Mel Starr - The Tainted Coin

Bruce slowed his gallop. To save the beast for later exertions which I might require of him, and to allow Arthur to catch up, I permitted the frightened horse to slacken his pace. This may have been a mistake.

All summer, upon a Sunday afternoon, it was my duty as Lord Gilbert Talbot’s bailiff to organize archery practice and competition. By the King’s edict such contests occur throughout the realm. Men of Bampton are surely no more skilled with a bow and arrows than residents of other villages, and the worst of Bampton’s archers can put ten of a dozen shafts into the butts at a hundred paces.

Arthur, upon the palfrey, had just drawn even with Bruce when I felt a terrible pain high on my left side. I thought for a moment that Bruce’s jouncing gallop had cracked a rib or caused some other part of my body to come out of joint.

But not so. I looked down and saw, protruding from my cotehardie, the iron point of an arrow. Some bowman had taken his lord’s request to heart and loosed an arrow at me. Blood flowed freely from the rent in my cotehardie and dripped onto Osbert’s already bloody back. I could not guess how serious my wound was, but if the shaft had pierced my lung I was a dead man.

Without my heels in his flanks Bruce continued to slow his pace, so Arthur and the palfrey drew ahead. Arthur turned to learn why I did not keep pace, saw my bloodied cotehardie, and reined his beast to a halt.

“What has happened?” he shouted.

“An arrow… some archer has pierced me.”

“What am I to do?”

I was beginning to find it difficult to stay upright in the saddle. The arrow had entered high on the left side of my back, just under my shoulder, and I felt my left arm lose grip of Bruce’s reins.

“Take the reins,” I said, “and lead us to Marcham as quickly as may be. Take me to the church there, and I will tell you what must then be done.”

I tried to lift my left arm to give the reins to Arthur, but could not extend it. Arthur leaned from his saddle to grasp them, and as he did so another arrow hissed past and embedded itself in the road ten paces beyond. Arthur needed no more encouragement to make haste.

When we were again on our way I raised the right sleeve of my cotehardie to my lips. When I drew it away I saw no blood upon the wool and was relieved. Perhaps the shaft had missed my lung, and I might live.

The saddle became wet beneath me, and slippery with blood. Arthur urged the horses to a canter, and even at that pace I found it hard to remain upright. I glanced down and saw blood dripping from the stirrup. Where the arrow entered my back I must be bleeding copiously, although I could not turn to see the place.

To make sure of my seat I thought to lean forward upon Bruce’s neck, but this I could not do. The movement twisted the arrow where it passed under my arm, and brought greater pain. And when I bent forward the iron point of the arrow pushed into Osbert’s already bloody back. I must stay upright.

A fog seemed to settle before my eyes, and the road before us seemed to tilt, first one way, then the other. Through the haze I saw Arthur turn, and heard him shout, “We’re nearly there. Hang on!” He saw that I grew weak.

I must not fall. If I did, before Arthur could get me back upon Bruce, pursuers from East Hanney would likely be upon us. We must seek the church at Marcham, and sanctuary.

I recognized the corner where the road to Faringdon and the west met the road to East Hanney. Arthur slowed our pace as he guided the horses to the right, and above the rooftops of the village, less than a mile to the east, I saw the square tower of All Saints’ Church in Marcham.

Through the fog which obscured my vision I kept my eyes upon the church tower. It seemed to me that, so long as I kept my gaze fixed upon the tower, it would remain an attainable goal, but if I lost sight of it I would be lost as well.

The remaining distance to the church passed in a blur. Indeed, of what I now write I have little remembrance. Arthur told me later of events I could not recall.

Arthur brought the horses to a halt before the lychgate, tied them there, then assisted me from my bloodied saddle. I remember the shocking pain of dismounting, although Arthur was as gentle as he could be.

I could not recline, not with an arrow protruding from my back, nor could I sit, resting against the church wall. I gripped the lychgate with both hands, directed Arthur to take Osbert to the church, then slid to my knees as dizziness overcame me.

Arthur was loath to deal with Osbert while I yet held a shaft through my body, and protested, but I told him I would need his full attention to deal with my wound, and it would be best to lay Osbert out where he would be safe while the arrow was dealt with.

Arthur grimaced agreement, hoisted Osbert to a shoulder, and set off for the church porch at a trot. Osbert remained unconscious, but I could do nothing for him, pierced as I was.

I did not notice Arthur’s return, but suddenly he was standing above me. “What am I to do?” he asked.

“Help me to the church. Then you must find wine and remove the arrow.”

I threw my good right arm over Arthur’s neck and together we stumbled through the churchyard to the porch. Arthur had left the church door open, and I saw Osbert flat upon the stones of the floor as we entered.

“How am I to remove the arrow?” Arthur asked.

“Take first your dagger and cut through the arrow near where it enters my back. Try not to shift it much.”

Arthur drew his dagger from his belt and I winced as he grasped the shaft and began to whittle through it. The pain sent me to my knees and the fog before my eyes appeared again. Then I heard the arrow snap and fall to the flags, and Arthur said, “Done.”

When I could catch my breath I told Arthur I must lie down, or I would collapse when he drew the arrow. I lay on my right side, told Arthur to be certain there were no splinters where he had hewn the shaft in two, then told him to grasp the point and pull the arrow through.

He did so, and all went black before my eyes, but I heard him say, as from some distance beyond the lychgate, “There… ’tis out.”

A deep, overwhelming ache replaced the sharp agony of Arthur’s pulling the arrow through my chest. The blackness before my eyes began to clear. I saw the stones of the floor, and my wits began to return.

“You must seek wine, to bathe my wounds and Osbert’s,” I said.

“Where am I to find wine in such a place? Perhaps…”

Arthur’s hesitation caught my attention. He had been kneeling at my side, but scrambled to his feet as a distant voice spoke.

“Who is here?” a man said. “Is that blood I see spotting the porch?”

With the removal of the arrow, blood again flowed from my side. I tried to call out, but Arthur saw and clapped his hand over my mouth. He thought, he said later, that men from East Hanney had followed us.

The day was cloudy, and the windows of the old church were few and narrow, so the man spoke again before he saw us. “What man is in my church?”

It was the village priest who spoke. As he did so he saw Osbert; then Arthur, standing, caught his attention.

“What has happened to this man?” he asked Arthur. “Does he live, or is he dead?”

“Dunno,” Arthur replied. “Been too busy with Master Hugh to notice.”

“Master Hugh? The fellow at your feet? What affliction is here? This man,” he said, glancing to Osbert, “is all bloodied.” The priest’s eyes were becoming accustomed to the dim church interior. “Is this your work?”

“Nay,” Arthur replied. “That is Osbert. His lord has flogged him near to death, an’ would’ve had his neck in a noose had we not freed him. Then, as we fled the village, an archer put an arrow into Master Hugh’s back, an’ he lays here, near dead also. He’s asked for wine, to bathe ’is wounds, an’ Osbert’s. Have you any?”