by Mel Starr
Ten days later we arrived before the walls of Limoges and erected our tents in a circle about the city. Prince Edward was so unwell that he traveled in a litter, which must have been mortifying to so great a knight.
The French knew we were coming and, as before, had poisoned wells and emptied barns. Few villagers remained in the towns we passed, most folk preferring to abandon their homes rather than suffer the injuries a passing army might inflict upon them. These were inhabitants of Aquitaine, an English possession, but no man among us was ready to guarantee their loyalty. Such folk tend to give fealty to the sovereign with the most powerful army, and men of the countryside through which we passed had not yet decided which prince that might be, Edward or Charles.
When we arrived at Limoges we learned that the Duke of Berry was away. When he had discovered the size of the army which approached he took his force from Limoges rather than be besieged in the town. Spies told Prince Edward that fewer than one hundred and fifty knights and men-at-arms remained in the city, along with folk of the town, numbering about two thousand.
The city is found where two rivers converge, and is located between the two just before they join. To take the city an army must either cross one of the rivers or fight its way down the peninsula between the streams to approach the walls. Prince John decided to build a plank bridge across the smaller of the streams, so as to approach the city wall directly. I am no soldier, but I admit that I thought at the time that we had undertaken a difficult task. Limoges’s walls were high and strong. In my ignorance of military things I thought that, given a choice, I would prefer to be inside the walls defending the place, rather than outside, preparing to attack. This is why I am a surgeon, not a knight.
So long as the walls of Limoges stood, one hundred and fifty warriors might successfully defend the place against three thousand. The walls must come down. We had no trebuchet or mangonel with which to batter the ramparts to rubble, but Prince Edward had a weapon nearly as potent: tin miners from Cornwall.
Lord Gilbert explained the process to me. The miners would dig a great tunnel under a likely section of the wall. As they progressed, timbers would be placed so as to support the excavation and the wall, and a shelter of heavy planks would be built and shoved to the base of the wall to protect those who labored to undermine the foundation. Without such a structure soldiers high upon the wall could pour down upon the miners rocks, arrows, even boiling water.
When the shaft was deep enough, the cavity would be filled with dry brush and perhaps a cask or two of lard, and set ablaze. When fire consumed the supporting timbers the city wall might collapse, if all went according to plan – which in war, Lord Gilbert said, almost never happens.
So whilst the tin miners plied their picks and spades, there was little for others to do but wait to learn if the labor would be fruitful. Lord Gilbert’s tents were pitched a safe distance from any French crossbow bolts, just over a slight hill beyond the river and the temporary bridge. I felt safe enough there, and ventured each day to the top of the rise to watch the miners from a distance. On the third day of digging I was called to treat a miner who had received a crossbow bolt in his shoulder. The fellow had unwisely peered around the side of the timber shelter while resting from his labor, and a crossbowman glancing through a merlon saw him and loosed a bolt.
The bolt had penetrated the fellow’s collarbone, and was most troublesome to extract. Doing so caused the man much pain, but he understood that he could not spend the remainder of his life going about with a shaft embedded in his shoulder. Well, he could, I suppose, but that would mean the remainder of his life would be brief. I might have given the miner a draught of ale with pounded hemp seeds, but such a palliative requires an hour or so to do its work, and I thought the man would prefer to have the bolt extracted sooner rather than later. And pounded hemp seeds have but small effect in such cases. Removing the bolt from such a wound will cause agony, no matter what herbs the sufferer may consume.
With a scalpel I cut away the man’s kirtle – he had worn no tunic or cotehardie whilst at work in the tunnel. Three of the miner’s fellows held him to a table whilst I grasped the shaft and yanked it free. The miner gasped and would have thrashed about, but miners tend to be sturdy men and his friends held him fast till the wave of pain passed.
I held the bolt before the sufferer’s eyes and when he focused upon it and realized what it was I saw relief flood his expression, and then a smile as he understood that the worst was past. Unless the wound should fester.
A wound bathed in wine heals most readily, although no man knows why this is so. I splashed some of Lord Gilbert’s malmsey on a swatch of linen cloth and thoroughly cleansed the puncture. Due to the nature of such a wound it bled little. Using a length of old linen I made a sling and told the miner that he should leave his arm immobile for a week or perhaps longer. When he could flex his shoulder with little pain he might then dispense with the sling. Pain can be a friend, a companion which tells a man that he should cease whatever it is he is doing which is causing his ache. The fellow did not seem unhappy that his labor in the shaft must end for a time.
For the next several days I did not see Sir Simon or the friend he had sent to retrieve his dagger. His absence caused me no distress.
Chapter 6
On the fifth day outside Limoges, soon after dawn, one of Sir John Trillowe’s grooms found Sir Simon. He was discovered head down, drowned in a poisoned well in Couzeix, a village but half a mile from the camp.
I admit that this report did not cause me sorrow. The man had harbored much ill will toward me, and unless his father or his grooms chose to continue his malice, I saw a future in which I would no longer need to concern myself with schemes Sir Simon might have plotted against me.
’Twas Arthur who heard of Sir Simon’s death whilst he traveled the camp, and brought word to me. He smiled as he told me, and I admit that my features likely also reflected joy. May the Lord Christ forgive me. We are told we must not take pleasure in the misfortune of those who would do us harm. Few men are able to obey such an injunction. I am one of these. Three months past I read in my Bible that we are to do good to those who do us injury, and not return evil for evil.
How can a man do so? I began to wonder if possessing my own Bible was a wise thing. Before I owned a copy of the Scriptures my knowledge and understanding of Holy Writ was incomplete. Now I know better what I must do and not do, think and not think, in order to please the Lord Christ. My life was simpler when I knew less. Even the scholars at Oxford under whom I studied usually chose to ignore the Lord Christ’s hard words.
“Drunk on too much wine, I’d guess,” Arthur concluded. “Why else go head first into a well all know is poisoned? An’ no man needs wells anyway.”
This was so. Two rivers flowed past the walls of Limoges: La Vienne and L’Aurence. No man need seek a well for water. Why the French troubled themselves to cast some dead creature into such a well, when a man had but to carry a bucket a few hundred paces from the camp for all the water he might want, no man could guess. It is difficult to understand the behavior of the French. I gave the matter no more thought.
Until the ninth hour. A page came to me and announced that Lord Gilbert would speak to me. I found him at his tent. He was not alone. Sir John Trillowe was there, his face purple with wrath.
I bowed to the two men, doffed my cap, and bid them “Good day.”
“’Tis no good day,” Sir John bellowed. “And you know well why ’tis not.”
“Aye,” I agreed. “I have heard of Sir Simon’s death.”
“Heard! Why would you need to hear of it? You slew him.”
The accusation stunned me. My response to the charge, taken aback as I was, did nothing to convince Sir John that it was unjust. My mouth opened and closed, but I seemed unable to find appropriate words.
“What say you to this charge?” Lord Gilbert said.
“Not so, m’lord. I have slain no man.”
“You were se
en with him last night,” Sir John said. “You and that ox-like groom who goes about with you.”
“Seen? What? Attacking Sir Simon? The man who says so lies.”
“You hated my son. All who know you know this to be true.”
“Nay. I hate no man. ’Twas the other way ’round. Sir Simon hated me, and tried to do me harm whenever he could.”
“Hah. You say so yourself. Reason enough to slay him. You feared his wrath against you for your malfeasance.”
“Malfeasance? What harm did I to Sir Simon?”
“His ear. You made him a mark of ridicule.”
“He would have been more maligned had I not saved his ear. I regret that I could not make it as good as God made it, but without my skill he would have had no ear at all.”
“Bah … what you say is of no consequence. You and the other were seen walking with Sir Simon last night, just after sunset. No man saw him again till he was discovered in the well.”
“How long past sunset?” I asked.
“What difference?” Sir John said.
“How long past?” Lord Gilbert repeated. I believe he followed my thought. “Before midnight?”
“Aye, before midnight.”
“The moon is in its last quarter,” I said. “There was no moonlight till past midnight. How could your witness have seen who was with Sir Simon on such a dark night?”
Sir John swallowed deeply. I saw his adam’s apple work. Here was information he had not considered.
“Perhaps,” Lord Gilbert said gently, “you should seek this witness and make yourself more certain of matters before you accuse my surgeon of felony. ’Twas cloudy last night as well. Even light from the stars was dimmed. Did your witness carry a torch?”
Lord Gilbert’s words were temperate, yet spoken in such a tone that Sir John was sure to understand that Lord Gilbert was not pleased that I had been so accused.
“I see I will find no justice here,” Sir John complained. “Prince Edward will hear of this.”
“Did Sir Simon die of drowning … in the well?” I asked.
“You should know. You put him there.”
“Was there sign of attack? Was he wounded? Perhaps if I could examine the corpse I might tell you more of this death.”
“What?” Sir John shouted. “Never! You have slain my son. You will not touch him now!”
And with those words Sir John spun on his heel and stalked from the tent. I watched him go, then turned, speechless, to Lord Gilbert.
“Sir Simon,” Lord Gilbert said, “was a danger. His father is more so. He was once a sheriff, even though the king turned him out for his greed. Prince Edward will consider this charge. Sir John will gain a hearing, I fear.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Find who did murder, if that is what happened, so blame cannot be fixed to you. You truly did no harm to Sir Simon?”
“None, m’lord. I was asleep upon my pallet when Sir Simon went into the well. If he had too much wine last eve, he likely plunged in while drunk.”
“Oh, aye … likely. ’Twill be another matter to persuade Sir John of that.”
“I would need to ask of Sir John’s knights and grooms and men-at-arms if Sir Simon drank excessively last eve. And I must speak to the witness who claims to have seen me with Sir Simon. Which of these would answer truthfully if doing so would absolve me of felony against Sir John’s wishes?”
“Likely none. You will need to seek truth somewhere other than Sir John’s camp.”
Where that might be I could not guess, but I thought a good beginning might be made by visiting the well where Sir Simon had been found. What I might find there I did not know, but a charge of murder might lead to a hempen rope and a grave in France. I must discover some evidence that I had slain no man. Proving a man guilty of some felony is difficult enough. Proving innocence can be even more onerous. But if the incentive is one’s own life, even arduous labor is no obstacle to a search for truth.
I departed Lord Gilbert’s tent, went to my own, and buckled my dagger to my belt. Did the Lord Christ really demand that His followers turn the other cheek if it was likely that both cheeks would be carved away by some evil fellow armed with a blade? There is much difference between a slap and a slash. I must seek counsel of Master Wycliffe when next I see him. But until then I intended to be armed at all times.
Arthur approached as I fixed the sheath to my belt. He raised his eyebrows.
“I have just returned from Lord Gilbert,” I said. “Sir John Trillowe has accused me, and you as well, of slaying Sir Simon.”
Arthur had already his dagger upon his belt, and reached a hand to the hilt as I spoke.
“Lord Gilbert don’t believe ’im, does ’e?”
“Nay. Sir John claims we were seen walking with Sir Simon after dark, but before midnight. Such a claim is absurd for two reasons: there was no moon to light the night till past midnight, and why would Sir Simon be about late at night with me, a man he hated?”
Arthur glanced at my dagger. “You think Sir John will send some of ’is men to attack you … us?”
“It has crossed my mind. Probably not while we are within the camp. ’Twould cause too great a tumult and bring all of Lord Gilbert’s men down upon them. And if he can convince Prince Edward that I did murder, he will not need to send men to assail me. I will do the sheriff’s dance.”
“But keep a dagger close by, eh, just in case?”
“Just so. And I intend to leave the camp for an hour or two.”
“Leave? Where will you go?”
“To the well where Sir Simon was found. Lord Gilbert’s advice is to find the cause of Sir Simon’s death, be it felony or mischance, so as to deflect Sir John’s wrath.”
“I’ve nothing better to do this day. I’ll go also.”
“And seek Uctred. The stronger a band of men is, the less likely they will need to prove it.”
Arthur returned shortly with Uctred and two of Lord Gilbert’s men-at-arms, William and Alfred. I briefly explained to the newcomers what we were about to do and why, and we set out for Couzeix.
The village was just beyond a hill which bordered the camp, so we reached the place in but a few minutes. It was, like other villages nearby, apparently empty of inhabitants and their beasts and fowl. The village was an English possession, and our army was English, but no villager would risk the assumption that his property would not be plundered.
There were twelve houses, a stone church, and several barns in Couzeix. The village was not prosperous. All of the houses and barns needed new thatching, and the church windows were few and small, to save the cost of glass. Couzeix is near the boundary between the lands of the French king and English claims. Such a place will often see marauding armies as contending forces battle for advantage. Treaties of peace between the kings of England and France are regularly signed and as often violated. Which is why I was standing near a well in France many miles from my Kate and our daughters.
The well was covered, and stood in a small grassy common in nearly the center of the village. I looked about but could see no other well, and thought it unlikely a village of a dozen houses would need two wells. And this well was fairly large for such a mean village. ’Twas as great across as I am tall, and a little more. Here, then, was where Sir Simon was found. Did he die here, also? Or did some fellow pitch his corpse into the well, assuming that as it was known to be poisoned, no man would drop a bucket into the well and Sir Simon would be undiscovered for many days?
I led my cohorts to the well and peered in. The roof covering it darkened the shaft, so that if there was any clue to be found it would be invisible to any but a close examination. I had no desire to descend into the black hole, so contented myself with a glance into its depths. I saw a dim reflection from the surface of the water, perhaps six or seven paces below ground. If a man fell that far head first he might die of a broken head, depending upon the depth of the water, rather than drowning. What difference? Such a mishap woul
d kill in one way or another. The reflection was broken by a shadow of some sort. The creature which was tossed into the well was yet there, rotting in its depths.
I stood back from the well and circled it, examining the stones which lined the lip of the well, and the soil around it. Many men had visited the well and made shoe prints in the dirt. These were likely Sir John’s men who found Sir Simon and came to draw him from the well.
A bucket and a coil of worn hempen rope lay nearby. No man would have used the bucket for many days, surely, for it seemed to me likely that the well was defiled a day or two before our army came to the place. Why drop a bucket into a poisoned well?
I was about to pass by the bucket, giving it no further thought, when an anomaly caught my eye.
The morning sun illuminated a reddened spot on the otherwise brown wood. I knelt to study this stain more closely.
A surgeon sees much blood, both fresh and dried. Arthur saw me bend to inspect the bucket, saw also the red-brown smear, and spoke.
“Blood, you think?”
“Aye. Some man swung that bucket against some other man’s head, I think.” I’ve been wrong before.
Arthur grasped the bail and gave the bucket a swing about his head.
“A man could deliver a solid blow with this,” he said. I agreed. I would not like to receive such a stroke, especially if Arthur or one like him delivered it.
The village appeared deserted. Appearances may be deceiving. I thought that perhaps some resident, perhaps elderly or infirm, or both, might at that moment be peering at me through a slit in the skin covering a window. And if so he might have done the same the night before and seen or heard some disturbance at the well.
A wise commander does not divide his force, so Lord Gilbert has said. So I did not split our small band to save time investigating the apparently empty houses clustered about the common, but kept my company together.
None of the houses had locks, such being too expensive, surely, for the residents of such a place, most of whom owned little worth stealing. We entered three houses, found them bare of possessions, and then came to the church.
