[Roger the Chapman 03] - The Hanged Man (22 page)

'I have no intention of taking the horse from you,' I assured him. 'I just wish to see it, to be certain that it is the one that was lost.' Although I was already sure in my own mind that the animal was the one stolen from Master Herepath's stables. 'Can you take me now to the headman's cottage?'

But, as I spoke, a great clatter started up outside, two pieces of wood being loudly banged together. I guessed it to be the signal for the men to go to the mine-shaft and be lowered in their cage. It was time for the day's work to begin.

'And you with nothing in your belly!' the woman cried in alarm.

Her husband scornfully bade her hold her tongue. 'Give me a crust of bread to put in my pocket. That's all I need.' He eyed me up and down. 'If you'll be content to wait here, Master, until I return this evening, I'll take you to see the headman myself, and we'll hear what he's to say. If he thinks you trustworthy, and believes your story, he'll show you the animal. If not, he'll send you on your way no wiser. And don't think to be bringing the law down about our ears, for the sheriff's men, they won't meddle with the likes of us.'

That I could well understand.

I spent the day, from dawn to dusk, curled up by the fire, sometimes dozing, but more often just sitting quietly, piecing together the bits of knowledge which I'd gleaned over the past few weeks until they made a clear, whole picture in my mind. I thought now that I knew what had happened, the sequence of events and the motive behind them. Hamo and his sister, whose name was Gwynne, played in the dirt with the crude toys which, I guessed, they had fashioned themselves from odds and ends of rubbish which came to hand. And after a dinner of the stew which we had eaten yesterday, the woman, who had been busy all morning, sat with us near the fire and was prevailed upon by the children to tell stories of her grandfather, who had been recruited, along with many of his fellow miners, by the great Harry of Monmouth, to go to France and burrow beneath the walls of Harfleur. Weird and wonderful tales of foreign parts he had brought back to the forest when his job was done.

'I shall go beyond seas when I grow up,' Hamo declared stoutly.

'You'll go down the mine, like Father,' his sister told him, putting him in his place.

'I shan't! I shan't!'

'You will! You will!'

And they rolled over and over together on the floor, like two young puppies which snarl and scratch, but do not intend to hurt. Outside, the greyness barely lightened all day, so close-set and profuse were the surrounding trees. Dark, dripping and melancholic, they stood like sentinels on guard about the village, cutting it off from the rest of the world. I wondered if the sun ever penetrated the gloom. The sense of isolation was profound.

It was dark again before the man returned home, tired and filthy after hours underground. But once he had eaten - bread and salted bacon with a mush of lentils - and held his head beneath the pump, he was ready to keep his promise and conduct me to the headman's cottage. He lifted down the lantern and lit the rushlight inside. Then, with a jerk of his head, he led me outdoors.

The headman's dwelling was set a little apart from the others with a paling around it, so giving it its own small plot of ground. Other than that, however, it was the same daub and wattle building with a turf roof as the rest of them, although inside, it did boast a proper bed with faded and much-mended tapestry curtains. The chief himself was not some old man, hoary with age, as I had half-expected, but one very much like the others I had glimpsed, of the same indeterminate number of years. It was difficult to reckon with any accuracy how many nativities each miner had celebrated, for their calling seemed to rob them of blood; their faces were lined, their bodies stooped from long hours bent almost double hewing at the seams of tin beneath the forest floor. As the father of two young children, I doubted if my host and rescuer could be more than twenty-five summers at the most, and probably not so much, but in appearance he could have been twice my age. The headman, on the other hand, looked just as old, or just as young, depending on how one viewed the matter.

Looking back, I realize that what impresses itself on me now, after this long period of time, is with what courtesy and patience these people received me. The sort of life they led might well have brutalized them, until they were no better than the wild beasts inhabiting the forest. But the strict discipline of the mining communities had prevented that from happening, and I only wish I had appreciated it more then. I was young, however, and too absorbed in my own affairs to waste consideration on the hardships of others less fortunate than myself.

My host, whose name I realized I still did not know, explained my request to the headman, who regarded me thoughtfully for a while without saying anything. Finally, he asked, 'You swear you do not wish to take the horse away? Nor report our possession of the animal to the Gloucester sheriff? We need not fear him and his posse disturbing the peace of the forest, searching for the beast to confiscate it?'

'I swear,' I answered. 'By Our Lady and all the Saints.' The headman nodded, satisfied, heaving himself up from the stool on which he had been seated. 'I have to be certain, you understand, for it is a valuable animal. It would grace the stable of any nobleman, and would be worth the getting.' He indicated to nay host that he should lead the way out of doors with his lantern. 'You have the light, Hamar, to guide us.'

Hamo, Hamar, Gwynne, Gwyn Gwynson; as I followed Hamar, I thought how alike names in the community seemed to be, and guessed that they had been used and re-used for many hundreds of years, reflecting those of the earliest miners in the settlement. It was no doubt the same all over the forest and, by his name, a man could easily be linked to a particular mining village. The evening air struck chill, for I was not wearing my cloak, and the grass was slimy and treacherous underfoot. I wondered how a piece of prime bloodstock, used to the comforts of the Herepath stables, had adapted to life in these primitive surroundings. But the bay, when I saw him, seemed perfectly content, and gave a whinny of pleasure when the headman caressed him. A stable had been built among the trees, of the same daub and wattle as the cottages, but with a far sounder roof of pitch, and straw liberally scattered over the floor, ankle-deep to keep his feet warm. A wooden manger, full of hay, and a wooden trough, filled with fresh spring water, supplied the animal's needs, while several layers of dry sacking were tied across his back and under his belly for warmth against the winter's chill. His eye was bright, his coat thinning: he was happy and well looked after.

I had no doubt it was Edward Herepath's missing horse, for it was indeed light bay in colour, with black points and a white snip between its nostrils. It had been ridden here by William Woodward and cared for as his property; until one day, like an animal crawling back to die in its lair, his homing instinct had impelled him to quit the village on foot, to walk the long, dusty miles to Bristol. His poor, bewildered mind had forgotten everything after a certain moment, and he only remembered what he had to say when he finally returned home; that he had been captured by slavers and taken to Ireland. And as a child will do, repeating a lesson too well-learned, he had stuck to his story.

' You recognize the animal?' the headman asked me.

I had almost forgotten the presence of the others, so deeply had I been immersed in my own thoughts, and at the sound of his voice, I jumped. 'Y-yes, I think so,' I stuttered. 'I only know the beast by report, but I am sure it is the same one. Thank you for letting me see him. I shall trouble you no further.'

'Is there any other way in which we can serve you?' the headman inquired.

I answered eagerly. 'Is it possible to have words with Gwyn Gwynson who, I understand, discovered William Woodward in the forest?'

The headman nodded. 'You understand aright. It was Gwyn and his woman who nursed the stranger back to health, although his mind, alas, never recovered. Hamar will conduct you to his cottage. Hamar, tell Gwyn he has my leave to speak.'

I thanked him, and followed my host across the circle of grass to a dwelling almost directly opposite his own.

Inside, it might have been Hamar's cottage, with the one exception that instead of two small children there were four - three boys and a girl - all somewhat older in years than Hamo and Gwynne. As we entered, there was the same strong odour blended of pig and goat, the acrid smell of smoke and human sweat. The family had finished eating and were seated huddled round the dying fire, warming themselves before crawling into bed. At the sight of Hamar and a stranger in their midst, their eyes brightened with interest; and when it was known what was wanted, together with the headman's permission to speak, the air became charged with excitement. Such a diversion would have been welcome at any time, but in the depth of winter it was doubly so.

A place was made for Hamar and me by the fire, some fresh branches of wood thrown on to revive the flames, and Gwyn's woman poured us each a cup of ale brewed from germander, bitter and dark. Only then, when hospitality had been offered and received, did Gwyn begin his story and tell me what I wanted to know.

It had been last year, he said, in early spring, the day following that of the Annunciation of Our Lady, that he had stumbled across a badly injured man some little way into the forest. 'He would have died, Master, if I hadn't found 'im, for he'd been beaten savagely about the head.'
 

'A mass o' blood there were,' the woman confirmed, 'all down his neck and over his shoulders. I thought at first 'is clothes were ruined, but I managed to clean 'em somehow, though it took a while.'

Her husband was turning on her to stem this interruption, when I asked quickly, 'What were his clothes like? Of what quality?'

'Oh, a gentleman's quality, no doubt o' that. 'Twas what made them so difficult to put to rights.'

'Can you describe them? The colour, the cloth.'
 

'Velvet, the doublet was, and fine wool the hose. And the cloak was lined with fur. As to the colour, the cape and hood were lined with scarlet, that I do remember, and the doublet a rich, deep yellow.'

'And you say you managed to get the bloodstains out? A difficult task, I've always understood. How did you do it?'

The woman shrugged. 'Oh, aye, blood's not easy to wash away if the marks are set and old. But these were still fresh when my man brought the stranger home. I soaked 'era straight in water from the barrel.'
 

Her husband broke in here, plainly incensed at being excluded from the conversation for such a length of time, and anxious to reclaim my attention. "E couldn't long've been attacked when I found 'im. The blood 'adn't even dried. A moment or so earlier, and I might've seen who did it. But if I'd found 'ira much later, 'e'd've surely died.'
 

'What would have happened if he had?' It was the man's turn to shrug. 'The animals of the forest would've got 'ira. They say there's no wolves in these parts any more, nor've there been for hundreds of years. But I say I've seen 'era slinkin' in and out the trees.' The woman nodded solemnly in agreement, as did Hamar. Gwyn Gwynson went on: 'An' I've seen corpses what've been gnawed to the bone. You can't tell I that's not the work o' wolves.'

I asked, 'If the stranger had been killed and his body found by someone in authority, would the sheriff have pursued the matter?' My words were met with a blank stare. 'Would the sheriff have sent men to ask questions about the death?'

All three adults shook their heads. Hamar explained, 'There are footpads and thieves in the forest. Such deaths are too common to waste much time on.'

'So! If Gwyn here had not stumbled across my woman's grandfather-' how strange those words sounded to my ears - 'he would have vanished without trace?'
 

"Tis possible,' Hamar confirmed.

'For there were nothing on him to tell us who he might be,' added Gwyn. He inquired eagerly: "E got 'ome, then, the old man? Did 'e 'ave any notion where 'e'd been?' I nodded, and shook my head almost simultaneously.

'Yes, he got home, but he always insisted he'd been captured by slavers and taken to Ireland.'

"E were babblin" of that when 'e were 'ere. Does it make any sense to you, Master?'

'Perhaps,' I answered, unwilling to commit myself and provoke further questioning. I changed the subject. 'Is there much heresy, here in the forest?'

I had been deliberately abrupt, hoping to shock my audience into some kind of admission, even if it were only by the expressions on their faces. In this I was successful, for although they all vigorously denied it, as I had guessed they would, I saw the fleeting glances of alarm which passed between them. I tried to make light of the matter, 'I only ask, because a man in Gloucester told me that, last year, three Lollard preachers had been apprehended this side of the Severn. And many more, he thought, had remained uncaught. The heresy, it seems, is taking root in Wales.'

'We don't meddle in other people's business,' Hamar told me shortly, and rose to his feet, indicating that I should do the same. Our visit was over, and it was I who had brought it to a close by my interest in something which did not concern me. I had broken their golden rule that curiosity was the unforgivable sin. As long as I confined my inquiries to a subject which did concern me, because it pertained to my woman, they would afford me every courtesy and answer my questions to the best of their ability; but once I touched on so personal a matter as the religious beliefs of any of their number, then they saw no reason to humour me further. Good-nights were exchanged and my thanks coldly received by Gwyn and his family, but although I was sad at having to take my leave on such a sour note, I nevertheless could not regret my action, for I had gained my answer. I followed Hamar back to his cottage and rolled into bed, knowing that he would expect my departure first thing on the morrow, as soon as it was light.