Mel Starr - The Tainted Coin

Arthur voiced my unease. “Awful quiet,” he said.

I was tempted to walk brazenly through the village to see what was there, and learn why no men were about, nor women, either. But Sir Simon Trillowe knows me well, and should I come upon him Kate might soon be a widow. I could not ride Bruce into the village, for a stranger on horseback is noticed where the same fellow afoot might draw little attention.

Sir Simon had seen Arthur a time or two, but I doubted he would have taken much notice of him. Nobles rarely pay much heed to the commons, and aside from the thickness of his chest and arms there is little about Arthur to cause a knight to take a second glance his way.

“Something is amiss in that village,” I said.

“Aye,” Arthur nodded.

“No man of East Hanney knows you, I think. Walk through the village purposefully, as a man determined to reach some place before nightfall, and see what folk there are about. When you have passed through the place circle about through the fields and rejoin me. Do not return through the village, or some man will be suspicious of who you are and why you travel the streets in two directions.”

Arthur nodded and set off. From behind the wall I watched his head and shoulders — all I could see of him from behind the wall which divided field from road — until he disappeared behind a house.

I stood behind the wall, leaning upon the stones and careful to avoid the nettles, while I awaited Arthur’s return. Occasionally I looked to the west, to see if I might catch sight of him returning by the way I had advised, although I did not expect to glimpse him so soon. When he did reappear it was not in the manner or place I had suggested.

Arthur appeared from behind the house where I had last seen him. His head and shoulders bobbed rapidly behind the wall. He was running. This was an exercise Arthur avoided, and did not perform well when it was required. Something was wrong in East Hanney, and Arthur hurried to tell me of it.

I moved from my place, sought the road, and met Arthur as he plunged from the road into the forest. I said nothing, asked no question, for I was sure Arthur would explain as soon as he could. He gasped several times, and bent at the waist, hands upon his knees, to catch his breath, then hurriedly spoke.

“Hangin’ ’im,” he said finally.

“Who?”

“Osbert.” After another deep breath he continued, “Floggin’ ’im now. Whole village is watchin’.”

Here was the reason no man of East Hanney was at his work this day.

“Got ’im tied to a post, whippin’ ’im. Some men is raisin’ a gibbet before ’is eyes while the others beat ’im.”

These sentences Arthur blurted between gasps, then bent again, hands upon knees, to suck more air into his lungs. Whether Sir Philip intended to hang Osbert once or twice I did not know, but I had put him in this place and I must now do what I could to draw him from it. Arthur thought the same.

“What we gonna do?” he said.

Perhaps more sleep might have given me more wit this day. I could think of nothing but a straightforward plunge upon Bruce and the palfrey, into the village.

“To the horses,” I said, and ran stumbling through the forest. Arthur wheezed along behind. During this dash it occurred to me that we must have some sort of plan. When we reached the clearing where the horses were tied I turned to Arthur and told him of my purpose. He made no other suggestion, nor did he roll his eyes at the foolishness of my intent.

The forest was too thick to mount our beasts there. We led them to the road, scrambled into our saddles, and poked heels into the horses’ ribs. The animals obliged by careening into a thunderous gallop which made up in momentum what it lacked in speed. I had ridden Bruce at a gallop once before, and vowed I would never do so again. I was airborne as much as in the saddle. Whether Arthur fared better I cannot say, but palfreys are known for a smooth gait. He could not have been more jolted than me. How Lord Gilbert, clad in armor, stayed upright upon Bruce in the charge at Poitiers I will never know.

I had no sword, but the men I wished to surprise would likely have but daggers on their belts. I had told Arthur to go to Osbert, slash him free from the pole where he was bound, or cut him down from the gibbet if he was already raised there, and toss him over my saddle before me. I would drive men from the place with Bruce’s plunging hooves while Arthur did so. Then, with Osbert over Bruce’s neck, we would flee the village. Our beasts were not speedy, but by the time Sir Philip and his men could saddle horses and be after us we might reach Marcham. What safety that village might provide I could not say, but if we were to be caught up it seemed to me better to be overtaken in some public place than on a road in some barren forest.

The street curved as it entered the village, so the throng about the whipping-post and gibbet heard us approach before we were seen. All eyes were turned to us as we galloped into the village and plunged into the crowd. Those who were laying stripes across Osbert’s bloody back ceased and stared open-mouthed at our rumbling approach. Across the sea of faces I thought I recognized Sir Philip Rede, but I was too much involved with other matters to introduce myself.

Bruce drove into the mob, impelled by my heels poking at his tender flanks. When we neared the whipping-post I goaded the poor animal again with a sharp kick in his ribs, then yanked back on the reins. The insulted beast reared upon his hind legs, his massive forefeet thrashing the air. Those closest to the post scrambled away, including one of the two who had been assigned to flog poor Osbert. This man, in his haste to be away, dropped his bloody lash as he ran. The other stood his ground, sensing what I was about, and swung his whip toward Bruce.

The lash caught Bruce across his muzzle. This so terrified the animal that he reared upon his hind legs again. His flailing forehooves caught the fellow as he was drawing back his lash for another blow. One ponderous hoof struck the man full in the face. I saw his countenance disappear in a red bloom, then he dropped below my sight, into the crowd of frantic onlookers.

I remember wondering at that moment how I had managed to get myself into such a predicament, but I was too busy to ponder causes just then.

From the corner of my eye I saw Arthur leap from the palfrey and attack Osbert’s bindings with his dagger. Above the din I heard a voice cry, “Stop them!” but no one seemed eager to interfere with a brawny man armed with a dagger and another mounted upon a beast which had flattened a man’s face while they watched.

I kicked Bruce again in his ribs and set the horse to spinning about the post, where Arthur had completed slashing the cords which fastened Osbert. When he was free Osbert slumped to the ground, senseless from the flogging. Arthur shoved his dagger into its sheath, lifted Osbert’s crumpled, bloody form, and when Bruce passed by threw the fellow — Osbert, you will remember, is not a large man — across the pommel in front of me. To a conscious man this would have been painful, but Osbert did not so much as grunt in discomfort.

I again kicked Bruce in the ribs and sent him through the same opening we had made when we entered the crowd. So quickly had events occurred that the mob had not filled in the breach. Once again I heard a man shout, “Stop them!”

This was reassuring. Arthur was behind me now, on his own. Had he been subdued, the fellow would have cried out, “Stop him,” not “Stop them.” So the mind works at such times.

Bruce lurched into a gallop and when I had him pointed toward the street which curved north out of the village, I turned to see if Arthur followed. He did, and I saw no other horseman, as the bend in the street hid the stunned crowd.