by Mel Starr
Arthur voiced my unease. “Awful quiet,” he said.
I was tempted to walk brazenly through the village to see what was there, and learn why no men were about, nor women, either. But Sir Simon Trillowe knows me well, and should I come upon him Kate might soon be a widow. I could not ride Bruce into the village, for a stranger on horseback is noticed where the same fellow afoot might draw little attention.
Sir Simon had seen Arthur a time or two, but I doubted he would have taken much notice of him. Nobles rarely pay much heed to the commons, and aside from the thickness of his chest and arms there is little about Arthur to cause a knight to take a second glance his way.
“Something is amiss in that village,” I said.
“Aye,” Arthur nodded.
“No man of East Hanney knows you, I think. Walk through the village purposefully, as a man determined to reach some place before nightfall, and see what folk there are about. When you have passed through the place circle about through the fields and rejoin me. Do not return through the village, or some man will be suspicious of who you are and why you travel the streets in two directions.”
Arthur nodded and set off. From behind the wall I watched his head and shoulders – all I could see of him from behind the wall which divided field from road – until he disappeared behind a house.
I stood behind the wall, leaning upon the stones and careful to avoid the nettles, while I awaited Arthur’s return. Occasionally I looked to the west, to see if I might catch sight of him returning by the way I had advised, although I did not expect to glimpse him so soon. When he did reappear it was not in the manner or place I had suggested.
Arthur appeared from behind the house where I had last seen him. His head and shoulders bobbed rapidly behind the wall. He was running. This was an exercise Arthur avoided, and did not perform well when it was required. Something was wrong in East Hanney, and Arthur hurried to tell me of it.
I moved from my place, sought the road, and met Arthur as he plunged from the road into the forest. I said nothing, asked no question, for I was sure Arthur would explain as soon as he could. He gasped several times, and bent at the waist, hands upon his knees, to catch his breath, then hurriedly spoke.
“Hangin’ ’im,” he said finally.
“Who?”
“Osbert.” After another deep breath he continued, “Floggin’ ’im now. Whole village is watchin’.”
Here was the reason no man of East Hanney was at his work this day.
“Got ’im tied to a post, whippin’ ’im. Some men is raisin’ a gibbet before ’is eyes while the others beat ’im.”
These sentences Arthur blurted between gasps, then bent again, hands upon knees, to suck more air into his lungs. Whether Sir Philip intended to hang Osbert once or twice I did not know, but I had put him in this place and I must now do what I could to draw him from it. Arthur thought the same.
“What we gonna do?” he said.
Perhaps more sleep might have given me more wit this day. I could think of nothing but a straightforward plunge upon Bruce and the palfrey, into the village.
“To the horses,” I said, and ran stumbling through the forest. Arthur wheezed along behind. During this dash it occurred to me that we must have some sort of plan. When we reached the clearing where the horses were tied I turned to Arthur and told him of my purpose. He made no other suggestion, nor did he roll his eyes at the foolishness of my intent.
The forest was too thick to mount our beasts there. We led them to the road, scrambled into our saddles, and poked heels into the horses’ ribs. The animals obliged by careening into a thunderous gallop which made up in momentum what it lacked in speed. I had ridden Bruce at a gallop once before, and vowed I would never do so again. I was airborne as much as in the saddle. Whether Arthur fared better I cannot say, but palfreys are known for a smooth gait. He could not have been more jolted than me. How Lord Gilbert, clad in armor, stayed upright upon Bruce in the charge at Poitiers I will never know.
I had no sword, but the men I wished to surprise would likely have but daggers on their belts. I had told Arthur to go to Osbert, slash him free from the pole where he was bound, or cut him down from the gibbet if he was already raised there, and toss him over my saddle before me. I would drive men from the place with Bruce’s plunging hooves while Arthur did so. Then, with Osbert over Bruce’s neck, we would flee the village. Our beasts were not speedy, but by the time Sir Philip and his men could saddle horses and be after us we might reach Marcham. What safety that village might provide I could not say, but if we were to be caught up it seemed to me better to be overtaken in some public place than on a road in some barren forest.
The street curved as it entered the village, so the throng about the whipping-post and gibbet heard us approach before we were seen. All eyes were turned to us as we galloped into the village and plunged into the crowd. Those who were laying stripes across Osbert’s bloody back ceased and stared open-mouthed at our rumbling approach. Across the sea of faces I thought I recognized Sir Philip Rede, but I was too much involved with other matters to introduce myself.
Bruce drove into the mob, impelled by my heels poking at his tender flanks. When we neared the whipping-post I goaded the poor animal again with a sharp kick in his ribs, then yanked back on the reins. The insulted beast reared upon his hind legs, his massive forefeet thrashing the air. Those closest to the post scrambled away, including one of the two who had been assigned to flog poor Osbert. This man, in his haste to be away, dropped his bloody lash as he ran. The other stood his ground, sensing what I was about, and swung his whip toward Bruce.
The lash caught Bruce across his muzzle. This so terrified the animal that he reared upon his hind legs again. His flailing forehooves caught the fellow as he was drawing back his lash for another blow. One ponderous hoof struck the man full in the face. I saw his countenance disappear in a red bloom, then he dropped below my sight, into the crowd of frantic onlookers.
I remember wondering at that moment how I had managed to get myself into such a predicament, but I was too busy to ponder causes just then.
From the corner of my eye I saw Arthur leap from the palfrey and attack Osbert’s bindings with his dagger. Above the din I heard a voice cry, “Stop them!” but no one seemed eager to interfere with a brawny man armed with a dagger and another mounted upon a beast which had flattened a man’s face while they watched.
I kicked Bruce again in his ribs and set the horse to spinning about the post, where Arthur had completed slashing the cords which fastened Osbert. When he was free Osbert slumped to the ground, senseless from the flogging. Arthur shoved his dagger into its sheath, lifted Osbert’s crumpled, bloody form, and when Bruce passed by threw the fellow – Osbert, you will remember, is not a large man – across the pommel in front of me. To a conscious man this would have been painful, but Osbert did not so much as grunt in discomfort.
I again kicked Bruce in the ribs and sent him through the same opening we had made when we entered the crowd. So quickly had events occurred that the mob had not filled in the breach. Once again I heard a man shout, “Stop them!”
This was reassuring. Arthur was behind me now, on his own. Had he been subdued, the fellow would have cried out, “Stop him,” not “Stop them.” So the mind works at such times.
Bruce lurched into a gallop and when I had him pointed toward the street which curved north out of the village, I turned to see if Arthur followed. He did, and I saw no other horseman, as the bend in the street hid the stunned crowd.
Bruce slowed his gallop. To save the beast for later exertions which I might require of him, and to allow Arthur to catch up, I permitted the frightened horse to slacken his pace. This may have been a mistake.
Chapter 10
All summer, upon a Sunday afternoon, it was my duty as Lord Gilbert Talbot’s bailiff to organize archery practice and competition. By the King’s edict such contests occur throughout the realm. Men of Bampton are surely no more skilled with a bow
and arrows than residents of other villages, and the worst of Bampton’s archers can put ten of a dozen shafts into the butts at a hundred paces.
Arthur, upon the palfrey, had just drawn even with Bruce when I felt a terrible pain high on my left side. I thought for a moment that Bruce’s jouncing gallop had cracked a rib or caused some other part of my body to come out of joint.
But not so. I looked down and saw, protruding from my cotehardie, the iron point of an arrow. Some bowman had taken his lord’s request to heart and loosed an arrow at me. Blood flowed freely from the rent in my cotehardie and dripped onto Osbert’s already bloody back. I could not guess how serious my wound was, but if the shaft had pierced my lung I was a dead man.
Without my heels in his flanks Bruce continued to slow his pace, so Arthur and the palfrey drew ahead. Arthur turned to learn why I did not keep pace, saw my bloodied cotehardie, and reined his beast to a halt.
“What has happened?” he shouted.
“An arrow… some archer has pierced me.”
“What am I to do?”
I was beginning to find it difficult to stay upright in the saddle. The arrow had entered high on the left side of my back, just under my shoulder, and I felt my left arm lose grip of Bruce’s reins.
“Take the reins,” I said, “and lead us to Marcham as quickly as may be. Take me to the church there, and I will tell you what must then be done.”
I tried to lift my left arm to give the reins to Arthur, but could not extend it. Arthur leaned from his saddle to grasp them, and as he did so another arrow hissed past and embedded itself in the road ten paces beyond. Arthur needed no more encouragement to make haste.
When we were again on our way I raised the right sleeve of my cotehardie to my lips. When I drew it away I saw no blood upon the wool and was relieved. Perhaps the shaft had missed my lung, and I might live.
The saddle became wet beneath me, and slippery with blood. Arthur urged the horses to a canter, and even at that pace I found it hard to remain upright. I glanced down and saw blood dripping from the stirrup. Where the arrow entered my back I must be bleeding copiously, although I could not turn to see the place.
To make sure of my seat I thought to lean forward upon Bruce’s neck, but this I could not do. The movement twisted the arrow where it passed under my arm, and brought greater pain. And when I bent forward the iron point of the arrow pushed into Osbert’s already bloody back. I must stay upright.
A fog seemed to settle before my eyes, and the road before us seemed to tilt, first one way, then the other. Through the haze I saw Arthur turn, and heard him shout, “We’re nearly there. Hang on!” He saw that I grew weak.
I must not fall. If I did, before Arthur could get me back upon Bruce, pursuers from East Hanney would likely be upon us. We must seek the church at Marcham, and sanctuary.
I recognized the corner where the road to Faringdon and the west met the road to East Hanney. Arthur slowed our pace as he guided the horses to the right, and above the rooftops of the village, less than a mile to the east, I saw the square tower of All Saints’ Church in Marcham.
Through the fog which obscured my vision I kept my eyes upon the church tower. It seemed to me that, so long as I kept my gaze fixed upon the tower, it would remain an attainable goal, but if I lost sight of it I would be lost as well.
The remaining distance to the church passed in a blur. Indeed, of what I now write I have little remembrance. Arthur told me later of events I could not recall.
Arthur brought the horses to a halt before the lychgate, tied them there, then assisted me from my bloodied saddle. I remember the shocking pain of dismounting, although Arthur was as gentle as he could be.
I could not recline, not with an arrow protruding from my back, nor could I sit, resting against the church wall. I gripped the lychgate with both hands, directed Arthur to take Osbert to the church, then slid to my knees as dizziness overcame me.
Arthur was loath to deal with Osbert while I yet held a shaft through my body, and protested, but I told him I would need his full attention to deal with my wound, and it would be best to lay Osbert out where he would be safe while the arrow was dealt with.
Arthur grimaced agreement, hoisted Osbert to a shoulder, and set off for the church porch at a trot. Osbert remained unconscious, but I could do nothing for him, pierced as I was.
I did not notice Arthur’s return, but suddenly he was standing above me. “What am I to do?” he asked.
“Help me to the church. Then you must find wine and remove the arrow.”
I threw my good right arm over Arthur’s neck and together we stumbled through the churchyard to the porch. Arthur had left the church door open, and I saw Osbert flat upon the stones of the floor as we entered.
“How am I to remove the arrow?” Arthur asked.
“Take first your dagger and cut through the arrow near where it enters my back. Try not to shift it much.”
Arthur drew his dagger from his belt and I winced as he grasped the shaft and began to whittle through it. The pain sent me to my knees and the fog before my eyes appeared again. Then I heard the arrow snap and fall to the flags, and Arthur said, “Done.”
When I could catch my breath I told Arthur I must lie down, or I would collapse when he drew the arrow. I lay on my right side, told Arthur to be certain there were no splinters where he had hewn the shaft in two, then told him to grasp the point and pull the arrow through.
He did so, and all went black before my eyes, but I heard him say, as from some distance beyond the lychgate, “There… ’tis out.”
A deep, overwhelming ache replaced the sharp agony of Arthur’s pulling the arrow through my chest. The blackness before my eyes began to clear. I saw the stones of the floor, and my wits began to return.
“You must seek wine, to bathe my wounds and Osbert’s,” I said.
“Where am I to find wine in such a place? Perhaps…”
Arthur’s hesitation caught my attention. He had been kneeling at my side, but scrambled to his feet as a distant voice spoke.
“Who is here?” a man said. “Is that blood I see spotting the porch?”
With the removal of the arrow, blood again flowed from my side. I tried to call out, but Arthur saw and clapped his hand over my mouth. He thought, he said later, that men from East Hanney had followed us.
The day was cloudy, and the windows of the old church were few and narrow, so the man spoke again before he saw us. “What man is in my church?”
It was the village priest who spoke. As he did so he saw Osbert; then Arthur, standing, caught his attention.
“What has happened to this man?” he asked Arthur. “Does he live, or is he dead?”
“Dunno,” Arthur replied. “Been too busy with Master Hugh to notice.”
“Master Hugh? The fellow at your feet? What affliction is here? This man,” he said, glancing to Osbert, “is all bloodied.” The priest’s eyes were becoming accustomed to the dim church interior. “Is this your work?”
“Nay,” Arthur replied. “That is Osbert. His lord has flogged him near to death, an’ would’ve had his neck in a noose had we not freed him. Then, as we fled the village, an archer put an arrow into Master Hugh’s back, an’ he lays here, near dead also. He’s asked for wine, to bathe ’is wounds, an’ Osbert’s. Have you any?”
“Wine? Oh, yes… and some for Extreme Unction. Have these men received Extreme Unction?”
“Nay,” I managed to whisper. “Nor will I be this day.”
After receiving last rites the Church considers a man as good as dead, even should he mend. I had no desire to recover from my wound but to fast perpetually, go barefoot at all seasons, and never again lie with Kate.
The flags were cold. I began to shiver, and Arthur saw.
“We must take Master Hugh and Osbert someplace where they may be warmed,” he said to the priest, “and remove Master Hugh’s bloody kirtle and cotehardie.”
But that was not yet to be. Before the pries
t could reply, I heard the hooves of several horses. The priest had left open the door to the porch. The horses were reined to a halt at the church wall, near the lychgate, where Bruce and the palfrey were tied, and I then heard men’s voices, one shouting louder than the others, although I could not hear clearly his words. I did not need to. I was certain we had been pursued from East Hanney, and Sir Philip Rede now stood at the lychgate with his men, ready to finish his work with Osbert, and me also.
Arthur understood this as well, and looked open-mouthed from me to the church door, awaiting some command.
Before I could summon my wits the priest turned and hastened to the porch to see who had arrived so noisily. I saw him glance through the open door and heard him mutter some indistinct oath. Then he did a surprising thing. He slammed the church door closed and slid the bolt to fix it shut in the face of Sir Philip – if indeed it were he who a moment later pounded upon the door and demanded admittance.
“Why did you not say ’twas Sir Philip Rede you had fled?” the priest asked Arthur.
“You didn’t ask,” he replied. “You know the man?”
“Aye. A blackguard, was ever one born of woman. He was to hang this one, you say?”
“Aye. An’ he comes through that door he’ll do it, an’ finish off Master Hugh, as well.”
“He’ll not do so,” said the priest. He looked down upon me, where I shivered upon the stones. “Do you claim sanctuary?” he asked.
“Aye,” I managed to whisper between rattling teeth. “I do.”
If Sir Philip had been a powerful lord he might scorn violating sanctuary and the threat of excommunication. But a poverty-stricken minor knight will think twice before hauling a man from a church before the allotted forty days have passed.
Sharp pounding again reverberated through the heavy oaken church door. Sir Philip hammered upon it with some hard object, perhaps the pommel of his dagger. At the same time he shouted a demand that the door be opened. This continued for some time, but none of us in the church made reply.
