Mel Starr - The Tainted Coin

“Aye.”

“Hold your dagger to this knave’s throat while I see who is imprisoned here,” I directed Arthur. He drew his dagger from his belt and laid it across the guard’s neck. I saw the man wince, and his eyes widened as he felt the touch of the blade.

The shed door was fixed shut with a wooden plank dropped into slots on either side. It was a simple matter to lift the bar, set it aside, and swing the door open. The interior was as black as Sir Simon Trillowe’s heart. If a woman was there I could not see her.

“Come out,” I whispered. Had I known who was to emerge, I might have dropped the plank across the door and fled.

“Who is there?” a feminine voice whispered.

“’Tis Master Hugh.”

Silence followed, but after a few heartbeats the voice said, “Who?”

Amice Thatcher was not in this shed. Some other woman was imprisoned here. “I am Hugh de Singleton… come to release you. Make haste. We may soon be discovered.”

Who it was who was held in the shed I did not know, but no lass should be used so. I felt, rather than saw, the approach of the hencoop’s inhabitant. The door was low, and I backed away from it as a slender form bent to pass through the opening.

“Has my father sent you?” the lass asked.

“Nay. Who are you? Who is your father?”

“I am Sybil. Sybil Montagu. My father is Sir Henry. If my father has not sent you to free me, who did so?”

“Here is no place for conversation. We must be away before we are discovered. This fellow,” I pointed to the guard who yet lay in the mud, Arthur close upon him, “may soon be relieved by some other.”

“What’ll we do with ’im?” Arthur whispered.

“You may as well slay me,” the man whispered. “If you do not, Sir Philip will when he finds the maid gone.”

“What? For your incompetence you will die?”

“Aye. Just slit me throat with that dagger. I’ll not cry out.”

Arthur, his muscular forearm yet about the man’s neck, gazed at me with open mouth, to hear a man plead for death.

“Sir Philip’ll hang me, or have ’is lads beat me till I’d be better off dead.”

I thought on his words. I had no wish to cause a man’s death at the hands of a cruel lord.

“He’ll come with us, for now,” I said.

I had come to this manor seeking Amice Thatcher and found Sybil Montagu. I had not before heard of her or her father, and was loath to interrupt searching for Amice while I dealt with this new entanglement.

Sybil followed me to the gate, Arthur and the guard behind. We had no cord to bind him, so Arthur kept his left arm about the man’s neck, and with his right hand held his dagger against the fellow’s throat. He offered no resistance as we crossed the field of wet stubble, but not so the maid.

“Ow. Where do you lead?” she protested. “This field is wet. My feet are cold.”

“You would prefer to be dry in yon hencoop?”

When we reached the wall opposite the manor I considered the nettles, and felt tenderly along the stones until I found a place which seemed free of the stinging foliage.

It was not. I lifted Sybil to the top of the wall. She reached a hand to steady herself and found nettles I had missed. She yelped, cursed me for a dolt, and fell in a heap over the wall. I heard the guard chuckle.

“What yer laughin’ about?” Arthur demanded.

“Sir Philip got more than ’e wished for when ’e seized that one.”

“Help me up,” the lass commanded from over the wall. I clambered over, finding the nettle patch again, and assisted the maid to her feet.

The forest was dark and wet, and I wished to be gone from the place, but I also wished to know who Sybil Montagu was, and why Sir Philip Rede had seized her and confined her in a dilapidated hencoop.

“What means this,” she fumed, “tossing me over the wall?”

“I ask your pardon. ’Twas not my intent.”

“Now I am wet and cold,” she complained.

“As we all are,” Arthur said. “An’ muddy, also.” He had pushed the guard over the wall behind me, then scrambled over himself. I heard no curses from either man. They must have escaped the nettles.

“Why did Sir Philip Rede shut you in that hencoop?” I asked.

Sybil did not immediately reply, but the guard did. “’Cause ’e couldn’t stomach ’er in the house no longer.”

“You were a guest of Sir Philip’s?”

“Nay,” Sybil said. “Didn’t know his name till now, nor where I was. The scoundrel took me from my father’s manor and demands a ransom.”

“Ah… how much does he demand?”

“Fifty pounds.”

“Wouldn’t pay,” the guard said. “Sir Philip sent armed messengers to demand the ransom. Sir Henry told ’em he had two sons left, an’ the hammer an’ anvil to make more daughters.”

“They threatened to slay me if my father would not pay,” Sybil sniffed.

“Her tongue be so sharp, Sir Philip couldn’t abide ’er in the house no longer. Put ’er in the hencoop till ’e could decide what to do with ’er.”

“How long,” I asked, “have you been in the hencoop?”

“Three days. Now you must take me to my father.”

“Reckon ’e don’t want ’er either.” The guard was a voluble fellow when he thought himself free of his lord’s wrath, even so he yet had a dagger at his throat.

“You mind your tongue, knave!” Sybil snapped.

“Where is your father’s manor?”

“South Marston.”

When I did not respond Arthur said, “I know the place. ’Tis but a few miles from Swindon. Went there with Lord Gilbert once.”

“We’ll not travel that way this night. And ’tis no time for a maid to be upon the roads if it can be avoided. You’ll come with us to Abingdon and we’ll see tomorrow about returning you to your father.”

“I wish to go home now!” Sybil stamped her foot, but the effect was lost on the damp, leafy mold of the forest floor.

I was becoming vexed with this petulant damsel, and began to feel some sympathy for Sir Philip. She was a nuisance to him, and now to me.

“You will go where I tell you. I did not come to this place to free you from your captor. I had other business, which is now put out of joint because I must deal with you.”

“What’ll we do with this fellow?” Arthur asked. Arthur yet held his dagger close to the guard’s neck, and clasped the man’s right shoulder with his other hand. “If we release ’im he’ll likely raise the alarm to save himself from ’is lord’s wrath, an’ them as are in the manor house’ll be upon us before we’re halfway back to Abingdon.”

Similar thoughts had troubled me. “Sir Philip will be furious with you for allowing us to overcome you and make off with the lass?” I asked the guard.

“Aye, he will that,” he replied, and unconsciously rubbed his neck near where Arthur pressed the flat of his dagger.

“So if we release you, you will hasten to tell him what has happened so to deflect his rage, will you not?”

“Sir Philip’s ire don’t pass so easy as all that. Likely he’ll hang me.”

“So what is to be done with you?”

“I left the club back at the shed,” Arthur said. “I could find another, an’ swat ’im ’cross the head, gentle-like, just so’s to raise a welt. Then ’e could go back when ’e woke up an’ tell ’is lord ’twas the club next the shed what felled ’im. By the time ’e awoke an’ returned to the house we could be on the horses an’ near Abingdon.”

Arthur is ever willing to be helpful, but I did not think our captive would approve the plan.

“You are a tenant of the manor?” I asked the fellow.

“Nay… villein.”

“Is Sir Philip in other ways a good lord?”

“Nay. A hard man, is Sir Philip, an’ that’s when ’e’s sober. When ’e’s in ’is cups a man had best stay clear.”