Arthur drew his dagger from his belt and I winced as he grasped the shaft and began to whittle through it. The pain sent me to my knees and the fog before my eyes appeared again. Then I heard the arrow snap and fall to the flags, and Arthur said, “Done.”
When I could catch my breath I told Arthur I must lie down, or I would collapse when he drew the arrow. I lay on my right side, told Arthur to be certain there were no splinters where he had hewn the shaft in two, then told him to grasp the point and pull the arrow through.
He did so, and all went black before my eyes, but I heard him say, as from some distance beyond the lychgate, “There… ’tis out.”
A deep, overwhelming ache replaced the sharp agony of Arthur’s pulling the arrow through my chest. The blackness before my eyes began to clear. I saw the stones of the floor, and my wits began to return.
“You must seek wine, to bathe my wounds and Osbert’s,” I said.
“Where am I to find wine in such a place? Perhaps…”
Arthur’s hesitation caught my attention. He had been kneeling at my side, but scrambled to his feet as a distant voice spoke.
“Who is here?” a man said. “Is that blood I see spotting the porch?”
With the removal of the arrow, blood again flowed from my side. I tried to call out, but Arthur saw and clapped his hand over my mouth. He thought, he said later, that men from East Hanney had followed us.
The day was cloudy, and the windows of the old church were few and narrow, so the man spoke again before he saw us. “What man is in my church?”
It was the village priest who spoke. As he did so he saw Osbert; then Arthur, standing, caught his attention.
“What has happened to this man?” he asked Arthur. “Does he live, or is he dead?”
“Dunno,” Arthur replied. “Been too busy with Master Hugh to notice.”
“Master Hugh? The fellow at your feet? What affliction is here? This man,” he said, glancing to Osbert, “is all bloodied.” The priest’s eyes were becoming accustomed to the dim church interior. “Is this your work?”
“Nay,” Arthur replied. “That is Osbert. His lord has flogged him near to death, an’ would’ve had his neck in a noose had we not freed him. Then, as we fled the village, an archer put an arrow into Master Hugh’s back, an’ he lays here, near dead also. He’s asked for wine, to bathe ’is wounds, an’ Osbert’s. Have you any?”
“Wine? Oh, yes… and some for Extreme Unction. Have these men received Extreme Unction?”
“Nay,” I managed to whisper. “Nor will I be this day.”
After receiving last rites the Church considers a man as good as dead, even should he mend. I had no desire to recover from my wound but to fast perpetually, go barefoot at all seasons, and never again lie with Kate.
The flags were cold. I began to shiver, and Arthur saw.
“We must take Master Hugh and Osbert someplace where they may be warmed,” he said to the priest, “and remove Master Hugh’s bloody kirtle and cotehardie.”
But that was not yet to be. Before the priest could reply, I heard the hooves of several horses. The priest had left open the door to the porch. The horses were reined to a halt at the church wall, near the lychgate, where Bruce and the palfrey were tied, and I then heard men’s voices, one shouting louder than the others, although I could not hear clearly his words. I did not need to. I was certain we had been pursued from East Hanney, and Sir Philip Rede now stood at the lychgate with his men, ready to finish his work with Osbert, and me also.
Arthur understood this as well, and looked open-mouthed from me to the church door, awaiting some command.
Before I could summon my wits the priest turned and hastened to the porch to see who had arrived so noisily. I saw him glance through the open door and heard him mutter some indistinct oath. Then he did a surprising thing. He slammed the church door closed and slid the bolt to fix it shut in the face of Sir Philip — if indeed it were he who a moment later pounded upon the door and demanded admittance.
“Why did you not say ’twas Sir Philip Rede you had fled?” the priest asked Arthur.
“You didn’t ask,” he replied. “You know the man?”
“Aye. A blackguard, was ever one born of woman. He was to hang this one, you say?”
“Aye. An’ he comes through that door he’ll do it, an’ finish off Master Hugh, as well.”
“He’ll not do so,” said the priest. He looked down upon me, where I shivered upon the stones. “Do you claim sanctuary?” he asked.
“Aye,” I managed to whisper between rattling teeth. “I do.”
If Sir Philip had been a powerful lord he might scorn violating sanctuary and the threat of excommunication. But a poverty-stricken minor knight will think twice before hauling a man from a church before the allotted forty days have passed.
Sharp pounding again reverberated through the heavy oaken church door. Sir Philip hammered upon it with some hard object, perhaps the pommel of his dagger. At the same time he shouted a demand that the door be opened. This continued for some time, but none of us in the church made reply.
When Sir Philip grew weary of beating upon the door, the priest called out to him.
“Who do you seek?”
“My villein,” came the reply, “and the men who stole him from me.”
“They claim sanctuary,” the priest shouted.
To this there was no immediate answer. Sir Philip was unprepared for this announcement. I imagined what he was thinking. For forty days he would need to station guards at the church door to see we did not escape.
Osbert moaned. While unconscious he had been free from pain. If he regained his senses this would no longer be so. My sack of instruments and herbs was in Abingdon, at the New Inn. The church provided sanctuary, but was also a jail from which I could not escape to seek help for Osbert or myself.
I heard voices once more beyond the church door, and saw the priest turn his attention there again. I could not hear what was said, for the words spoken were not from voices raised in anger.
The priest said a few words through the closed door, then opened it a crack and another robed figure slipped through. As soon as this man entered the church the priest shoved the door closed again.
This newcomer and the priest exchanged a few muttered words, then the fellow walked off toward the tower. A few moments later I heard the church bell ring for the noon Angelus. The new man was the priest’s clerk.
I called out to the priest when the bell was silent. I needed a pallet for Osbert, and wine, to cleanse his wounds and my own. The clerk could come and go freely and could bring these things. And another scheme was forming in my mind. I had no wish to stay forty days in All Saints’ Church, my whereabouts unknown to any who could help to extricate me and Arthur from this confinement.
The priest, I learned, was Father Maurice. He listened while I told him of our needs, and agreed to send his clerk for the items. I asked for three pallets, if they could be had, wine, and a pouch of whatever herbs he might possess. The priest had lettuce seed and a vial of the juice of St. James’s Wort. The pounded lettuce seed, in a cup of ale, would help Osbert sleep, and the juice of St. James’s Wort would, along with the wine, prevent his stripes from festering.
Next I asked for a thing which caused the priest to raise his eyebrows. I requested a length of sturdy rope as long as the church tower was high. This tower was not so tall as might have been in a larger village.
The clerk was sent on his way with instructions to return with the needed items, and also loaves and ale. Father Maurice announced that he would remain, as he did not trust Sir Philip to respect the sanctity of his church was he away.
’Twas near the ninth hour when the clerk, accompanied by a young assistant, returned. He brought three straw-filled pallets, three blankets, the pounded lettuce seeds and the vial of the juice of St. James’s Wort, a ewer of wine, another of ale, three loaves, and a roasted capon. His delay, he said, was due to trouble finding a rope. This he had failed to locate.