[Roger the Chapman 03] - The Hanged Man (21 page)

Master Shottery snorted indignantly. 'And he sends you to trouble me on this paltry matter? It was last March. The day after Lady Day.'

'In the morning?'

'God's Nails, what does it matter? Morning, afternoon, evening... Yes, yes, in the morning, for he was very laggard in making up his mind and I was afraid I would have to ask him to stay to dinner. Not that I should have minded, you understand, but my wife was recovering from a sickness.' Richard Shottery glowered at me from beneath his thick eyebrows, plainly annoyed at finding himself on the defensive. 'Now, unless you have any other questions to ask me, I have business to attend to.' I bowed obsequiously, as became a good servant, and took my leave, well-satisfied with this corroboration of the landlord's story. I returned to St Oswald's Priory where I collected my pack and then went in search of one of the brothers who might be at leisure. My first thought was for the infirmary, and here, indeed, I found several elderly monks recovering from winter ailments, either in bed or huddled together for warmth around the fire burning on the hearth. They willingly made room for a stranger in their midst, eager to exchange their small store of gossip for my larger one of the outside world. After a while, I was able to bring the talk round to the increasing spread of heresy among the poor, particularly that disseminated by the followers of Wycliffe, at which there was an instant hiss of indrawn breath and much shaking of venerable heads. Gloucester, it seemed, was nearly as big a hotbed of Lollardism as Bristol, and the pernicious evil was spreading westwards into Wales. Only last year, one of the brothers told me, his few remaining teeth clicking together in horror, three Lollards had been apprehended on the other side of the Severn, preaching their heretical message throughout the villages and hamlets of the forest, as they made their way through the marches which separate England and Wales.

'But others come to take their place,' he added with a sigh. 'It will need all our voices, Master Chapman, to overcome the Devil, so I exhort you to say your prayers.' I promised him I would, feeling a little ashamed that I had misled the good brothers with my show of piety, for my beliefs were as confused then as they still are today, though I suppose, even now, I should claim to be a devout son of Holy Church. But am I? I can only hope that my Maker will understand better than I do myself, when I finally stand before Him on the great Day of Judgement.

I shouldered my pack, said my adieus, and set off in the direction of the West Gate, stopping to buy three meat pies for my dinner from a pie-shop on the way. Once through the archway and past the gate-house, I walked until I reached the nearest crossing of the Severn.

By the time it reaches Gloucester, the Severn has narrowed, and there are several bridges which span its width. I chose the nearest crossing to the city, entering almost at once the outskirts of the forest which clothe the opposite banks. This is a strange, wild area, primeval trees enclosing an elemental and barbaric world, set apart from civilization. Tin is mined in the forest, and the small communities are a law unto themselves, holding their own courts and meting out far harsher penalties to offenders than any which the King at Westminster could devise. You can, as I discovered, ride for hours without seeing a soul, yet with the constant feeling that eyes are watching your every move. And when, at last, you do come face to face with one of the inhabitants, the men are frightening creatures, with blanched skin and stunted growth, like troglodytes sprung from the bowels of the earth to stare about them with blinking and hostile eyes.

It was late afternoon, and darkness was falling rapidly.

I began to be afraid. I was alone and on foot, with only my cudgel for protection, hungry and lost. With what confidence I had marched into the forest a few hours earlier! Why had I not paused to think that I did not know my route? I had assumed that I should soon come upon habitations, that there would be other wayfarers beside myself, that the forest paths would bear the tracks of many feet, making them easy to follow between one village and another. But the Forest of Dean is not like that; you need a guide who knows its labyrinthine ways. I have been back once or twice in the years since then, but never again have I attempted to cross the forest on my own.

I began to suspect that I was going round in circles, the several trees I passed had a familiar look, particularly the large oak with a scar upon its think; but, search as I might, I could not discover the track by which ! had entered the woodlands, and which passed between quiet homesteads clustered near the bridge. At last, shivering and icy cold, I wrapped myself in my cloak and curled up against the trunk of the oak, my stomach so empty that it hurt. I could hear small, nocturnal rustlings among the undergrowth, and the distant cry of a fox, up and hunting from its lair. I gripped my cudgel, taking a certain amount of comfort from the smooth feel of the wood in my palm. And the foliage above me was so dense that no rain could penetrate the leaves.

In spite of my discomfort, I must have fallen into an uneasy sleep, for I remember dreaming; a stupid, nonsensical dream, a jumble of the past week's events. After chasing me through the streets of Gloucester, the hooded man had just caught me by the shoulder, which he was vigorously shaking, when I came cleanly and suddenly awake. Someone was crouching over me, a small, bloodless face illuminated by the light from a lantern held in a thin, white hand. The voice which spoke in my ear was hoarse, as though speech was an art which my rescuer had not quite mastered.

'You're lost, Master.'

'Yes,' I agreed. 'I am.'

"You alone?' When I nodded, the man continued, 'You shouldn't be out on your own this time o' night, in the forest. You'd best come along with me. My woman'll feed ee and give ee shelter, if you don't mind lyin' in with the animals.'

'I've done it before now,' I answered gratefully, scrambling stiffly to my feet. My companion also straightened up, but came no higher than midway between my shoulder and my elbow. 'But you can't live near here. There are no dwellings anywhere about.'

The man laughed, a rusty, creaking sound. 'You're wrong there, Master.'

And I was, for we seemed to have been walking no time at all when I found myself in the centre of a circle of cottages. How we got there, I never knew, for it was now completely dark; and I speculated fruitlessly on how nearly I must have approached the settlement more than once that day, without being aware of its existence. My guide led me forward to one of the houses which, in the frail glow from his lantern, I could see were made of daub and wattle with turf roofs, smoke rising through holes in the middle. Inside, there was a beaten-earth floor, a central hearth, a bed of dried brushwood and animal pelts, a rough table, two three-legged stools, and a pig and a goat in a wooden pen. A small, half-naked girl and boy were already asleep beneath the pile of skins, and did not wake at our entry. A woman, as etiolated as her man, was kneeling beside the fire, stirring the contents of an iron pot, set among the burning logs.

She glanced up, her pale eyes widening in alarm as I towered above her. But she quickly got over her fright, getting to her feet and eyeing me suspiciously. 'Where did he come from?'

'Lost in the forest.' My host dragged forward one of the stools. 'Sit down, Master. Woman, he's cold and hungry. Give him to eat?

His wife, or so I presumed her to be, fetched a wooden bowl from a stack on the table and ladled me out some stew. I have no idea what was in it - hare, perhaps, with herbs and vegetables - but it was the most delicious meal I have ever eaten. I was ravenous, it is true, but the flavour was unequalled by anything I have ever tasted either before or since. The woman watched silently while her husband and I ate our fill, replenishing my bowl as it emptied, until I was eventually forced to hold up a regretful hand. Only then did she get her own supper. Later, she made me a bed close to the animal pen, by taking more brushwood from a pile in the comer, and throwing on top of it one of the pelts which covered the sleeping children. Without a word, she and the man climbed in beside their offspring and, in moments, were sound asleep.

I went outside, relieved myself, then fell on my own bed fully clothed, expecting to lie awake for hours. But I was so tired that neither the smell of the goat nor the snortings of the pig could prevent me from being asleep within minutes.

A blast of icy air woke me, and I sat up on my pile of brushwood to see my friend of the night before reentering the hut with a pail of water. It was still pitch-black outside, but there was a general atmosphere of bustle which told me it was morning. As I picked the twigs from my clothes and ran an exploratory hand across two days' growth of beard, my host poured the water into the iron pot and set about lighting the fire.

'Sleep well?' he grunted.

'Like the dead,' I assured him, conscious by now that I was being watched by two pairs of bright, excited eyes.

'Who is he, Father?' the girl wanted to know.

'Stranger, lost in the forest.' The man became aware of the child's semi-naked state and added roughly, 'Get thy smock on.' This was a garment of coarse, homespun linen, and when she had donned it, her father nodded in approval. To me, he said, 'Draw near the fire and warm yourself, Master. There's a pump outside if ee wants to wash.' He spoke as one who was conversant with the odder habits of strangers.

The woman had begun throwing oatmeal into the heating water, together with a handful of dried herbs, which hung in bunches from hooks driven into the wattle frame of the cottage. She was as silent as the night before, but the children, overcoming their shyness, had drawn close to me and, with the natural curiosity of their age, wanted to talk. But they waited until their father had once more gone outside.

'Where you from, Master?' the boy asked, wiping his hand across his running nose, then down the sleeve of his shirt, made from the same coarse homespun as his sister's shift.

'When I was a lad I lived with my mother in Wells,' I told him. 'But now I'm a chapman, and I wander from village to village peddling my wares. So you could say I don't belong anywhere nowadays.' I thought of Lillis and Margaret Walker and felt as though I had betrayed them.

'Do you get many strangers here? People like myself, lost in the forest?'

'Sometimes,' the girl admitted. 'But most people hire a guide. My father and the rest of the miners here will show you the way if you pay them.'

Her brother added, plainly bursting with importance, and pleased to show off in front of the stranger, 'We have a horse now.' Ignoring his mother's warning cry of 'Hamo!' he continued, 'Leastaways, the head man o' the village keeps it tethered behind his cottage, but 'tis for everyone's use if they need it.'

My heart beat faster in excitement. 'What sort of horse?' I asked. 'What colour?'

'Who's talking o' horses?' The man had returned with an armful of twigs and branches, and he stood in the doorway, glaring balefully at his son.

The woman looked fearful, rising from her crouching position by the fare, ready, if necessary, to step between husband and child. 'Leave him be, man,' she said quietly. 'He's said naught amiss.'

'What goes on in this village is our business,' her husband retorted angrily, 'and not for the ears of strangers.' I rose slowly to my feet. Loath as I was to get young Hamo into further trouble, I could not let the subject drop.

'This horse,' I said, 'I'd like to see it.' I flung up a hand as if to blind myself to my host's fierce gaze. 'I promise I won't attempt to take it from you or bring trouble upon the community, but it is very important that I take a look at it. Is it a light bay with black points and a white snip between its nostrils?'

There was a deathly silence for a moment, then the woman gave a moan. 'I always knew we were doing wrong, keeping that animal.'

Chapter Eighteen

The man said fiercely, 'Hold thy wist!' and he included his son in his furious glare. 'Thee both need tongue-locking!' He dropped his bale of faggots and raised a hand as if to hit whichever one was nearest. I stepped forward quickly and seized his waist.

'Don't blame your woman and son, for I should have found out sooner or later. The reason I'm in the forest, the reason I'm travelling into Wales, is to seek information of a man named William Woodward, the grandfather of my affianced bride.' The words had slipped out before I was even conscious of them, and I realized suddenly that somewhere, somehow, I had made up my mind. For good or ill, I was committed to Lillis Walker and intended to make her my wife. 'From what I've heard, it seems I need go no further. I suspect he was found here, in the forest, last year, a day, maybe two, after the Annunciation of Our Lady. Am I right?'

The man, who had surprising strength for one so small and puny-looking, tore his wrist free of my grasp and backed away, his mouth set in a thin, hard line, prepared to maintain silence; but he had reckoned without the agitation of his wife. She was openly sobbing now, and her thin fingers clung to my arm.

'I do admit 'twas one of our number found him, but 'twasn't no one here who gave him the beating. It were Gwyn Gwynson stumbled across him and brought the poor gentleman to the village, and we women nursed him back to health. But we never knew his name nor where he came from, for his mind had gone from the blows he had got to his head. Kept repeating he'd been captured by Irish slavers, and that's all he would ever say. Master, you mun believe me, for 'tis God's truth.'

Accepting that the cat was out of the bag and that there was no getting it in again, my host said defensively, 'We didn't steal the horse. One of us found him wandering loose in the forest some days later, still saddled and bridle& but half-starved, poor beast. We meant to return him to the man you say's your woman's grandfather, but one day, he just up and left when nobody was about. Vanished into thin air. High summer it were by that time. He'd been with us three or four moons. There was a meeting o' the village elders, and the headman thought we mun keep the horse. God's Providence, he said it were, for sometimes 'tis needful to go quickly between one community and another. When one of our children is sick, and our Goody has no sovereign remedy, we can send to a neighbouring mine-head, and maybe their woman will have the answer. In such cases, 'tis a godsend to travel swift. If you take it from us, 'twill be an ill-service you do.'