by Mel Starr
I was a little surprised that Osbert also seemed averse to the plan. It did not concern him. So I thought.
Chapter 15
That night, as we lay abed, Kate told me that Amice had lately shown much concern for Osbert’s care, applying the ointment of pears and moneywort twice each day. I had hopes that the salve would not only help the healing of his wounds, but soften them so that he could bend without opening the scars, both now and in the future.
“She is much concerned for Osbert, and when I told her that he must soon be returned to East Hanney she was woeful.”
“The day cannot be put off much longer,” I replied. “He is a young man and is healing rapidly now.”
“And he has a skilled surgeon to treat his wounds.”
After a night in the straw of the stables behind the New Inn I slept well in my own bed. Following a loaf and ale I sought the castle, found Arthur and Uctred, and told them to make ready tomorrow to travel to Abingdon and there meet six of Sir Roger’s sergeants. Together nine men should be sufficient to capture two felons if I was successful in luring them to their ruin.
I am usually oblivious to the behavior of females about me. I speak and read two languages in addition to my own; French and Latin. But I have never been much conversant in feminine. This may be considered strange, as ’tis the speech of half the realm. I think I am not alone in this ignorance. So if Kate had not told me of it, I would likely not have noticed how solicitous Amice had become for Osbert’s recovery.
Next morn I observed her regard for Osbert. The man was healing well under her care. I would soon have to devise some plan to see him safe from Sir Philip’s wrath, but not that day. One scheme at a time.
Early Friday morn, Kate took Bessie and Amice’s two children to the castle, there to remain in my old bachelor quarters till this matter was resolved. Osbert was enough recovered that he could remain alone in Galen House, although he could not defend it. If the felonious squires did not swallow my bait and instead returned to Galen House, they would have no reason to do him harm.
After Kate and the children were established in Bampton Castle, Arthur, Uctred, Amice, and I set out for Abingdon. Uctred drove John Thrale’s horse and cart, and Amice rode therein, while Arthur and I were once again mounted upon Bruce and the old grey palfrey.
It was important that Amice not be seen returning to her home in the company of three men, so she climbed down from the cart while we were yet a mile from Abingdon and entered the town alone. Uctred followed Arthur and me to the New Inn, and immediately after Arthur dismounted from the palfrey I sent him off to the bury, there to watch over Amice until Uctred, I, and six sergeants from Oxford Castle might join him.
Sir Roger had promised that his sergeants would arrive at the New Inn this day by noon, and he was true to his word. I found the six dining upon a barley pottage, with the crumbs of numerous maslin loaves beneath their elbows.
Their officer, a man of commanding girth and a livid scar across one cheek from some earlier episode of law enforcement, recognized me from Sir Roger’s description and stood as I approached his table. He could surely hold his own in any scrap with miscreant squires, but if the culprits took to their heels some other man would need to chase them down. I noted two youthful sergeants at the table who seemed likely to show a good turn of speed, should pursuit be required.
The sergeants were appareled incognito, as I had requested, with no badge or tunic showing that they served Sir Roger de Elmerugg. I told the fellows to follow, and with Uctred beside me, I walked the short distance to Amice’s house in the bury. I had given her six pence of Lord Gilbert’s coin to purchase barley and pretend to set about her occupation, and when we passed her house I saw smoke rising from beneath a cauldron in the toft. The day was too cool for barley to malt properly unless the water it soaked in was warmed. Arthur leaned against Amabel Maunder’s empty dwelling across the street, and joined our group as we continued down the lane to the road from the direction of Marcham and Hanney.
There I assigned two men to begin the watch for Sir John Trillowe’s squires. I thought it unlikely that word of Amice’s return would reach East Hanney this day, but was not willing to take a chance of being wrong. A sergeant would prowl each end of the lane, occasionally exchanging positions during the day. Four others, and Arthur and Uctred, would conceal themselves in Amabel Maunder’s empty house, which they might enter from a narrow alley behind the row of houses that included the neighboring threadmaker’s dwelling. Two would watch while the others slept. I would remain in Amabel’s house catching what sleep I could while watching Amice’s house with the others.
There was the matter of food for nine men. I approached the threadmaker, told him as much as he needed to know of what was happening upon his street, and offered him three pence each day to feed us. This bid he gladly accepted.
There was but one more thing to do. I did not wish to be seen at Amice’s door, for I could not know who might be watching. I circled behind houses and came upon her as she poured barley into the cauldron of warm water. My approach startled her, even though she knew to expect my appearance.
I told her where guards were stationed, advised her that I would be in Amabel Maunder’s house with the watchers, and bid her continue her work so her actions would be unremarkable to any who observed her closely. I left her with a last admonition: if somehow her abductors should elude our watch and enter her house in the night, she should tell them what they wished to know – that John Thrale found his cache of coins and jewelry in a forest near to an ancient chapel east of Bampton.
Amice looked at me with wide eyes. “Did he so?”
“So I believe.”
“You have not found it?”
“Nay, but I believe the treasure to be somewhere there.”
Arthur, Uctred, the sergeants and I spent the next three days watching over Amice Thatcher. The sergeants thought this good sport, for watching Amice was a rewarding experience for any man. Each day that passed increased my expectation that felons would soon seek her and the knowledge they assumed she possessed.
I was confident that the men who had slain John Thrale, threatened Kate and Bessie, and held Amice captive would learn of her return. Somehow these squires of East Hanney had learned of her friendship with the chapman, and knew also when she was driven from the abbey guest hall. Whoso had told them of these things would not hesitate to inform the felons of her reappearance. I wished this talebearer would make haste. Days grew shorter and colder, but we dared not light a fire on Amabel’s hearthstone, for to do so might give away the ambush.
The third night we watched, one of the sergeants, peering through the ragged edge of the skin which covered one of Amabel’s windows, called for me to come to the window.
“There’s somethin’ movin’.”
All through the previous nights we had seen no man upon this lane, not even the beadle, who kept to more traveled streets.
I hastened to the window and watched for some sign of the movement the sergeant had seen. For several minutes I saw nothing, then, emerging from the shadows, a pale form came into view.
“’Tis a dog,” I told the sergeant.
While I watched a mongrel hound of chaotic ancestry followed its nose from one side of the lane to another, searching for something edible.
The animal’s search amused me, so I lingered at the window, watching as the scrawny beast ambled past my place. The dog had gone perhaps five or six paces beyond Amabel’s house, then, as I was about to turn away, the hound stiffened and turned to look behind. Some sound, perhaps, had alerted it to danger. I followed its gaze and studied the curving lane in the direction from which the beast had come.
I saw nothing, but the dog saw or heard something which caused it unease. It loped away, no longer interested in discovering a meal. I turned to study the lane and saw what had caused the dog to flee.
A lone figure slipped from one shadow to another, hurrying in careful fashion, toward me. Not two? Whe
re was the second squire? Perhaps one remained where the lane joined the main street, as sentinel. I whispered loudly for Arthur, Uctred, and the sergeants to be alert; a man approached.
When the stealthy shape drew near, it hid for a moment in the shadow of the house beside Amice’s dwelling, then dashed across the lane and through the door of Amabel Maunder’s house. ’Twas the sergeant assigned to watch where the lane joined the main street.
“Three men,” he said, “just now halted their horses down there.” He pointed in the direction from which he had come. “One has remained with the horses, the others follow after me. I don’t think I was seen. They will be here anon.”
I told the sergeants to have their daggers ready and kept watch through the tattered skin of the window for a glimpse of the approaching squires. They did not appear.
All we who waited were tense and eager for the capture we expected. When no men appeared slinking about the lane, our taut alertness began to fade.
“You sure you seen ’em?” one of the sergeants whispered to his cohort.
“They was followin’ close behind me… moon is risin’, so I could see ’em plain.”
“Perhaps they are being cautious,” I said softly. “But we are ready for them.”
We were not, not totally. I watched and waited and grew increasingly uneasy. Arthur, Uctred, and the sergeants shared the emotion. I heard them shuffling feet upon the rushes and breathing heavily, anticipating a fracas and puzzled that it did not come.
I believed the sentry when he claimed to have seen two men enter the bury. Could it be they were about some other, lawful business? If so, why leave a third man with the horses? Such conduct spoke of a desire to make a hasty departure. Men who did no felony would have no need to violate curfew, nor would they be prepared for flight when they concluded their business. Sir John Trillowe’s squires were in the bury, of that I was certain, but where, and what did they intend?
I knew their intent: to seize Amice Thatcher again, or force from her the location of John Thrale’s treasure. I did not know how they intended to do this, and as time passed I became more and more fretful that somehow the squires had devised a way to approach Amice Thatcher’s house unseen.
The alley! Behind Amabel Maunder’s house was a narrow passage, weed-grown and rarely used, which gave access to the tofts behind each house. There was a similar alley behind Amice Thatcher’s house. My approach through the alley had startled her three days past.
The waning moon was now high enough that the pale tower of St. Nicholas’s Church was visible to the south above Abingdon’s rooftops. The added light meant that we could see our quarry, but they also could see us. I had no choice. Because of me, Amice’s safety was at risk. If the hidden felons saw us and fled, and my snare snapped shut empty, so be it.
I told the others to follow and ran from Amabel’s house across the lane to Amice Thatcher’s dwelling. I stopped in the shadow of the house, raised a hand to halt the others, and was about to divide them and send half to the front and the other half to the rear of the house when I heard a muffled gasp. The throat which made such a sound was surely feminine. Arthur and the others heard also, the night being still.
We were too late. The squires were in the house. They had come by way of the alley, for I had watched the lane. We might trap them in the house, but they held Amice and would threaten her if we menaced their escape.
I whispered for the sergeants to guard the rear of the house, told Arthur and Uctred to follow me, and ran to the front door.
I had told Amice to bar her doors, and when I grasped the latch the door did not open. But it did move enough to rattle the hinges and thus speak a warning to those inside that someone wished to enter.
I told Arthur and Uctred to remain at the front door and ran to the toft. The sergeants stood at the rear door, hands upon their daggers and ready for a brawl. I tested this door also, and found it barred as well. How had two men gained entrance to the house? Or did my ears deceive me and no suspicious gasp come from the place?
“Amice,” I whispered, “Amice… ’tis Master Hugh. Are you well?”
When a response finally came it was not what I wished to hear.
“She is well, but she will not be if you do not depart.”
“Who is there?”
“Desperate men. We were told you might lay a snare for us, so we have prepared one for you. There is a dagger at the woman’s throat. She will tell us where the chapman’s treasure may be found, or you will, or her throat will be slit.”
“If you do such a thing you will die.”
“The man we serve will protect us.”
“Protect you from the Sheriff of Oxford? Sir Roger has the King’s trust, Sir John does not.” (I thought it could do no harm to disclose that I knew who they were and who they served). “Are you willing to risk a scaffold in Oxford upon that confidence?”
Silence followed.
“There are armed men at the front and back,” I said through the door. “You cannot escape.”
“Perhaps. We have the woman.”
“If you harm her you will hang, or perhaps there will be a fight here in the bury and you will, regretfully, be slain in the struggle.”
“You would have us surrender to you? We may hang should we do so. So if we harm the woman, what greater harm to us? Her death is loss to you, not to us.”
The man spoke true. If I could I would see them hang for their felonies. Slaying Amice Thatcher would not increase the penalty.
“You knew we would be watching this house,” I said. “Who told you?”
“No man you can harm.”
“You will never gain the chapman’s treasure.”
“Why do you say so? Have you found it?”
My silence was answer enough.
“So you have not,” the squire said. “Then we may yet discover it before you.”
“Not from the Oxford Castle dungeon.”
“We will not be there.”
“You believe Sir Roger will not impeach you for your felonies?”
“He will not seize us to do so.”
“What? His sergeants stand here at the door.”
“Mayhap, but they will not take us. We have the woman.”
“You cannot remain in the house forever.”
“Aye, but when we depart it will be with the woman, and with a dagger at her neck.”
My plan had unraveled like an old surcoat. All because I had not thought of access to Amice’s toft through the little-used alley. But how did these vile squires get through her barred door without making some sound I might have heard from my post across the lane?
I could not worry about that for the moment. Later, when Amice was free of her captors, then I could learn from her how they gained entrance.
“Stand away from the door, you and the sergeants. We will leave with the woman, and should any man come within five paces of us, my dagger will pierce her throat.”
When I made no immediate reply the man spoke again. “Did you hear? Answer, yea or nay.”
“Yea… I heard.”
I turned to the sergeants and in a whisper bid them seek the alley behind the toft and hurry to where the lane joined the main street. There they would find a man and three horses. I told them they should not seize the fellow, but if they could, they should work their way close to him and the beasts in the dark, without being discovered.
The sergeants disappeared into the shadows of the alley, and I ran to the front of the house.
“We heard,” Arthur said. “Are we to do as the knave said?”
“We must. But as they retreat toward their horses we will follow, five paces away. They must not be allowed to take Amice from Abingdon.”
I heard the bar lifted from Amice’s door, the hinges squealed, and three figures filed through the opening. The shorter of the two squires led, a dagger in his right hand, then came Amice and behind her the taller of the squires, with one arm about her waist and the other pressing a da
gger to her throat. I saw the blade reflect moonlight.
“Stay back,” the taller squire demanded, and shoved Amice before him. The stout squire decided ’twould be best to place himself where he could observe us, so moved behind his companion and walked backward, his dagger pointed at me all the while. My arrow wound took that moment to ache, reminding me that I should avoid another perforation.
Thus we traveled, two hundred paces or more, past the silent huts of the bury, no man in either group speaking. The only sound was the scuffling of feet and once, a sob from Amice Thatcher.
As we approached the main street I heard a horse stamp a foot and blow through its nostrils. I studied the night in the direction from which the sound had come, and saw dimly the shapes of three horses. As I watched the animals moved from the shadows into the moonlight.
A rider upon the first horse had seen or heard our approach and led the other beasts to meet the squires and their captive. This horseman wore dark chauces and cotehardie, and his cap was pulled low over his forehead so as to obscure his features, but I knew who it was who awaited the felonious squires.
The rider’s left ear showed white in the moonlight, protruding from under his cap as if set in plaster. My excuse for this misshapen ear is that it was the first time I had ever been called upon to reattach such a member. I shall do better in the future. And, in truth, I cared little at the time if Sir Simon Trillowe’s features were blemished or not.
I detected movement behind Sir Simon and the horses. ’Twas the sergeants I had sent hurrying through the alley. Sir Simon, the squires, and Amice were surrounded, but the advantage yet lay with those who held a blade to a woman’s throat.
Neither Sir Simon nor the squires spoke. They knew the risk they had taken, and had planned what they would do if their scheme was thwarted. The taller of the squires, who held his dagger to Amice’s throat, approached a horse and attempted to throw Amice across the beast’s neck, before the saddle. The animal did not approve of the business and sidestepped, so that rather than finding herself upon a horse, Amice was pitched face-first into the mud of the street.
