The Communion paten was found well before sundown, mainly because two of the searchers knew exactly where it had been hidden.
All normal community life had come to an abrupt halt, as everyone over the age of six who was not bedridden, senile or sick was turned out to comb the village. Matilda, Gillota and Philip kept together, as an added opportunity to enjoy each other’s company. They used sticks to beat the verges and search the ditch between the church and the further end of the village street, prodding between the withering weeds of autumn for the glint of silver plate.
For more than an hour Kentisbury looked like an anthill, swarming with figures poking in and out of every cottage, barn, pigsty, ox-byre and privy. For the fifth time Thomas de Peyne made a futile exploration of his church and grounds, peering into every nook and cranny of his house, knowing that he was wasting his time but afraid to give up.
About an hour before sunset a sudden cry went up from one of the cottages.
‘It’s here! I’ve found it!’ came a stentorian bellow from one of the searchers.
There was a stampede of all those within earshot, followed by the rest of the villagers who had seen them running. Those first through the gate in the fence around the croft were rewarded by the sight of Garth brandishing a shining disc the width of a large handspan. He held it above his head, as Walter Lupus, Simon Mercator and the manor reeve came pounding from the various points where they had been searching.
‘It was pushed into the thatch, here!’ yelled the steward’s servant. Proudly, he indicated the frayed lower edge of the straw-covered roof, where it ended at head height, overhanging the whitewashed wall of cob.
Garth pushed his fingers between the layers of the six-inch-thick thatch, then slid the plate back into the crack to show how it had been concealed.
Hearing the commotion, Matilda and her daughter began trotting down the track towards the growing crowd, Philip close behind. Then, as they got closer, they slowed in horror.
‘That’s my cottage!’ howled Philip. ‘The bastards have trapped me!’
Without even a sign from Lupus or Simon Mercator, Philip de Mora was grabbed by Garth and Daniel the instant he set foot through his own gate.
Though he struggled violently, he was no match for the two large ruffians, who forced him to his knees before the manor lord and his steward, who were standing at the corner of the cottage where the plate had been found.
‘You contemptible thief!’ snarled Simon. ‘Stealing from a church is a blasphemous sacrilege, as well as a common crime. You’ll hang for this!’
Struggling, the former archer howled back at him. ‘You set this up, damn you! To pay me back for accusing you of running your dirty hands over young virgins!’
For answer, the steward kicked the helpless man in the face, causing blood to stream down from a cut over his eye. ‘Keep your mouth shut! Don’t add lies to your other sins,’ he hissed vindictively.
Walter Lupus regarded Philip impassively but did not interfere. Just then, the village priest limped up, great concern on his face.
‘You’ve found it, then, thanks be to God! Where was it?’
The steward gave Philip another kick, this time in the ribs. ‘This rogue stole it, canon. He hid it in the thatch of his cottage, no doubt until he could smuggle it away to sell.’
Thomas de Peyne, though greatly relieved at the restoration of the sacred plate, was nonetheless concerned at the steward’s behaviour. ‘You must not mistreat the man like that! He is innocent until proved guilty — which I find very hard to believe. In fact, now that the paten is restored, I do not wish to bring charges against anyone.’
Walter now came to life. ‘I am afraid that cannot be done, Father. This is a serious crime, both against my authority in my own manor and against the King’s peace, as well as being a serious sin against the Church.’
‘You were a coroner’s clerk yourself for many years,’ added Simon craftily. ‘You must be well aware of the law. That plate was worth at least nine marks — many, many times more valuable than the twelve pence that defines a felony.’
Thomas frowned. He already suspected that there was some conspiracy afoot here, but what the steward said about the law was correct.
‘But you must prove him guilty first. There is no call for arbitrary judgement — nor for the violence I just saw you commit upon this man.’
‘There is little doubt of his guilt,’ snapped Simon, who did not take kindly to being reprimanded by some ancient priest. ‘The stolen article was found hidden in his house — who else would do such a thing? He is a soldier, accustomed to looting. He has no land to work, so he needs money to live. He is guilty. Any trial would be a waste of time.’
Walter Lupus seemed to tire of his steward making all the decisions.
‘There will be a trial — at a special manor court tomorrow,’ he snapped. ‘Then he can be hanged!’
There was a general muttering from the crowd clustered around the gate and standing along the fence to the street. It was hard to tell if they were agreeing that this obvious thief should be summarily executed or whether they found it hard to believe that a man they had known since he was born in the village could have committed such a blatant and uncharacteristic act. Many already suspected that the unpopular steward and manor lord were involved in some scheme of their own.
‘How did that fellow of yours know to look so quickly in such an unlikely hiding place?’ asked Thomas suspiciously. But no one answered him, being too concerned with hustling Philip away, his arms locked behind him by the steward’s two acolytes. They marched him away down to the turning where the manor house lay, leaving the crowd of villagers staring after them, many as dubious about this performance as the parish priest had been.
Near the gate, Matilda and Gillota were almost paralysed by what was happening, unable to believe their own senses. One moment they were in Philip’s pleasant company, the next he was on his knees, assaulted and bleeding, before being dragged away to imprisonment and the promise of the hangman’s rope.
Several of their former neighbours tried to console them, knowing of their friendship with Philip. Many of the villagers were muttering about the high-handed actions of the men who ruled their hamlet with such severity, but it was to Thomas de Peyne that the woman and her daughter turned to for solace.
‘Father, they cannot hang him for this! It is such an obvious falsehood, to pay him back for accusing the steward of his foul behaviour,’ cried Matilda, her arm around her sobbing daughter.
Thomas knew about Simon Mercator’s indecency with Gillota and was shocked. As a young man, he had been falsely accused of the same offence with a girl pupil at the cathedral school in Winchester, which had blighted his life for several years until he was proved innocent. But now, the villagers who surrounded him were keen to confirm the steward’s reputation for such lewdness, and he had no reason to doubt them.
‘This sounds like a gross injustice!’ he agreed. ‘I will do what I can to stop this charade, but I have little influence here. I am not even the regular parish priest.’
‘Can’t you threaten to excommunicate them, Father?’ asked Matilda, almost beside herself with anguish.
Thomas gave a sad smile and shook his head. ‘It would require someone far higher than me to do that — and no grounds for such action exist in this secular matter.’
‘But it was a sacred vessel that was stolen from a church!’ she persisted. ‘Surely that is sacrilege?’
‘Yes, but as it stands Philip himself is the culprit and I fail to see how we can prove who else might be to blame.’ He sighed and gathered the skirts of his cassock together. ‘I will speak to Walter Lupus and try to make him see the truth — though I fear he seems too loyal to this Simon fellow for me to have much effect.’