralph bound between us, comprehend his danger, and flee. We turned from the road and entered Sir Richard’s holdings from a fallow meadow behind his barn. The horses we left with a wide-eyed stable boy. The lad had likely seen Squire Ralph depart some hours past and did not expect him to return with his wrists bound behind his back.

  Nor did Sir Thomas. We found him at a table, breaking his fast with a fresh loaf and ale. A servant stood nearby, preparing a pot for the fire. Sir Thomas leaped to his feet when he saw how Squire Ralph was restrained. He was wearing a fur-lined coat to ward off the morning chill.

  “You were too cowardly to attack Mallory again,” I said, “so sent another to do your felony. Mallory, even though you wounded him, might fight, unlike an unarmed novice.”

  “What? Why have you trussed up Squire Ralph like a goose for the roasting?”

  “’Tis not his goose that’s cooked,” Arthur said, “but yours.”

  “Twenty shillings,” I said, “to buy silence and a murder. No doubt you thought it a fine bargain, supposing the return of the investment would be Maude atte Pond and her father’s lands.”

  “You speak foolishness,” Sir Thomas said.

  “Take off your coat,” I said.

  “What? No man tells me what to do in my own house.”

  Sir Thomas’s hand went to his dagger, but Arthur was quicker, having already seen the likelihood that Sir Thomas would not cooperate. Arthur held the point of his blade to Sir Thomas’s throat, then lifted the man’s dagger from its sheath and tucked it into his own belt.

  “Master Hugh wishes for you to remove your coat,” he said softly, but with malice.

  I believe Sir Thomas saw no compelling reason why he should not comply. Men do not often examine the hems of their coats.

  “Lay it upon the table,” I said. Then, to Arthur, “Watch him. See that he does not attempt to flee.”

  I withdrew the tuft of fox fur from my pouch and held it before me, as if studying it for the first time. Sir Thomas’s expression changed from one of anger to one of concern. He did not understand the importance of the bit of fur. He soon did.

  With the fine fur coat spread upon the table, I lifted the hem and a moment later discovered a place where the fur lining was shredded. I placed the tuft in my hand upon the bare spot. The color and size were a match.

  I turned to Squire Ralph, who had watched this intently. “Did Sir Thomas wear this coat the night he asked your aid in moving John Whytyng’s corpse?”

  The knight looked from me to the coat to Sir Thomas before he spoke. “Aye,” he finally said.

  I was prepared for Sir Thomas to explain his damaged coat and disparage my insinuation. I was not prepared for what he did. He bolted, pushing past a surprised Arthur and leaping for the door. To reach the door he must pass me. I had time only to extend a foot. He tripped and staggered and at that instant his father opened the door to enter. Father and son crashed to the threshold, a tangle of arms and legs and shouted curses.

  Arthur and I
pulled Sir Thomas and Sir Richard apart. Arthur pushed Sir Thomas back into the chamber and with the point of his dagger convinced the knight to sit upon the bench beside Squire Ralph.

  Sir Richard, meanwhile, patted the dust from his cotehardie, looked about, saw his son with a dagger at his throat, and discharged a stream of questions, demands, and curses. When he had exhausted his vocabulary I explained why Arthur and I were in his kitchen, what his son and Squire Ralph had done, and what I intended to do.

  Evidently my explanation was clear. Sir Richard spluttered in dismay, but made no attempt to deny my assertions. Perhaps he had known the truth of John Whytyng’s death for many days. I was unlikely to be able to prove that, and there would be little to be done even if it was so.

  My intention was to take Sir Thomas and Squire Ralph to the abbey cell. This I told Sir Richard. Next day was Sunday. On Monday Arthur, I, and a half-dozen lay brothers would take knight and squire to the Sheriff of Oxford. Sir Roger would hold them in Oxford Castle dungeon ’till next the King’s Eyre met and they were tried for their crimes. Arthur and I would have to travel winter roads to give witness to their felonies. This was not a pleasing prospect.

  Arthur removed his belt, grasped Sir Thomas’s arms and pinioned them behind him, then using the belt tied the knight’s wrists together behind his back.

  I did not believe that Sir Richard would defile the abbey and attempt to free his son, but nevertheless advised Brother Gerleys that trusted lay brothers be assigned to guard the cell door. This was done.

  ’Tis but six miles from Eynsham to Oxford. Sir Thomas and Squire Ralph were delivered to the sheriff on Monday and charged before noon. Sir Roger keeps a fine table, so when he invited me to dine I did not hesitate to accept. Arthur and the lay brothers ate with Sir Roger’s sergeants and I heard no complaints about their meal while we rode back to Eynsham.