Mel Starr - The Tainted Coin

“Was he drinking this night?”

“Aye, as every night.”

“So his rage will be great?”

“Aye. He’ll have me whipped first, then ’e’ll hang me, twice, most likely.”

“Twice?”

“Aye. Cut me down when I’m near gone, toss a bucket of water on me, an’ when I’ve come to me senses, hang me again.”

“He has done such a thing?”

“Aye, him an’ Sir Simon.”

“Sir Simon Trillowe?”

“The very man. Sir Philip caught a villein stealin’ eggs from ’is hencoop two years past.”

“And Sir Simon helped him hang the thief?”

“Aye, hanged ’im twice, so I heard. Didn’t see for meself. A villein stealin’ from ’is lord is treason, so Sir Philip said.”

“Is that how he regularly deals with villeins who displease him?”

“Aye. Had a few strokes when I was a lad.”

“Have you never thought of leaving? Have you a wife and children?”

“Think on it near every day. Got no family to suffer for me runnin’ off, but where would I go? A lad fled the manor last year. Sir Philip an’ his men found ’im in Banbury. Didn’t hang ’im ’cause ’e was little more than a child, but beat ’im so ’e can’t stand straight now.”

I had taken an unaccountable liking to this guard, who seemed an honest fellow caught up in an impossible situation. I decided to try him with another question.

“Has Sir Philip any other captive who might bring him gain?”

The guard scratched the back of his head before he replied.

“Sir Philip don’t say much with the commons about to hear ’im. All I know is what ’is valet overhears an’ gossips about. He’s needy, is all I know.”

“But you know of no other he’s taken because they might enrich him?”

“Nay.”

“If I return you to Sir Philip, he will slay you — so you believe. So then, do you wish to accompany us and be away from this place?”

“Aye. I’ve nowhere to go, but when I get to somewhere new I’ll not be whipped and sent to a gibbet… ’less Sir Philip finds me.”

“If I am to help you escape your manor, I should know your name.”

“I am Osbert — Osbert Hanney.”

We stumbled through the forest, becoming thoroughly wet, until by the light of stars through bare branches we found the horses. Sybil complained the entire time: her feet were cold; her cotehardie had become snagged on a twig and ripped; she stubbed a toe against a root; I should take her to South Marston this very night, and if I did not her father would hear of my neglect of her. I was nearly ready to do her will so I would no longer hear her grievances.

Sybil rode the palfrey, I was upon Bruce, and Arthur and Osbert walked before. Stars gave enough light that the road lay faintly visible before us, and no brigands accosted us. We reached Abingdon well before dawn, and I was required to pound upon the abbey gate for some time before the porter’s assistant heard me and opened to us. I told the fellow I had with me a high-born maid for whom I sought provision for the remainder of the night, and when Sybil was safe in the abbey guest house I led Arthur and Osbert to the New Inn. It was nearly time for the Angelus Bell before my head rested upon a pillow. I had accomplished nothing toward finding Amice Thatcher, or the murderers, or the location of the lost treasure, and had succeeded only in enlarging my own responsibilities.

No matter how choleric Sybil Montagu was, it was my obligation to see she was reunited with her father. And I, a bailiff, was now assisting a villein to flee from his manor and lord. These thoughts troubled my slumber so that when dawn roused the other sleepers in the New Inn’s upper room, I was awake before them.

What to do with Sybil Montagu? After several days the hosteler would surely wish to be rid of the maid. He would turn her over to the abbot. I could imagine Sybil complaining loudly to Peter of Hanney, and his response. The vision brought a smile to my lips. The abbot would find some quick way to return the lass to South Marston.

And there was Osbert to consider. He and Sybil were by now discovered missing, for he had told me he was to be relieved at dawn. Sir Philip or his minions would prowl the streets of nearby towns seeking the man. It would be best if he was away from Abingdon. But where? Perhaps South Marston.

I could send Osbert to tell Sir Henry that his daughter was safe in the abbey, and to come and retrieve her. This would remove Osbert from the easy reach of Sir Philip Rede, and solve the problem of what was to be done with Sybil, assuming her father would come to reclaim her, or send servants to do so.

I told Arthur and Osbert of my plan while we broke our fast with loaves from the baker. But before I sent Osbert on his way I had a question. I thought I knew already the answer.

“Beyond Sir Philip’s manor at East Hanney I saw another great house, just beyond the church. Who’s manor is there?”

“Sir John Trillowe,” he replied.

“Does his son, Sir Simon, reside there?”

“Aye. Him an’ Sir Philip is cronies. Was lads together.”

“Has Sir Philip other close friends?”

“Nay, not many.”

“I have reason to believe him and some other guilty of a felony.”

“You mean takin’ the lass?”

“Nay. Murder.”

Osbert was silent for a moment. “Sir Philip’s a bad-tempered sort, him an’ his brother.”

“Sir Philip has a brother? Does he reside on the manor?”

“Aye.”

“Describe these brothers.”

Osbert did so, and I was convinced that these were the men who had slain John Thrale, threatened my Bessie, and seized Amice Thatcher.

Arthur knew of South Marston, and told Osbert how best to travel there, avoiding East Hanney. He was to take the road to Faringdon, and thence to Swindon. He would come to South Marston a few miles short of Swindon. I gave the fellow two pence to see him on his way; enough to feed himself at some inn in Faringdon going and coming, but not so much as to give him thoughts of absconding with my coin without performing his duty.

“When you return,” I said, “we will find some place for you where you will not be ill used. If you do not find us here, ask the way to Standlake and Bampton. You will find me in Bampton.”

I hoped this was so, for if I had returned to my home it would mean that I had found two murderers and Amice Thatcher. I could not leave Abingdon with these obligations unfulfilled.

I was eager to return to East Hanney, convinced that Amice Thatcher lay somewhere in the village, but this desire was tempered now with the knowledge that Sir Simon Trillowe, a man who harbored much ill will against me, might be encountered there. Rather than Amice Thatcher, I might find much trouble in the village.

Never again will I set out upon some venture which might prove hazardous with but an hour of sleep in the previous night. And Bruce seemed resentful of being pulled from the mews and saddled. Perhaps he had more wit than I.

By the third hour Arthur and I, Bruce and the palfrey, were again upon the road to East Hanney. For the first two miles, till Marcham, we followed the way Osbert would have taken, and I thought we might catch him. But not so; the man was a fast walker.

After Marcham we turned our beasts south, to East Hanney, and again dismounted before we reached the village and led the horses into the same forest they had visited a day before.

From the same nettle-covered wall we peered out at Sir Philip Rede’s manor. All was quiet. Perhaps too quiet. None of the normal autumn labor was in view. No men were planting wheat and rye in new-ploughed fields. I had been worried that swineherds might drive their hogs into the wood, pannaging for beechnuts and acorns, and discover us there, but none were about. Tenants and villeins should also be gathering downed wood for winter fires at this season, and, indeed, I saw suitable fallen boughs in the forest behind me, but no man was collecting them.