I had sold more than half my stock when I saw a little knot of women coming towards me, their eager faces plainly expressing interest in my goods. A second look convinced me that they were a mother and three young daughters, so alike were they in their natural vivacity and general glow of good health. All were plump and round, like little robins, and with a delicacy and refinement of manner that raised them above the common ruck. But neither were they noble, there was only one servant girl, who carried the basket, attendant upon them, and their cloaks were made of camlet, trimmed with squirrel, not fur, lined with sarcinet. The family of a rich burgher, I decided, although I could take small credit for such a obvious deduction.
As they gathered around me, laughing and chattering, I could see that there was not much more than sixteen summers between the mother and her eldest child, a girl just entering upon womanhood and very conscious of the fact, judging by the provocative glances she directed towards all the men within range of her sparkling hazel eyes. I myself was the recipient of more than one glance, but steadfastly refused to return them, giving all my attention to the older woman and devoutly thankful that Joan, as her sisters called her, had not been a member of the hocking party I had encountered that morning. The two younger girls, variously addressed as Elizabeth and Ursula, were not as yet interested in the male sex except for their father, who, from their conversation, they regarded as the provider and source of all good things.
‘Mother, may I have this brooch? It’s so pretty and I’m sure Father would wish me to have it, don’t you think so?’
‘Oh, Mother, look at this doll. Father won’t mind if you buy it for me.’
‘Mother, I want a new needle-case and there’s an ivory one here which is big enough to hold at least half a dozen needles. If I explain to Father that I really do need it, he won’t care if you purchase it for me.’
‘Mother, this lawn kerchief will go very well at the neck of my green woollen gown. Father was saying only yesterday that it lacked sufficient adornment.’
Their parent, giving only half an ear to her two younger daughters’ requirements, was busy on her own account, making a selection of my wares, her small white hands hovering predatorily above the open pack, fluttering from object to object, touching first one thing and then another, unable to decide what she most wanted to buy. She, too, seemed to have no fear of a husbandly reprimand for her spendthrift ways as she selected ribbons, laces, two beautifully hammered pewter belt-tags and a pair of gloves, made in Spain. But the object of her greatest desire was the length of ivory silk brocade which, like the gloves, had come from the hold of the Portuguese merchantman, lying off Dartmouth. She fingered it longingly, but when I named my price, she did, at last, hesitate, as though such a purchase might stretch even uxorious tolerance too far.
‘Buy it, Mother,’ urged the middle girl, who was named, like my own child, Elizabeth, after our Queen. ‘Father remarked the other day that you need a new gown, didn’t he, Joan? And if he should quibble at the expense, I’m sure Uncle Oliver would be delighted to purchase it for you. He was inquiring yesterday how he could repay your hospitality. He has been staying with us for nearly three weeks.’
Her mother still hesitated, however. ‘I’m sure you’re right, dearling, but I cannot presume on either your uncle’s generosity or your father’s goodwill. But it is beautiful,’ she breathed, smoothing the brocade again. ‘See how it shimmers in the light.’ She thought for a moment, then seemed to make up her mind. ‘Chapman,’ she said, ‘after dinner, when you have finished here, will you be so kind as to bring this length of silk to my house, so that my husband can inspect it and judge of its quality for himself?’
‘I shall be most pleased to do so,’ I answered, ‘if you’ll give me your direction.’
She waved a delicate hand, prismatic with rings. ‘A little way up the hill. Ask for Warden Thomas Cozin. Everyone knows where we live.’ She spoke with all the certainty of someone of standing in the local community, and I had noted from the first that most passers-by acknowledged her and her daughters with a bow, a curtsey or a respectful word of greeting.
‘Thomas Cozin?’ I glanced at her sharply. ‘Warden of the Leech Well?’
She looked pleased. ‘You’ve heard of him already?’ I explained the circumstances as speedily as I could, and she frowned, her eyebrows almost meeting across the delicate, tip-tilted nose.
‘The outlaws were foraging again last night? Oh dear, oh dear! They are becoming such a menace in these parts.’ She lowered her voice so that her daughters should not hear. ‘The great fear is that they will grow so daring that they may find some way into the upper part of the town during the hours of darkness. The gates are locked from sundown until the sounding of the Angelus, but as you can see for yourself we are defended in part by a simple ditch and earthworks. Determined, evil men, could discover a way in, I’m sure.’ She shuddered. ‘And they have proved themselves capable of murder.’
‘Two children, I understand.’
Mistress Cozin nodded, unable for a moment to continue speaking. At last, she whispered, ‘Two innocents. Two little holy innocents with less than a dozen summers between the pair of them.’ She laid a hand on my arm, such a display of familiarity with a tradesman demonstrating the measure of her distress. ‘You must certainly tell my husband all you remember of the outlaws, Chapman. Even the smallest recollection may be of value.’
I doubted this, for the light had been poor and they were, when all was said and done, just men like a hundred others. Not one had had a club foot or a monstrous hump upon his back to distinguish him from his law-abiding fellows. Nevertheless, now that I was committed to visiting the Cozin household, I should do my duty and report what I had seen to the Warden.
‘I shall be with you after the dinner hour,’ I promised. ‘At this rate, my pack will be empty long before then.’ A squeeze of my wrist, and Mistress Cozin released me, suddenly aware of the impropriety of her conduct.
‘I shall tell my husband to expect you. Come girls,’ she added, raising her voice, ‘we must be go. Put your purchases in Jenny’s basket. Ursula! Elizabeth! Hurry along, now. Joan, don’t dawdle, please!’
The latter turned slowly from her contemplation of a young man listening to the minstrel, gave me a long, smouldering look from beneath her lashes and reluctantly followed her mother and sisters as they moved away. I blushed and hastily averted my eyes. Mistress Cozin called over her shoulder, ‘Don’t forget, Chapman!’ and, with the faithful Jenny trailing after them, mother and daughters began climbing the hill.
Long before the sun had reached its zenith, I had sold the bulk of my wares and was thinking of my dinner. It seemed many hours since I had eaten breakfast in Grizelda’s cottage, and my appetite, always large, told me it was time to go in search of food. So I bought two meat pies, from a pie shop, and a flask of ale and retraced my steps beneath the West Gate. From there, I followed the track which led downhill, past the cattle market, past the town’s medicinal spring, the Leech Well, and past the Magdalen Leper Hospital to the meadows about St Peter’s Quay, close by the ancient demesne of Cherry Cross. Here, within sight of the placidly flowing Dart and the dam which had tamed the tidal marshes south of the foregate, I assuaged my burning hunger and reflected on the events of the morning.