Kate Sedley: The Hanged Man

The headman's dwelling was set a little apart from the others with a paling around it, so giving it its own small plot of ground. Other than that, however, it was the same daub and wattle building with a turf roof as the rest of them, although inside, it did boast a proper bed with faded and much-mended tapestry curtains. The chief himself was not some old man, hoary with age, as I had half-expected, but one very much like the others I had glimpsed, of the same indeterminate number of years. It was difficult to reckon with any accuracy how many nativities each miner had celebrated, for their calling seemed to rob them of blood; their faces were lined, their bodies stooped from long hours bent almost double hewing at the seams of tin beneath the forest floor. As the father of two young children, I doubted if my host and rescuer could be more than twenty-five summers at the most, and probably not so much, but in appearance he could have been twice my age. The headman, on the other hand, looked just as old, or just as young, depending on how one viewed the matter.

Looking back, I realize that what impresses itself on me now, after this long period of time, is with what courtesy and patience these people received me. The sort of life they led might well have brutalized them, until they were no better than the wild beasts inhabiting the forest. But the strict discipline of the mining communities had prevented that from happening, and I only wish I had appreciated it more then. I was young, however, and too absorbed in my own affairs to waste consideration on the hardships of others less fortunate than myself.

My host, whose name I realized I still did not know, explained my request to the headman, who regarded me thoughtfully for a while without saying anything. Finally, he asked, 'You swear you do not wish to take the horse away? Nor report our possession of the animal to the Gloucester sheriff? We need not fear him and his posse disturbing the peace of the forest, searching for the beast to confiscate it?'

'I swear,' I answered. 'By Our Lady and all the Saints.' The headman nodded, satisfied, heaving himself up from the stool on which he had been seated. 'I have to be certain, you understand, for it is a valuable animal. It would grace the stable of any nobleman, and would be worth the getting.' He indicated to nay host that he should lead the way out of doors with his lantern. 'You have the light, Hamar, to guide us.'

Hamo, Hamar, Gwynne, Gwyn Gwynson; as I followed Hamar, I thought how alike names in the community seemed to be, and guessed that they had been used and re-used for many hundreds of years, reflecting those of the earliest miners in the settlement. It was no doubt the same all over the forest and, by his name, a man could easily be linked to a particular mining village. The evening air struck chill, for I was not wearing my cloak, and the grass was slimy and treacherous underfoot. I wondered how a piece of prime bloodstock, used to the comforts of the Herepath stables, had adapted to life in these primitive surroundings. But the bay, when I saw him, seemed perfectly content, and gave a whinny of pleasure when the headman caressed him. A stable had been built among the trees, of the same daub and wattle as the cottages, but with a far sounder roof of pitch, and straw liberally scattered over the floor, ankle-deep to keep his feet warm. A wooden manger, full of hay, and a wooden trough, filled with fresh spring water, supplied the animal's needs, while several layers of dry sacking were tied across his back and under his belly for warmth against the winter's chill. His eye was bright, his coat thinning: he was happy and well looked after.

I had no doubt it was Edward Herepath's missing horse, for it was indeed light bay in colour, with black points and a white snip between its nostrils. It had been ridden here by William Woodward and cared for as his property; until one day, like an animal crawling back to die in its lair, his homing instinct had impelled him to quit the village on foot, to walk the long, dusty miles to Bristol. His poor, bewildered mind had forgotten everything after a certain moment, and he only remembered what he had to say when he finally returned home; that he had been captured by slavers and taken to Ireland. And as a child will do, repeating a lesson too well-learned, he had stuck to his story.

' You recognize the animal?' the headman asked me.

I had almost forgotten the presence of the others, so deeply had I been immersed in my own thoughts, and at the sound of his voice, I jumped. 'Y-yes, I think so,' I stuttered. 'I only know the beast by report, but I am sure it is the same one. Thank you for letting me see him. I shall trouble you no further.'

'Is there any other way in which we can serve you?' the headman inquired.

I answered eagerly. 'Is it possible to have words with Gwyn Gwynson who, I understand, discovered William Woodward in the forest?'

The headman nodded. 'You understand aright. It was Gwyn and his woman who nursed the stranger back to health, although his mind, alas, never recovered. Hamar will conduct you to his cottage. Hamar, tell Gwyn he has my leave to speak.'

I thanked him, and followed my host across the circle of grass to a dwelling almost directly opposite his own.

Inside, it might have been Hamar's cottage, with the one exception that instead of two small children there were four — three boys and a girl — all somewhat older in years than Hamo and Gwynne. As we entered, there was the same strong odour blended of pig and goat, the acrid smell of smoke and human sweat. The family had finished eating and were seated huddled round the dying fire, warming themselves before crawling into bed. At the sight of Hamar and a stranger in their midst, their eyes brightened with interest; and when it was known what was wanted, together with the headman's permission to speak, the air became charged with excitement. Such a diversion would have been welcome at any time, but in the depth of winter it was doubly so.

A place was made for Hamar and me by the fire, some fresh branches of wood thrown on to revive the flames, and Gwyn's woman poured us each a cup of ale brewed from germander, bitter and dark. Only then, when hospitality had been offered and received, did Gwyn begin his story and tell me what I wanted to know.

It had been last year, he said, in early spring, the day following that of the Annunciation of Our Lady, that he had stumbled across a badly injured man some little way into the forest. 'He would have died, Master, if I hadn't found 'im, for he'd been beaten savagely about the head.'

'A mass o' blood there were,' the woman confirmed, 'all down his neck and over his shoulders. I thought at first 'is clothes were ruined, but I managed to clean 'em somehow, though it took a while.'

Her husband was turning on her to stem this interruption, when I asked quickly, 'What were his clothes like? Of what quality?'

'Oh, a gentleman's quality, no doubt o' that. 'Twas what made them so difficult to put to rights.'

'Can you describe them? The colour, the cloth.'

'Velvet, the doublet was, and fine wool the hose. And the cloak was lined with fur. As to the colour, the cape and hood were lined with scarlet, that I do remember, and the doublet a rich, deep yellow.'

'And you say you managed to get the bloodstains out? A difficult task, I've always understood. How did you do it?'

The woman shrugged. 'Oh, aye, blood's not easy to wash away if the marks are set and old. But these were still fresh when my man brought the stranger home. I soaked 'era straight in water from the barrel.'

Her husband broke in here, plainly incensed at being excluded from the conversation for such a length of time, and anxious to reclaim my attention. "E couldn't long've been attacked when I found 'im. The blood 'adn't even dried. A moment or so earlier, and I might've seen who did it. But if I'd found 'ira much later, 'e'd've surely died.'