Mel Starr - The Tainted Coin

“Gone,” a voice said. “All of ’em. Was two at other doors, but they fled when they saw t’others ride off.”

“Very well,” Lord Gilbert said. Then, to Father Maurice, “Is there a baker in Marcham? I would break my fast.”

“Aye, m’lord. He should be drawing loaves from his oven as we speak.”

Lord Gilbert handed coins to Arthur, told him to take another groom with him, and fetch loaves and ale. He then squatted by my pallet and spoke.

“I would hear more of this, when you are stronger. Arthur said there is a woman and children missing, and the woman may know something of the dead chapman.”

“Aye.” I did not intend to whisper, but that was all the response I could make.

“What of that fellow?” Lord Gilbert asked, pointing to Osbert. “Arthur said he fled his manor.”

“Aye. Did Arthur tell why?”

“He was hurried. ’Tis all a muddle. Something about the fellow guarding a maid Sir Philip Rede had seized.”

I raised myself to one elbow and intended to explain all to Lord Gilbert, but my strength failed. “The lass was stolen from her father and held for ransom,” I said, but then fell back to my pallet.

Lord Gilbert saw my weakness and did not press me further. I slept fitfully again, awakened often throughout the morning by the murmur of low voices. Shortly after the noon Angelus Bell I awoke to loud voices, and one of these feminine. A moment later Kate knelt by my pallet, cradled my dazed head in her arms, and pressed her wet cheek against mine. I began to feel better.

Lord Gilbert announced that, if we were to return to Bampton before nightfall, we must leave Marcham immediately. I called to Arthur and asked him to assist me to my feet. With his sturdy shoulder to lean upon I tottered across the churchyard, through the lychgate, to the privy behind the vicarage. I was much relieved! Here is no jest. I saw no blood in my discharge.

My thoughts were troubled and my body pained as Lady Petronilla’s wagon bore me, Osbert, and Kate to Bampton. I had thought that riding an old dexter like Bruce was a jolting experience, especially if the beast was spurred to a gallop, but enduring a dozen miles atop Bruce was nothing compared to the jarring I felt through the straw pallet which Kate had arranged upon the wagon’s planks.

Osbert suffered also, but after a mile or two he gave up groaning each time a wheel encountered a rut and bore the experience silently. Or perhaps the pain caused him to fall insensible again.

Kate would not be content until I told her all. Relating the tale helped me to concentrate my mind on the matter of John Thrale and his coin, and disregard the rutted road.

When we crossed the Thames at Newbridge there was yet enough light to see the bare branches of trees reflecting darkly from the river, but all was darkness at Standlake. We heard the bell of the village church ring the Angelus as we passed.

Kate took my head and rested it in her lap, told me I must say no more, but rest, then stroked my hair until I was nearly fallen to sleep. Shortly before the ninth hour I heard the voices of our escort speak of Bampton. I was home.

I remember being lifted, upon my pallet, from the wagon and taken to our chamber off the Bampton Castle hall. Kate then offered a loaf, from which I managed a few mouthfuls, but I remember nothing more till I awoke next day well after dawn. Kate sat in a shaft of bright sunlight, and when she heard me shift upon our bed she rose from her bench and was at my side.

I asked of Osbert. Kate was unaware of his condition, but promised she would seek John Chamberlain and learn where he’d been placed and how he fared. While she did so she required of me that I eat from a fresh loaf of wheaten bread and drink from a cup of ale she left beside the bed. As Kate put her hand to the door I asked that she also seek Arthur. I had a task for the man.

Arthur and Kate returned together. I sent Arthur to Abingdon to retrieve my sack of instruments and herbs from the New Inn, and to inquire of the abbey hosteler of Sybil Montagu. The maid weighed upon my conscience. Sharp as her tongue was, she was alone and defenseless in Abingdon.

Osbert, Arthur said, was put to bed in his chamber in the lodgings range, where Cicily, Arthur’s wife, could attend him. I bid Arthur take two grooms with him to Abingdon, for he might be recognized and need assistance should he meet Sir Philip Rede or his men in Abingdon or upon the road. The fellow was not eager to leave Bampton again so soon, but grooms learn early to do as they are bid.

In my pharmacy I had a vial of the juice of adder’s tongue. Early each summer I walk the hedgerows and along the banks of Shill Brook seeking this fern. The oil from its leaves and roots makes a soothing and healing salve. When Arthur was on his way I asked Kate to seek the vial. When she found it I told her to mix a small portion of its contents with clean water from Shill Brook to the proportion of three parts water to one part oil of adder’s tongue, then take the ointment to Arthur’s wife and direct her to apply it to the wounds upon Osbert’s back.

I explained that the oil of adder’s tongue, thus applied, would cleanse and speed the healing of Osbert’s lacerations. Kate nodded, took a clean bowl from our cupboard, and promised to return with water from Shill Brook.

When she returned she mixed the two liquids in a flask, then approached our bed.

“This will aid poor Osbert?” she asked, holding the flask before her.

“Aye.”

“Then I will apply some to your wounds also.”

I tried to explain that adder’s tongue was most useful when employed to bathe ulcerated wounds which resist healing. I had kept my own injury under close inspection and was pleased to see that scabs had formed where the arrow entered my back, and where the point had protruded from the muscle under my arm. Some small drops of blood yet oozed from these wounds, but little pus, for which I was much relieved. Most physicians and surgeons hold that thick, white pus issued from a wound is a good thing, and thin, watery pus is to be feared. But I hold with de Mondeville that no pus at all from a wound is to be preferred.

Adder’s tongue is not so helpful when applied to a wound which is scabbed over, but if there was any use to its application to my wounds, Kate would hear of no reason to abstain from dosing me, back and front. Being an apt scholar, I had learned soon after we wed that when Kate was set upon her course I had best keep silent if I disagreed. Oddly enough, her determination in such matters often proved correct. I ceased my objection and allowed her to pull down the blanket and coat both entrance and exit wounds with the thin ointment.

When Kate returned from the lodging range she reported that Osbert was alert but in much pain. I bade her return to Cicily with a pouch of pounded hemp and lettuce seeds to add to ale. This mix was a favorite of mine for reducing pain and bringing sleep, and when Kate learned of it she demanded I drink some of the mixture myself. She did not need to argue this time.

I slept through dinner, which, when I awoke, surprised me, for the hall is just the other side of the door to my chamber, and dinner in Bampton Castle is not generally a quiet affair.

Another surprise, and a pleasant one, was that I awoke hungry. The wounds were yet painful, and when I breathed deeply or tried to turn in my bed I was reminded of them anew. But I have observed that when an injured man recovers his appetite he is likely to regain his health.

I did not wish to rise from my bed and eat supper in the hall, so Kate brought my meal upon a tray. The first remove was farced capon, a dish I dearly love, and apples in compost. Perhaps I ate too much of these, for when Kate returned with the second remove upon her tray, a game pie and cabbage with marrow and cyueles, a few bites of game pie was all I could manage. I saw concern in Kate’s eyes, for she knows I am rarely so discomfited that I cannot consume my share and more of a meal. Of the third remove I know nothing, for I begged to be excused from any more nourishment from Lord Gilbert’s table, asked only for another cup of ale with crushed hemp and lettuce seeds, and under the influence of these herbs and a too-full stomach soon fell to sleep again. The last I remember of the day is Kate drawing her stool close beside the bed to watch over me. I was unhappy that I was the cause of Kate’s distress, but reflected that I would be even more melancholy if there was no one to sit with me and mourn my infirmity.