“Lord Gilbert told me you must be returned when your back is healed. I will postpone that day as long as possible.”
“To what purpose? A few days more of life? I am a dead man. Sir Philip intends to make a lesson of me.”
“To keep other villeins from bolting the manor?”
“Aye. Since plague come he an’ his father before him has lost half the villeins who worked ’is demesne. What didn’t die of plague ran off, now that workers is scarce an’ a man can hire out in a town, or mayhap set up as a tenant upon lands of some other gentleman.”
“Did you ever think to do so?”
“Often… but I knew what Sir Philip would do did he take me. I only come with you because I knew what would happen to me for allowin’ Sybil Montagu to escape. Wouldn’t ’ave done so, otherwise.”
“Does your back cause much pain?”
“Nay. The salve you made… I can’t reach to all places on me back to daub it on, as Amice could do. Can’t bend to touch me toes yet, neither.”
“You may never be able to do so.”
“Aye. A man in ’is grave don’t touch nothing but the dirt in ’is face.”
“Perhaps there is a way for you to avoid Sir Philip’s wrath.”
“Not likely,” Osbert sighed. “You ’ave yer lord, an’ I ’ave mine, an’ they agree what’s to be done. There’s an end to it… and an end to me. I’ve set my mind to face what’s to come, an’ when I’m properly shriven I’ll go to meet the Lord Christ as a man.”
“Amice will be much grieved.”
Osbert was silent for some minutes, staring at the dying coals.
“She said she’s lost three good men,” he said.
“Three?”
“Aye. Her husband, the thatcher, what died two years past, then the chapman she was to wed. Now me.”
“You and Amice have found pleasure in each other’s company?”
“Aye. Never thought to find such a woman, an’ now I have, ’tis too late.”
“Does Amice feel the same? Would she wed you if you were not to be sent back to Sir Philip?”
“Aye, believe so. I’ve not asked. No reason to do so. I’ve few tomorrows left me.”
“So you wish me to see you back to Sir Philip now?”
“May as well. What’s a few more days to a dyin’ man?”
“‘To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven’ — so said Solomon.”
“Who?”
“Never mind. Perhaps the time for your death is not yet. God may have another purpose for you.”
“I wish it might be so.”
“Go to your bed. The fire is near out. Tomorrow we will speak more of this.”
Next day, at the third hour, after terce, I sought Father Thomas de Bowlegh, one of the three vicars who serve the Church of St. Beornwald. Father Simon and Father Ralph are fixed in their practices, but I thought Father Thomas might, if he knew the circumstances, be more adaptable.
No one may wed until a priest of his parish has read the banns for three consecutive Sundays — this so that if anyone knows why a man and woman should not marry, he will have opportunity to tell the priest of it.
If banns for Osbert and Amice were read out at the Church of St. Beornwald, Lord Gilbert would soon hear of it, and wonder that a man soon to be sent back to his lord, perhaps to his death, should plan to wed without his lord’s sufferance. And Osbert’s healing went well. I could not keep his recovery from Lord Gilbert much longer.
So when Father Thomas’s clerk answered my knock upon the vicarage door I had in mind a desperate scheme to save Osbert, and perhaps Amice as well. If the priest agreed, Osbert would soon be far from Sir Philip’s reach, and Amice would disappear from the shire, where Giles and Henry, back from London or wherever they had gone, would never find her to threaten evil did she not tell them of John Thrale’s treasure.
Father Thomas has the disease of the ears, so I knew his clerk would overhear our conversation. I was required to trust his discretion, for the matter I wished to raise with the priest must not go beyond the vicarage.
The priest invited me to sit with him on a bench, before the fire, and inclined an ear to me, the better to hear. He knew nothing of the dead chapman, or my pursuit of murderers, and as I wished much from him I thought it proper that he know all of the events which brought Osbert and Amice under the roof of Galen House.
I was sure that the clerk lingered somewhere near the door to hear my tale. This was confirmed when I concluded, for Father Thomas called out for the fellow, and he was in our presence instantly.
“Wine for Master Hugh,” Father Thomas said, then turned to me. “Why do you tell me of this? Is there some matter of the soul which requires my care?”
“Aye, there is. Two people, a man and a woman, are about to flee injustice, and should be wed before they set off upon the roads together.”
“This Osbert you told me of, and Amice?”
“Aye.”
“But the fellow fled his lord.”
“He did. I told you of the evil his lord did, seizing a lass, and how Arthur and I found him, lashed near to death, with a gibbet raised before his eyes.”
“And you believe this knight, Sir…”
“Philip.”
“Aye, Sir Philip, will slay him for fleeing the manor.”
“I’ve no doubt, nor does Osbert.”
“But the law…”
“The law would make murderers of us all, for if we connive in sending Osbert to his lord we will all have his blood upon our hands… and his death upon our consciences.”
“I wish you had not told me of this.”
“But I did.”
“Aye,” the priest sighed. “Now what is it you wish of me?”
“Tonight, after the evening Angelus, meet us at the church porch and marry Osbert and Amice.”
“But the banns…”
“If they are read Lord Gilbert will learn of it and decide that any man well enough to take a wife is well enough to return to his vengeful lord.”
“But ’tis church law.”
“Where in Holy Scripture is it written that no man, nor woman, may wed till the banns have been thrice read? Did St. Paul write of it?”
“Nay.”
“Men too often reject the requirements God places upon them, and rather place burdens upon other men which God does not.”
“But we have always done so.”
“Always? I think not. The earliest Christians had no church where they might read the banns, yet they married. Holy Church requires all marriages be public. Kate and I will be present.”
“I cannot do this.”
“They could set off unwed. Who would know? Making them husband and wife will keep them from sin.”
Father Thomas was silent for some time, struggling within himself. I saw his consternation and kept silent. “’Tis most irregular,” he finally said. “Father Simon and Father Ralph would never approve.”
“I know that. This is why I have come to you.”
“You think me more pliant?”
“I think you more just.”
“Oh. Well, I must think and pray about this. If you demand an answer now, it must be ‘no’.”
“Very well, but there is little time to contemplate the matter. Lord Gilbert, if Osbert crosses his mind, may summon me to the castle at any moment and charge me to return him to East Hanney.”
“And you will refuse, and resign your post?”
“Aye. Lord Gilbert will find some other to do the work. I will not. Osbert Hanney will die.”
“Return at midday. I will give you my answer then.”
I was optimistic that Father Thomas would agree to my scheme, so walked to Galen House with lighter heart than when I left it. Although, when he discovered that Osbert was away, Lord Gilbert might dismiss me from my post before I could resign. That troubled me, but I could live with reduced income more readily than with Osbert’s mangled corpse upon my conscience.
I gathered Amice and Osbert to the fire, and told them of my scheme. Behind Galen House was a cart, nearly new, and a young cart-horse, the property of John Thrale, which would have come to Amice had he lived a few weeks longer. I could see no reason it should not do so now. I had searched, but found no heirs of the chapman to whom the cart and horse should go. Lord Gilbert needed neither, and would not know they were missing.