A Trail of Ink (24 page)

Arthur’s struggles soon ended. Whatever he had tried to do to free himself had failed and he abandoned the effort. His dark form seemed more visible. Moonlight was beginning to penetrate the chinks in the brushy walls and roof of the hut, filtered through the leafless branches of the forest. How early would Sir Simon leave his bed and seek me? This was Sunday. Perhaps he would attend mass and consume a leisurely dinner before he sought the hut. I decided I must not assume this would be so.

Arthur was soon dimly visible. I saw his hands tied at the wrists behind his back, for he lay on his side facing away from me. I saw his fingers twitch, and it came to me what I might do. My work must be silent, for our guard was present, sleeping, near the door of the hut. I could hear his regular breathing, and occasional snore.

I rolled and writhed until I lay with my back to Arthur and reached for his bonds with numb fingers. He understood readily what I intended, and held his bound wrists away from his back so my fingers might find better purchase upon the knots fastening his arms.

My fingers felt stiff as twigs from the cold and the bonds pressing tight about my wrists. I tried to get a fingernail under the knotted cords. All the while I heard or imagined noises in the forest which my mind construed as footsteps approaching. Haste did not improve the effort. Defeated, I released Arthur’s bonds and forced myself to breathe more slowly; to search the hempen cord with my fingers until I might find a likely twist in the rope where I could undo the knot.

Arthur waited patiently while I explored his bonds and tugged at the knot. Gradually, after teasing it for what seemed an hour, I felt the knot loosen. Arthur felt it also. I heard him grunt approval through the gag. His joy was premature. The cord around his wrists was knotted three times or more. I had succeeded in loosening but one of these. Arthur was as securely bound as before this minor success. Failure was not to be contemplated. I resumed work on the tangle at my back.

I lay upon my right shoulder while I tried Arthur’s fetters. My right arm soon grew numb from its constricted place under my body. I was forced to roll to my stomach so to restore feeling to my arm and fingers. Arthur believed my movement a signal that I had given up the struggle. He became much agitated, grunting and groaning and attempting to speak softly through his gag. I feared he would awaken our sleeping sentinel. Arthur had surely heard our captors speak of our fate, and was unwilling to resign himself to such an end. No more so was I. I rolled back to my side and reached again for the knots. Arthur quieted when he felt me do so.

The knot refused to yield. If we were to free ourselves from this hut before Sir Simon and doom approached, another path to release must be found.

I left my place in the dirt and writhed forward until my hands found the knots behind Arthur’s head which held his gag in place. These would not need to be untied. Tight as they were, with a steady pull the blindfold and gag might be pulled over his head. So I hoped.

And so it was. Both gag and blindfold came loose with but a few moments’ tugging. I heard Arthur spit out the sodden rag from his mouth with a quiet oath.

I wormed my way back until my head was even with Arthur’s bound hands and turned so my knotted gag was at his fingers.

“Ali,” he whispered with a thick tongue, “I see what you’re about.”

I felt his fingers grasp the fabric of the blindfold and work it loose. Next came the gag. Like Arthur, I spat the soggy woolen remnant from my mouth. But not with an oath. I thought it unseemly for one who but a short time before had beseeched God for aid to speak now with an imprecation. And with a drowsing guard but a few paces away, this was no time for unnecessary words.

“I felt the tie loosen,” Arthur whispered. “You must be at it again. My fingers be too thick to deal with knots, or I’d ‘ave a go with yours.” I felt him push his bound wrists against me, offering them for my struggle. Our efforts could not be completely silent, but I heard a rising breeze sighing through the bare forest boughs which served to cover the sound of our work.

“I’ve another plan,” I replied. “Are your teeth strong, or rotted?”

“Strong. I’ve lost but one, an’ another’s a bit loose for the blow I took when we was set upon.”

“Then turn to me. I will place my bonds before your mouth. See can you chew through the cord.”

I heard Arthur shift his place. A moment later I felt his teeth at work on the rope about my wrists.

It took Arthur less time to gnaw through the hempen cord than I have taken to write of the business. My dinner knife and dagger lay on the table in Canterbury Hall’s guest chamber, did our captors leave them unmolested, else I might then have quickly freed Arthur. His knots were easier to undo with free hands, but required time and effort. When Arthur’s hands were free we set to work on the ropes about our ankles and were soon loosed from our bonds.

“Let’s have at the fellow they’ve left behind, then conceal ourselves in the forest and take Sir Simon when he approaches,” Arthur whispered through clenched teeth. He was angry and ready for battle. But I thought such a course unwise.

We were free, but unable to leave our cell for the guard stationed beyond the bushy door. During our struggle to free ourselves I had heard him snort and change his position several times, but he seemed to remain aslumber.

“My dagger and dinner knife are in the cell at Canterbury Hall. Sir Simon will not seek this place alone. And he and his companions will come armed.”

Arthur’s countenance fell as reality nudged thoughts of vengeance from his mind. “We might hide ourselves to see does he come alone,” he hissed. “Alone, even armed, we might take ‘im.” Arthur was unwilling to abandon retaliation.

“He will not do so. He will have companions. When they find this hut empty they will scour the forest seeking us… with swords in hand. We must be away when Sir Simon arrives.”

Arthur frowned and wrinkled his brow, but said no more of retribution. I went to the door, which was but a collection of sticks bound together with ground ivy and tied on one side with more ivy as a hinge. I gently pushed at this crude barrier and through a thin crack studied the forest.

Our snoring guard lay with his back against a tree three or four paces from the hut. I motioned to Arthur to take my place to see what must be soon done.

“I will open this door slowly,” I whispered, “so as to make no sound. When it is wide enough to pass, follow me. We may fall upon the fellow before he gathers his wits. If he awakens while I move the door, abandon caution and have at him.”

He did not awaken. In silence Arthur and I crept from the hut and stood over the snoring guard. The leaves of the forest floor were wet and made no sound to betray our advance. His dagger he carried in a sheath attached to a belt, and the fellow was so senseless that he did not awaken when I drew it carefully from its place.

Nearby lay a dead branch, fallen from the oak against which the guard slumbered. Arthur pointed to it and motioned as if to bring it down upon the guard’s head. I nodded, and so he did.

The blow was not so hard as to kill the miscreant, but his sleep would be protracted. We hauled the fellow to the hut, found the cords which had bound us, and trussed the guard securely. When we were done Arthur glanced about and found the woolen scrap which had been stuffed into his mouth. This he rubbed enthusiastically in the dirt, then wadded it into a ball and crammed it into the fellow’s mouth. The Lord Christ commanded us to do good to those who use us badly, so this was surely a sin. I pray Christ will forgive Arthur for this, and me, for I did not remove the filthy rag, but was pleased to see it done.

I wished to return to Oxford, but knew not which way to find the road which would take us there. I glanced about until I saw in the pale light of early dawn what seemed to be leaves stirred by footsteps and the track of heels dragged through the mould of the forest floor, then motioned Arthur to follow.

“Keep silence,” I whispered. “Any other man about in this wood will mean us harm. We must hear them before they hear us.”

Arthur nodded understanding, although I believe he would yet have wished a fight, and set off behind me as quietly as a man of his bulk might permit. I followed the leafy trail for near five hundred paces before a narrow clearing appeared. It was the place in the forest where, near a fortnight earlier, three mounted men had waited for Arthur and me to pass on the road, and where one of the fellows had left a tuft of green wool upon a thorn.

I approached the road cautiously. I did not wish to meet Sir Simon coming from Oxford as we attempted to return. The sheriff’s son and his party would be mounted. We should hear them approach around any bend in the road before they would hear or see us afoot. So I hoped.

And so it was. Near the third hour, when we had walked two miles or more, I heard several horses approaching beyond a wooded turn in the road. I looked to Arthur and as one we leaped from the road to clamber through an overgrown hedgerow. Beyond this pile of stones and brush was a meadow now grown up in weeds and thistles. The lord of this place had not enough tenants since the plague to see all his lands cultivated. Bad for the lord; good for me and Arthur. We were well able to hide ourselves before the riders came into view.

From our place of concealment we peered through the bare branches of the hedgerow to see who came our way. It was indeed Sir Simon Trillowe, with two armed men riding on either side, one leading a riderless horse. These fellows did not appear pleased to leave a warm fireside this chill day, and Sir Simon’s mouth was drawn tight and a scowl rested upon his brow. Did he blame me for the necessity of his journey?

I recognized Sir Simon’s companions. One was Sir William, who had accused me of stealing my own coat, the other wore a red beard.

The red-bearded rider accompanying Sir Simon wore a green surcoat. It is possible to make many shades of green by mixing the blue of woad and the yellow of weld. The green this fellow wore was dark, like a new oak leaf in June. Much like the thread in my pouch. Arthur muttered a wrathful oath. “Thought that log did for ‘im when ‘e went into the river under ‘is horse.”

We watched the riders pass. They looked neither to the left nor to the right, and had they done so, Arthur and I would have been unnoticed. We wore brown and grey, filthy with the mud of the road and the dirt of the swineherd’s hut, and blended well with the rocks and vegetation of our place of concealment. When Sir Simon was well past and his horse no longer heard, I motioned to Arthur to follow and clambered over rocks and through underbrush to regain the road.

“We must make haste,” I explained. “When Sir Simon finds the swineherd’s hut and his man bound there, he will cast about in the forest seeking us. But not for long. When we are not found he will hurry back to Oxford. We must be in the town before then. He will not attack us where others will see.”

I hoped this prophecy to be true. Arthur seemed content with the prediction. We walked east with rapid steps and soon the bell tower of Oseney Abbey was in view.

We hurried across Oseney Bridge and the Castle Mill Stream. I thought to seek Kate and explain my absence at mass this day and the final reading of the banns, but decided rather to return to Canterbury Hall. I wished to brush my garments, wash filth from my face, and seek evidence of our captors in the guest chamber while the event was fresh in my mind.