Ashes to Ashes

by Mel Starr

  Ashes to Ashes

  “At last a worthy successor to Ellis Peters.

  Mel Starr brings medieval crime to life. He has a brilliant understanding of the language and nature of the people of the later 1300s. I really enjoyed this book. An excellent plot, engaging characters – all in all a superb read.”

  – Michael Jecks, author of the Templar series

  “A thoroughly enthralling and entertaining medieval crime novel, full of suspense, action and delicious historical detail. The medieval surgeon, Hugh de Singleton, is a worthy successor to Ellis Peter’s Cadfael, and the plot twists are equally as satisfying. I became so captivated by the characters of Hugh and his wife that I couldn’t wait to go back and read the whole series from the beginning.”

  – Karen Maitland, author of Company of Liars

  “A delightful treasure trove of historical detail as we delve into further medieval intrigue with Mel Starr’s thoughtful and endearing Hugh de Singleton.”

  – Penelope Wilcock, author of The Hawk and the Dove series

  The chronicles of Hugh de Singleton, surgeon

  The Unquiet Bones

  A Corpse at St. Andrew’s Chapel

  A Trail of Ink

  Unhallowed Ground

  The Tainted Coin

  Rest Not in Peace

  The Abbot’s Agreement

  Ashes to Ashes

  Ashes to Ashes

  The eighth chronicle of Hugh de Singleton, surgeon

  MEL STARR

  Text copyright © 2015 Mel Starr

  This edition copyright © 2015 Lion Hudson

  The right of Mel Starr to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  All the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Published by Lion Fiction

  an imprint of

  Lion Hudson plc

  Wilkinson House, Jordan Hill Road,

  Oxford O 2 8DR, England

  www.lionhudson.com/fiction

  ISBN 978 1 78264 113 9

  e-ISBN 978 1 78264 134 6

  First edition 2015

  Acknowledgments

  Cover images: Skeleton © manx_in_the_world/iStockphoto.com; Campfire © Jens_Lambert_Photography/iStockphoto.com

  Scripture taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  For Dan Runyon

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Glossary

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  Several years ago, when Dan Runyon, Professor of English at Spring Arbor University, learned that I had written an as yet unpublished medieval mystery, he invited me to speak to his fiction-writing class about the trials of a rookie writer seeking a publisher. He sent sample chapters of Master Hugh’s first chronicle, The Unquiet Bones, to his friend Tony Collins. Thanks, Dan.

  Thanks to Tony Collins and all those at Lion Hudson who saw Master Hugh’s potential. Thanks especially to my editor, Jan Greenough, who, after eight books, knows Master Hugh as well as I do, and excels at asking such questions as, “Do you really want to say it that way?” and, “Wouldn’t Master Hugh do it like this?”

  Dr. John Blair, of Queen’s College, Oxford, has written several papers about Bampton history. These have been invaluable in creating an accurate time and place for Master Hugh. Tony and Lis Page have also been a great source of information about Bampton. I owe them much. Tony died in March 2015, only a few months after being diagnosed with cancer. He will be greatly missed.

  Ms. Malgorzata Deron, of Poznan, Poland, offered to update and maintain my website. She has done an excellent job. To see the result of her work, visit www.melstarr.net

  Glossary

  Ambler: an easy-riding horse, because it moved both right legs together, then both left legs.

  Angelus Bell: rung three times each day to announce the Angelus Devotional: dawn, noon, and sunset.

  Bailiff: a lord’s chief manorial representative. He oversaw all operations on the manor, collected rents and fines, and enforced labor service. Not a popular fellow.

  Beadle: a manor official in charge of fences, hedges, enclosures, and curfew. He served under the reeve and bailiff. Also called a hayward.

  Boon work: the extra days of labor service villeins and tenants owed the lord at harvest and other specific times of the year, beyond normal labor service, which was called week work.

  Braes: medieval underpants.

  Buck: a male fallow deer, not so large or prized as the stag/hart, a male red deer.

  Cabbage with marrow: cabbage boiled with marrow bones, spices, and breadcrumbs.

  Candlemas: February 2; it marked the purification of Mary after the birth of Christ. Women paraded to church carrying lighted candles. Tillage of fields resumed on this day.

  Capon: a castrated male chicken.

  Capon farced: a capon stuffed with hard-boiled egg yolks, currants, chopped pork, breadcrumbs, and spices.

  Chancery Court: a high court with common law functions and jurisdiction over property disputes.

  Chapman: a merchant, particularly one who traveled from village to village with his wares.

  Charlet: a dish of pork, eggs, almonds, and flour, ground fine, boiled with spices, served cold and sliced when firm.

  Chauces: tight-fitting trousers, often of different colors for each leg.

  Chemise: a girl’s undergarment.

  Cotehardie: the primary medieval outer garment. Women’s were floor-length, men’s ranged from the thigh to the ankle.

  Cotter: a poor villager, usually holding five acres or less. He often had to labor for wealthy villagers to make ends meet.

  Curia: the space occupied by a manor house and its barns and yard.

  Daub: a clay-and-plaster mix, reinforced with straw and/or horsehair, used to plaster the exterior of a house.

  Dexter: a war horse, larger than packhorses, palfreys, and runcies. Also, the right-hand direction.

  Fallow deer: a small deer, not so prized as the red deer.

  Fast days: Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. Not the fasting of modern usage, when no food is consumed, but days upon which no meat, eggs, or animal products were consumed. Fish was on the menu for those who could afford it.

  Fence month: a period of weeks to months when animals, particularly deer, could not be hunted. The time varied with the species.

  Glebe: land belonging to or providing revenue for a parish church.

  Groom: a lower-ranking servant to a lord, outranking a page but beneath a valet.

  Hallmote: the manorial court. Royal courts judged free tenants accused of felony or murder, otherwise manor courts had jurisdiction over legal matters concerning villagers. Villeins accused of homicide might also be tried in a manor court.

  Hart (or stag):
male of the red deer.

  Infangenthef: the right of a lord of a manor to try and execute a thief caught in the act.

  King’s Eyre: a royal circuit court, presided over by a traveling judge.

  Kirtle: the medieval undershirt.

  Lammastide: August 1, when thanks was given for a successful wheat harvest. From Old English “Loaf Mass.”

  Leach lombard: A dish of ground pork, eggs, raisins, currants, and dates, with spices added. The mixture was boiled in a sack until set, then sliced for serving.

  Let lardes: A type of custard made with eggs, milk, bacon fat, and parsley.

  Liripipe: a fashionably long tail attached to a man’s cap.

  Lych gate: a roofed gate in a churchyard wall under which the deceased rested during the initial part of a burial service.

  Marshalsea: the stables and associated accoutrements.

  Martinmas: November 11, the traditional date to slaughter animals for winter food.

  Maslin: bread made from a mixture of grains, commonly wheat and a coarser grain like barley or rye.

  Michaelmas: September 29. The feast signaled the end of the harvest. Last rents and tithes were due.

  Midsummer’s Eve: June 23/24.

  Page: a young male servant, often a youth learning the arts of chivalry before becoming a squire.

  Palfrey: a riding horse with a comfortable gait.

  Passing bell: ringing of the parish church bell to indicate the death of a villager.

  Pax board: a wooden board, frequently painted with sacred scenes, which was passed through a medieval church during services for all to kiss. Literally, “peace board.”

  Pottage: anything cooked in one pot, from the meanest oatmeal to a savory stew.

  Poulterer: the villager in charge of a lord’s chickens and geese.

  Reeve: an important manor official, although he did not outrank the bailiff. Elected by tenants from among themselves, with the approval of the lord, he was often the best husbandman. He had responsibility for fields, buildings, and enforcing labor service.

  Remove: a dinner course.

  Runcie: a common horse of a lower grade than a palfrey.

  Shilling: a coin worth twelve pence. Twenty shillings equaled a pound.

  Solar: a small private room in a castle, more easily heated than the hall, where lords often preferred to spend time, especially in winter. Usually on an upper floor.

  Squab: a young dove or pigeon, about four or five weeks old.

  St. Beornwald’s Church: today the Church of St. Mary the Virgin in Bampton. In the fourteenth century it was dedicated to an obscure Saxon saint enshrined in the church.

  St. John’s Day: June 24.

  St. Swithin’s Day: July 15.

  Statute of Laborers: following the first attack of plague in 1348–49, laborers realized that because so many workers had died, their labor was in short supply, and so demanded higher wages. In 1351 Parliament set wages at the 1347 level. Like most attempts to legislate against the law of supply and demand, the statute was generally a failure.

  Tenant: a free peasant who rented land from his lord. He could pay his rent in labor, or, more likely in the fourteenth century, in cash. Or a combination of both.

  Toft: land surrounding a house, often used for growing vegetables.

  Verderer: a forester.

  Vicar: a priest serving a parish but not entitled to its tithes.

  Villein: a non-free peasant. He could not leave his land or service to his lord, or sell animals without permission. But if he could escape his manor for a year and a day, he was free.

  Whitsuntide: White Sunday, ten days after Ascension Day, seven weeks after Easter. Also called Pentecost.

  Chapter 1

  I had told my Kate for several days that St. John’s Day should not be considered midsummer. Roger Bacon, the great scholar of an earlier century, and Robert Grosseteste before him, showed how the calendar has gone awry. Bacon told all who would listen that an extra day is added to the calendar every one hundred and thirty years or so, and so in the year of our Lord 1369 we are ten days displaced. Kate laughed.

  “What difference,” she asked, “even if ’tis so?”

  “Saints’ days, and the seasons,” I replied, “are out of joint.”

  “Oh… aye.” But she was yet unconvinced, I think, so when men of Bampton began gathering wood for the Midsummer’s Eve fire I said no more. We would make merry with others of the town and castle, and celebrate the warm days of summer, regardless of the calendar. I have been wed three years and more. I know when to hold my peace.

  The great pile of fallen branches from Lord Gilbert Talbot’s forest was raised in a fallow field to the north of the Church of St. Beornwald. For three days fuel was added. I watched the pile grow each day, little suspecting that the daily increase would soon bring me much consternation.

  Kate had tied green birch twigs above our door in honor of the summer, so when we departed Galen House at dusk to watch the lighting of the St. John’s Day fire I had to duck my head to avoid entangling my cap in the greenery.

  I am Hugh de Singleton, surgeon, and bailiff to Lord Gilbert Talbot at his manor of Bampton. I thought that Lord Gilbert might, with some of his knights, attend the Midsummer’s Eve blaze. The Lady Petronilla died a year past, when the great pestilence returned, and Lord Gilbert was much distressed. But when he returned to Bampton in the spring, after spending the winter at Goodrich Castle, I thought he seemed somewhat recovered from his great sorrow.

  Lord Gilbert did not attend, but several of his retainers – knights, gentlemen and their ladies, valets and grooms – did so. I am not much given to capering about like a pup chasing its tail, so stood aside and lifted my Bessie to my shoulder so that she could better see as others danced about and played the fool, aided in their efforts, no doubt, by great quantities of ale.

  Bessie has discovered speech, and exercised her vocabulary as the flames reached into the sky as high as the roof of Father Thomas’s vicarage, which stood a safe distance to the east. Kate held Sybil in her arms. The babe is but four months old, is unimpressed by anything inedible, and so slept through the shouts and singing and garish illumination.

  Bessie also soon became limp against my shoulder. The merry-making would continue without us. Kate and I returned to Galen House, put our daughters to bed, and fell to sleep with the raucous sound of celebration entering our chamber through the open window.

  I was breaking my fast next morning with a loaf and ale when I heard the church bell ring in a solemn cadence. The passing bell. The Angelus Bell had sounded an hour before. Someone in Bampton or the Weald had died in the night. At nearly the same moment a hammering upon Galen House door jolted me from my semi-comatose condition. The pounding ceased and a man shouted, “Master Hugh,” in a voice which might have awakened half the residents of Church View Street. It did awaken Sybil, who instantly realized that she was hungry and began to wail. Kate hastened to the stairs to deal with our daughter while I stumbled to the door to learn who was awake so early after such a night.

  Father Thomas’s clerk, Bertrand Pecock, stood before me, his fist ready to again strike against the Galen House door if I had not opened it.

  “Master Hugh, Father Thomas would have you attend him. There are bones.”

  “Bones?” I replied stupidly. I am not at my best until an hour or so has passed since Kate’s rooster has announced the dawn.

  “Men gathering the ashes found them.”

  “Ashes?”

  “Aye… from the St. John’s Day fire. To spread upon a pea field. They came to the vicarage to tell Father Thomas. He has sent me to tell you of this foul discovery and to fetch the coroner.”

  “The bones are human?”

  “Aye. There is a skull. I have just come from the place.”

  In past years men would often pitch the bones of swine into a St. John’s Day fire so as to ward off sickness in cattle and men. ’Twas thought to do so would prevent aerial dragons from poiso
ning streams and ponds of a night with their foul froth. But I had not heard of this being done at Bampton since I came to the village. Of course, men might toss a few bones into the pile of wood as a precaution, I suppose, and none know of it.

  Kate descended the stairs from our chamber carrying Sybil, with Bessie holding tight to her mother’s cotehardie. I told my wife of the discovery and set off for the field while Bertrand hastened to tell Hubert Shillside, Bampton’s coroner, of the bones and request that he assemble his coroner’s jury.

  Father Thomas had notified Father Ralph and Father Simon of the discovery. The three vicars of the Church of St. Beornwald stood staring at the ash pile, their arms folded across their chests as if deep in thought. Who knows? Perhaps they were. But knowing Father Ralph, I doubt it so.

  Four villagers by the ashen mound opposite the priests, leaning upon rakes and shovels. A wheelbarrow half filled with ashes stood beside the four.

  “Ah, you have come,” Father Thomas said. This was obvious to all, so I did not reply. As I drew near the ash pile I saw a familiar shape in the morning sun and crossed myself. Being forewarned, I knew what this must be.

  “Bertrand will fetch the coroner,” the vicar continued, “but I think Hubert will need your advice.”

  I did not ask of what advice Father Thomas thought I might supply. Surgeons deal with bones, although when called to do so the bones are generally clothed with flesh. Shillside and his coroner’s jury would put their heads together, cluck over some fellow’s misfortune, then leave the matter to me. ’Tis what bailiffs are to do: find and punish miscreants. I knew this when I accepted Lord Gilbert Talbot’s offer to serve him at his Bampton manor. Good and decent folk prefer to have little to do with a bailiff. So also felons. Most bailiffs have few friends.