Mel Starr - Unhallowed Ground

“Jane told you what happened?”

“Aye.”

“Why did you not seek me and charge the scoundrel?”

“Jane begged me not. Atte Bridge said to her if she told, ’e’d do worse to her, an’ take revenge upon her family, too.”

I had experience enough of Thomas atte Bridge to know his words no idle threat.

“But when you saw Jane was with child, why then did you not seek justice?”

“Bah. What justice is there for a maid when such befalls her? An’ even did hallmote find against Thomas, ’e’d soon seek us to take vengeance.”

Peter spoke true. Atte Bridge nursed his grudges well. And the carpenter knew also of the prescript, which Galen wrote many centuries past, that a woman will not conceive except she be a willing partner. A lass who is with child cannot therefore accuse a man of rape, and if she does not bear a child any accusation is but the maid’s word against the man’s. Who would believe her but perhaps her father? I wonder if Galen might have been wrong about this. Surely Jane Carpenter did not willingly lie with Thomas atte Bridge.

The carpenter is a large man, his movements ever slow and measured. I had never seen the man hurried in walk or work. His temperament matched his manner. A frown seemed never to cross his face, until this day.

I am a peaceful man. How might I change, sixteen years hence, does Kate bear me a daughter and the lass be set upon by some miscreant like Thomas atte Bridge? Because Jane conceived no court would indict atte Bridge for rape. Galen had said it could not be so. The carpenter’s shop would have many planks of proper size to deliver a blow across a man’s skull. And Peter is strong enough that a stroke from him might render a man senseless. Senseless long enough to haul his body from the Weald to Cow-Leys Corner?

Did Peter’s wife assist, or his lad? Perhaps she or he carried atte Bridge’s feet, and briefly dropped them in the muddy road when the burden grew heavy.

Peter Carpenter, like Hubert Shillside, is a friend. What if I were to discover that one of these indeed murdered Thomas atte Bridge? The mournful thought occupied my mind as Kate and I walked Church View Street to Galen House. On our way we met Martyn the cobbler and Eleanor hurrying from the church. Eleanor carried a pale bundle in her arms. The babe was properly baptized and the outcome now in God’s hands.

Not entirely. How would the babe’s life be altered did I discover that his grandfather had slain his father? I did not wish to think longer of the matter. But it is sure that when a man tries to dismiss a thought it will fix itself in his mind.

The day was far gone when Kate and I returned to Galen House. We ate a cold supper of capon and barley loaf and went silently to our bed. I found no rest, and heard Kate’s steady breathing for much of the night before I fell to sleep some time shortly before Kate’s rooster announced the new day.

Neither Kate nor I had appetite to break our fast. She set ale and a wheaten loaf before me. But I could manage only a small portion of the loaf. I am not usually so afflicted. Hunger can overwhelm my darkest moods, most of the time.

“Will you seek the carpenter’s house this day,” she asked, “to learn if the babe lives?”

“Aye.”

“What fine must they pay?”

“Six pence for leirwite, another six for childwite is common.”

“Common? You say so, but your manner says other.”

I motioned Kate to our bench, placed more wood upon the fire, for it was a chill morn, then sat beside her and told her of Peter Carpenter’s disclosure.

Kate’s lips grew thin as I related the tale, and although the blaze upon our hearth grew warm I sensed a chill come over Kate.

“So a bailiff would make Peter Carpenter pay for the injury done his daughter?”

“Some would, to keep their position. Great lords are always in want. Most would have a shilling from even a pauper could they get it.”

“Is Lord Gilbert Talbot such a man?”

“He will not turn profit away, but I think he would see unfairness in this matter.”

“Think you so?” Kate replied with raised brows.

“He will not return from Pembroke ’til Lammastide. Perhaps he need not know.”

“Or by Lammastide we may know the truth of Thomas atte Bridge’s death.”

She said “we” again. I wished no discord this day, so did not contest the word. I was not long practiced at being a husband, but I am a ready scholar.

Next day I found Peter sitting upon the same bench where I had left him. I asked for news of the babe.

“He lives,” he replied, “but cries weakly and does not take the breast of the wet nurse strongly.”

As he spoke a curate and four others darkened the door of the carpenter’s house. They had come to bear Jane to the churchyard.

Jane had been already wrapped in her burial shroud and placed in a coffin. Peter would not see his daughter await the return of the Lord Christ in only a black winding sheet. The curate’s companions carried the coffin from house to street, and I joined the procession which made its way up Church View Street. Kate heard the wailing as we approached and followed as the mourners passed Galen House.

The bearers set Jane down in the lych gate, where Father Thomas awaited the procession. Before the sixth hour mass was said, the grave diggers had completed their work, and Jane Carpenter was awaiting the resurrection of the dead in St Beornwald’s churchyard.

I had little stomach for business in what remained of the day, but busied myself at the castle so as to escape thoughts of recent black events. Next morn, after a loaf and ale, I bid Kate “Good day,” and set out again for the castle. I came upon Peter Carpenter as I passed Rosemary Lane. He had a bag of tools slung over a shoulder and was evidently called to exercise his carpentry skills. Some lives must continue even when others cease.

“A fine day for labor,” I remarked, finding any other subject of conversation uncomfortable.

“Aye. If I keep me hands busy I can keep me thoughts from Jane an’ what befell her. Father Thomas says hate is an evil thing. We are to love others. How can a man love one who ravished his daughter, her but a maid, an’ sent her to her death?”

Choosing a contrary subject for conversation with one who is single-minded is not readily done.

“The Lord Christ commands us to love our enemies,” I replied. “Even those who use us badly.”

“Aye, so the priests say. Don’t say ’ow to do it, though, an’ they don’t have daughters to be despoiled… Well, there be some as do, I suppose.”

“Where does your work take you this day? I will walk with you if it be toward the castle.”

“In the Weald. Some man did hamsoken there while all were thought to be at mass. Broke down the door, an’ I’ve got to place a new door-post an’ set the hinges right.”

“Who was attacked?”

“Philip Mannyng.”

“He is an aged man, is he not?”

“Aye. Keeps to ’is bed most days. Amabil went off to church, an’ come home to find ’im beaten. Senseless, he was.”

“Who did such a thing?”

“Couldn’t say. Amabil asked, of course. He couldn’t remember. Whoso done it took a club to ’is head while ’e was sleepin’. Amabil said as ’e had great lumps on ’is skull an’ ’is nose broke.”

“Did they complain to the vicars?”

“Oh, aye. Father Simon come to see the damage an’ what could be done. Philip could recall nothing.”

“Do Philip and Amabil have enemies in the Weald? They are the bishop’s tenants, so I know little of doings there.”

“Don’t know much of what ’appens in the Weald meself, but never heard anything against ’em. Arnulf is wrathful an’ seeks whoso did it.”