Both feet flat in the bloody smears, Margery Blessop stood over her daughter-in-law. Looking up, Tyballis watched one shoe lift, ready for the kick. She rolled over, reached out and grabbed the hovering leg. Between her fingers the ankle bones protruded from the thin grey woollen stocking. Tyballis wrenched and the woman thundered down in a heap, skirts up around her garters, feet in the air. Tyballis scrambled out of the way, but a sharp and flailing heel caught her nose. She yelped. Margery bounced upright, looking for a quick attack. Tyballis read her eyes and dodged. Margery gave chase.
Caught against the wall, Tyballis was slammed back as the plaster cracked, feeling both Margery’s hands around her neck, the scratch of broken nails and fingertips like little cold pebbles. Tyballis hesitated, pulled Margery’s hands from her neck and flung her bodily. The older woman staggered, slipped in blood and fell. Tyballis snorted and turned away. The cauldron, heavy with pottage, hit her hard from behind. The slime of broth and cold turnips slipped over her little cap, into her eyes and down her back. The iron rim sent her reeling back on the floor, on her hands and knees with her face to the wasted dinner and her nose and mouth covered in blood.
‘Clean it up, whore,’ hissed the voice from behind her. ‘I’ve money now, plenty to buy a better supper. Turnips is only for horses and I’ll eat no more of your rancid stews. I’ll get me a pie and one for Borin, but I’ll not be bringing one home for you. If you’re hungry, lick it up from the floor like the dogs do. When I get back, I’ll expect your apology, or there’ll be more of the same kind to come.’
Tyballis heard the door slam and sighed with relief. She sank back, sitting in pottage. Strings of cooked leeks clung to her skirts. She put her hands to her head and unpinned her ruined cap. Her head was pounding, and her fingers shook, but she smiled at herself. Such a nonsense squabble, and of her own making for once.
Bringing water in a shallow bowl from the rain keg outside, she gazed at her reflection. As she started to laugh, her lower lip split and bled again. Cleaning herself was a slow job. With resolute concentration, she washed the blood from her face, dug out a splinter lodged in her chin and wiped the muck from her clothes. Her headdress was beyond salvage, so she combed her hair and left it loose. Checking the ripples in the water bowl once more, she grimaced. Only a sloven stared back, lacking even the respectability of a covering for her hair.
Tyballis did not attempt to clean the floor. The trail of blood continued to spread through the desultory pools of stew. She tipped the bowl of water over the hearth’s last hot ashes and watched the eager flames splutter and sink. Then she took down her cape, draped it over her head and tucked the ends across her shoulders. Taking nothing, she opened the door of her own house and walked out into the patter of autumn drizzle. Standing a moment, she breathed deep. Sunshine was lurking behind the clouds.
She said no silent goodbyes as she closed the door and started to walk briskly down the street. She knew already; this time there would be no going back. Cutting across the churchyard from Whistle Alley into Fynkes Lane, Tyballis hurried through the unpaved back streets, puddle-pocked where ravens washed their outstretched wings like a group of gossiping widows over the communal tub. She had not yet admitted to herself where she intended to go, but she headed east and did not falter.
Chapter Six
The stench from the busy tanneries was carried in from the east, the stinks of the great dung vats and the filth and gore of the soaking skins, the tubs of scraped fat and the decomposition of the residue boiled for glue. Not far off, a thousand hides were stretched on their tenters, their careful preparation already foul on the wind.
When Tyballis arrived at the high wall, she stopped at last by the swinging gate, catching her breath as she tucked her near-frozen fingers inside the ends of her cape. The drizzle had turned to a bitter sleet and her toes were numb. From where she stood, the house seemed only toppling brick chimneys climbing out from the surrounding trees. Autumn leaves, dripping russet and copper, poured filtered rain onto the slush of the pathway. Tyballis stood a moment, resting against the musty bark. The moment stretched and the shadows grew long.
She contemplated her decision. There was neither purpose nor future in her life. Just the temptation of warmth and comfort ahead, and the longing of a welcome, since none lay behind her. But even having come this far, she hesitated.
The whisper came from the damp dark silence. ‘Well darling,’ so close it tickled her ear. ‘Don’t I know you? Coming to visit me, was you?’ Tyballis kicked backwards, and the man chuckled. ‘What a vixen. And there was me thinking you a proper lady.’
He let her go suddenly and she whirled around. Knowing the stains on her clothes, the swollen lip and bruised face would make her into the slattern she knew herself but hated to seem, Tyballis lifted her chin and changed the glare to disdain. ‘I don’t care to be mauled, sir,’ she said.
Davey Lyttle grinned. ‘That’s better, mistress. Remember your pride. And wait to cut my bollocks off until you get to know me better.’
‘I won’t be getting to know you at all, neither for better nor worse,’ Tyballis said. ‘I was simply passing by. I’ve not come to visit.’
The man shook his head. ‘Lying is a sin, my girl. There’s no one passes by here, lest they’re looking for Drew or one of the rest of us. Even the bloody tanners don’t dare come too close, since it’s known we bite.’
‘Whatever you care to think, I intend leaving now,’ Tyballis said. ‘If you’ll please stand aside, it’s getting late and I should be on my way home.’
‘Back to the city?’ Davey laughed. ‘Well, Beautiful, it’s later than you think. The gates will be closed before you could reach them. Forget those cold streets. Come on in. No doubt someone will have a little supper to spare, though it won’t be me. I’ll be looking for a handout myself.’
Since her cuts and bruises would certainly look as bad as they felt, being called beautiful annoyed her. But it was, originally, food and company she had hoped for and still craved. ‘The gates are shut?’ she said, already knowing it must be true.
He took her hand. ‘Just look at the sky, my dear. Trust me, though there’s few who do. But you’ll be welcome indoors, that I can promise.’
Tyballis allowed herself to be drawn towards the house. The looping shadows parted, and inside the warmth and light reasserted. No expensive wax candles, but a huge hearth bursting flame and the soft aromatic smells of burning wood lit the main hall. Tyballis moved tentatively towards the fire, but Davey called her back. ‘Not down here, darling,’ he waved a casual hand. ‘There’s the kitchens behind, but for the rest it’s Drew’s place and he keeps downstairs for himself. His hall, his fire. Come on up with me.’
Tyballis climbed, wary for gaping holes. ‘But,’ she said, ‘surely it’s this landlord I should speak to first. Though,’ she added in a rush, ‘I’ve no intention of staying.’
Davey sniggered. ‘State of your face, girl, you’ll stay. You’re on the run from someone. Husband, father, or the law. Besides, it’s usual for travellers to take shelter where they can, and few who’d refuse to offer it. Not that respectable females on their own is common. But there’s rooms enough upstairs, empty for the taking and Drew don’t care and turns no one away.’