Michael Jecks - The Tolls of Death

All women needed companionship, and Anne had lost her friends and family at the same time because of the awful starvation which had affected everybody in the kingdom, not merely in Cornwall alone. And then, as if by a miracle, she had come here to Cardinham, where the kindness of Nicholas had given her fresh hope. Now she lived in the present and tried to forget the crushing loneliness she had known when she had lost all those closest to her. She was unable to succeed entirely, of course. Losing them had felt like having her soul ripped from her living flesh.

That was why she had sunk to giving herself to another man.

It was fear that drove her to it. Nicholas had been gone such a long time, and she had convinced herself that he had died of a disease, like her father. Panic set in. If her man was dead, she must find another to protect her. So she sought one who could, for a few moments, make her forget this latest loss and who would, she hoped, take her in when she was declared widowed. She had craved the feeling of a man’s arms about her once more. Once only — but it had been enough, as she knew, feeling her belly kick.

Serlo caught her eye, and to her surprise, slipped away from the jury and strode towards her. He was going to speak to her, she realised, and felt her face redden. Nicholas was frowning, wondering what on earth the miller could want with his wife.

‘Lady Anne, I crave a favour,’ Serlo said humbly. ‘It’s my tolls. I’ve-’

‘You’ve been taking gifts instead of tolls, and that’s a crime!’ she snapped, astonished that he should approach her about it. ‘You’ll have to speak to my husband about that, not me.’

‘Oh, but if I do that, I’ll have to speak openly ,’ he said insinuatingly. ‘If you get my meaning?’

‘What are you talking about, miller? It’s none of my affair.’

‘Oh, isn’t it though?’ he winked. ‘Athelina was there. She told me. You and him — rutting in the field.’

In that moment Anne thought her heart would stop. She could hear the walls of her secure life crumbling. If her husband should learn that her child was not his, he must grow to loathe her, as any man must detest the woman who hung the cuckold’s horns upon his head.

She looked down at the lifeless, abused body of Athelina. You sold my secret for your security, Athelina? she asked her silently. She should have felt hatred, but she couldn’t.

Only compassion mingled with her own terror at the thought of what this might do to her husband.

Letitia saw Serlo go to Anne, but she was more interested in the whereabouts of her two little nephews. She glanced about behind him for his children, but they weren’t there. Even as Serlo took his place amongst the jury, she searched among the ranks of women to see who was absent, who might be back at the cottage, sitting with the children. Jan was briefly back home with her, leaving Muriel asleep, and Serlo in charge, so she had told her mistress.

Many of the mothers were there, she saw, but for every three or four, there was another who had not come. These were the women who had elected to stay behind to look after their own and perhaps another’s children. Good. Serlo must have left his with one of them, she thought, and turned from him. If she could avoid the sight of him, so much the better.

The Coroner was showing the bodies in a calm, unhurried manner. He held up the bloody knife and displayed the blade to the jury, asking whether anyone recognised it as belonging to Athelina. No one remembered seeing it with her, of course, but then how often did a man take notice of a woman’s little knife? It was just an accoutrement, like a spoon. A spoon was more noticeable, because few peasants could afford to own one, so any spoon was noteworthy, but a knife like this? No. Nobody recognised it.

There was shouting and some children went running past the scene, two pausing to gape at the bodies, before shrugging and haring off after their companions.

Letitia wished that death could be so easily shrugged off by an adult. She felt so sorry for the two, lying there so slack and sad. The boys’ wounds were hideous; blackened and decayed. They demanded her attention all the time, no matter how she tried to look away.

It was preferable to look at Serlo. And there weren’t many things, she told herself, that fell into that category.

Muriel woke with a jerk. She could feel that she was in her bed. She felt warm and cosy and knew that, were she to turn to her left, she’d see the fire. Smoke was rising, and she could hear bubbling, like soup in a pot. Then her nose began to twitch. There was a delicious smell on the air.

Her head hurt as though someone had inserted a bellows into her brain and was pumping it, the pain rising to a peak and then falling again. When at a crest, it was enough to make her weep, it was so intense; yet a moment later it was perfectly bearable.

What had happened? She could remember going to the door and seeing Aumery and Hamelin at their games, but then all grew hazy. She was sure she could remember cuddling the two of them … perhaps there was something else, though. There was a painful scrape and bruising at her inner thigh, and she couldn’t think why until she had turned her head a little and saw the shattered remains of the cart lying just inside the door.

It all came back to her then! The mad rush into the road, snatching up Aumery and covering him with her body, the cart between her spread thighs as she kneeled, Hamelin keening in surprise, and then the slamming blow. A quick, sharp terror flew into her throat. Her boys! Her children! What had happened to them? Were they safe? My Christ, please don’t let them be dead. Holy Mother, what …

Her fears were not allayed by the rattling crash. Looking around, head throbbing wildly, she saw Aumery with a long stick in his hand playing at stabbing his shadow on the wall. He was unharmed. Hearing the breath hissing in her throat, he turned, his face panicked, and then his features broke into a broad grin as he saw his mother.

Hurling the stick aside, he ran as quickly as he could on his bare feet towards her, and threw his arms about her neck: ‘Mummy, Mummy!’

Although it was agony at first, she was so happy to feel his arms about her that she could only sob faintly and murmur, ‘There, there. It’s all right. Where’s your brother?’

He looked over his shoulder and pointed with a chubby fist. When she looked, she saw Hamelin sitting near the fire and examining a used bone from the floor. He seemed happy enough. ‘You must look after him,’ she said as she slumped back on her bed, closing her eyes against the waves of pain.

A sudden thought made her ask, ‘What made all that noise? Something woke me.’

‘It was the pig, Mummy.’

She lifted her head, wincing, to stare about her. There, in the corner of the little room, was the family’s sow. She had come in from her sty, and was rootling about the mess on the floor, among plates and bowls knocked from the table.

‘No!’ she cried, and even over the pain, she felt the urgency. Clapping her hands, she tried to scare the pig from the room.

Sensing that this was a new game, Aumery raised his own voice, shouting as loudly as he could and jumping in excitement. Even Hamelin seemed to want to join in. From the corner of her eye Muriel saw him gazing at her and his brother, then leaning forward to rest on his hands, he began to crawl towards her.

The pig was alarmed, and she retreated at first, until her tail and arse struck the wall. Squealing, in panic, she turned her snout to left and right, seeking an exit. Then she seemed to gather up her courage, and bolted.

Muriel felt some relief as the animal thundered out, but then she saw the movement farther in the room, and an animal shriek of horror emerged from her wide-open mouth.