“Many gentlemen about who be tall an’ spare, or short an’ stout,” he said.
“Aye, but the tall fellow commonly wears a red cap, and the short man wears a blue cap. And they may often be seen together.”
Osbert was silent, thinking. I feared he had fallen to sleep while he considered my words, and this was nearly so, for his speech was slurred when he replied.
“Sir John’s got squires. Might be two of them you seek. Folk like me don’t see much of gentlefolk from another manor, but I seen ’em a time or two when they was with Piers. The three of ’em is friendly, like.”
“Sir John Trillowe?”
“Aye,” Osbert finally replied. I saw that I was losing him to Morpheus and decided further questions could wait for the morning. In the other room Alice slept upon her cloak, and Sybil breathed heavily upon the pallet. I lifted the candle and with it lighted my way up the stairs to Kate, Bessie, and my bed. I had ridden Bruce far that day, and my wounds ached.
I awoke next morn to the sound of movement below. The east window of our bedchamber allowed enough light from the grey dawn that I could see my way down the stairs, where I found Alice tending the coals upon the hearth, fanning them to flames under fresh wood she had placed there. Osbert was awake, observing the procedure. Sybil lay upon her pallet, watching from under a scowl.
I turned to Osbert and was pleased to see him rise to an elbow, take a deep breath, then push himself to a sitting position upon his pallet.
“Dreadful stiff,” he said, “an’ hurts some. But I’m weary of layin’ here on me belly. Won’t spill so much ale if I can sit up.”
We broke our fast with what remained of yesterday’s maslin loaves. I ate rapidly, so as to be rid of Sybil Montagu the sooner. She was eager to go to the castle, assuming that there she would be amongst folk of her own quality, and be assigned a feather mattress upon which to sleep.
Wilfred had the portcullis up and the gate already open, so I did not have to rouse him to admit us to the castle. I found John Chamberlain, told him briefly of Sybil Montagu and the reason she now stood pouting beside me, and asked him to relay the tale to Lord Gilbert. Men must be sent to South Marston, I concluded, so as to inform Sybil’s father of where he might collect her. I should probably have taken Sybil to Lord Gilbert myself, but I had little desire to stand in my lord’s presence.
Somewhere in East Hanney Amice Thatcher and her children were held, and likely in conditions designed to persuade her to tell her captors where John Thrale had found his loot.
She did not know, so she said, and I believed her. But would those who took her agree? If they finally did so, would they release her, or do murder so as to cover one felony with another? And if they thought she did know the place where the chapman found coins and jewels, what hurt would they inflict upon her and her children to compel her to tell? Whether Amice Thatcher knew of the cache or not, I must find her and set her free. If I could not, harm would come to her, no matter her knowledge or ignorance. And when I found Amice I would also find the men who murdered John Thrale.
Osbert was prone upon his pallet when I returned to Galen House. “Got dizzy,” he said in explanation. This was good to know. If Lord Gilbert asked of his recovery I could honestly tell of his infirmity.
When I sat before him upon a stool to learn more of East Hanney he rose again from the pallet, catching his breath once as pain stabbed him.
“Do you know much of Sir John Trillowe’s manor?” I began.
“Nay. Never been inside the gate.”
I feared as much. “You would not know, then, if there was some place — an unused hut, perhaps — where two squires might keep a hostage unknown to Sir John?”
“Nay. Might be such a place. Most villages ’ave abandoned ’ouses now, since plague.”
“Are there many such in East Hanney?”
“Aye. Two on Sir Philip’s lands. Don’t know how many on Sir John’s manor, but I heard tell there was some.”
“Sir Philip’s lands lie to the north of the village?”
“Aye.”
“Whereabouts are Sir John’s lands?”
“Most of the village is Sir John’s, an’ to the south an’ west. His lands is greater than Sir Philip’s.”
“Do you know of Sir Simon?”
“Him of the ear what’s skewed out aside ’is head?”
“Aye.”
“Some years past ’e spent ’is time in Oxford, mostly, but a year or so ago ’e come back to East Hanney. Returned to help see to ’is father’s lands, folks do say.”
I did not tell Osbert why Sir Simon left Oxford, nor why he had a misshapen ear. Perhaps another time I shall do so.
I wished to prowl the lanes of East Hanney to learn what I could of the village, abandoned houses there, and sheds and huts which might be found adjoining Sir John Trillowe’s manor house. And while I explored the place I would study the mud of the street to see if the mark of a broken horseshoe was there.
But I was known in East Hanney. I could not set foot in the place without some villager recognizing me as the fellow mounted upon the crazed dexter who helped free the villein who, according to Sir Philip’s design, was providing entertainment for the village nine days past.
As I considered this my hand went absent-mindedly to my beard, which I had not trimmed for many days, and a solution to the problem came to me. A few days past I had examined myself in Kate’s mirror and saw white whiskers amongst the brown. Each month there seemed to be more. I complained of it once, and Kate replied that the graying of my beard made me appear distinguished and mature. Kate can be tactful. What she meant was that I am beginning to appear old. If I powdered my beard and hair with wheaten flour from Kate’s bin, I might appear older than my years.
From one of Lord Gilbert’s ploughmen I could get an old, tattered cotehardie and surcoat, and a pair of worn shoes. Garbed in such a manner, with hoary beard, I might pass unrecognized through East Hanney. When I told Kate of my plan she gazed at me as if I’d been dropped upon my head as an infant, the result only now becoming plain.
I took a sheet of parchment from my chest and asked Osbert to sketch upon it a map of East Hanney. With my hand under an elbow he stood and walked unsteadily to a stool I had set before our table. The man could not read or write, but was a competent artist. When he was done I knew the location of Sir John’s manor, the village well, the blacksmith’s forge, the baker, St. James’ Chapel, and where Sir Philip’s manor stood in relation to the village.
After a dinner of pease pottage and wheaten bread I set out for the castle to seek Arthur. I intended him to accompany me as far as the forest north of East Hanney, there to wait for me to complete a survey of the village. When I told him of my scheme he also studied me as if I’d lost my wits. Perhaps I had, but if I could not do something for Amice Thatcher, and soon, there was a fair chance the woman would lose her life.
From the castle I went to the house of Alfred, a ploughman. Some years past, when I was new come to Bampton, I had surgically removed a stone from his bladder. Alfred surely wondered why I asked the loan of his oldest cotehardie and surcoat, but when a lord’s bailiff makes a request, most men will answer as needed. And Alfred remembered the relief I had brought him.
He had but one pair of shoes, but I found a shabby pair in the castle, belonging to Uctred, another of Lord Gilbert’s grooms. Thus equipped, I was ready to set out again for East Hanney early next day, and instructed the castle marshalsea to have Bruce and the palfrey ready when the Angelus Bell sounded from the tower of the Church of St. Beornwald.
A man wearing such frayed clothing, yet riding a great horse, would attract unwanted attention. So when Arthur and I set out from Bampton next morn I carried Alfred’s and Uctred’s contributions in a sack slung over the pommel of my saddle. In the sack also was a length of stout hempen rope. If we found Amice, and she was guarded, it might be necessary to bind the man.