The man smiled. He gently loosed the cord, removed the bolt and put it into a small pouch on his belt. He crouched down so that his face was level with that of Matthias. A kind, handsome face; the eyes crinkled when he smiled and the smooth-shaven cheeks showed dimples, as if the man loved life but found everything slightly amusing.
‘Well, if you are not an outlaw brat, who are you?’ He took off his leather, gold-fringed gauntlets.
Matthias noticed the ring on his finger. It bore the arms of England. He had seen similar insignia when he had been in Tewkesbury with the hermit.
‘I’m the priest’s brat,’ Matthias replied. ‘Matthias, son of Osbert the priest at Sutton Courteny.’
The man stood up and extended his hand.
‘And I am Rahere, the royal clerk.’ His hand was soft and warm. He gripped Matthias’ gently.
‘You are the clerk?’ Matthias exclaimed.
‘I am the clerk,’ Rahere mimicked back. ‘Sent by His Grace the King, at the request of Baron Sanguis, to carry out the King’s justice.’ He looked around. ‘I thought I’d come by this way.’ He pointed to the church. ‘One of the old villages, I suppose, wiped out by the plague? And this is your hiding place?’
‘No, it was the home of a friend,’ Matthias replied. ‘He was a hermit. He was taken prisoner and burnt as a witch by the villagers. Now Baron Sanguis has caught the man responsible.’
Rahere nodded, slapping his gauntlets against his thigh, though he gazed at the church, smiling faintly.
‘And did you like the hermit?’
‘He was my great friend,’ Matthias replied. ‘He was strange, very strange, but kind to me. I come here because I miss him.’ His voice trembled. ‘I am a little sad.’
Rahere crouched down again. ‘You shouldn’t be sad, Matthias, not on a summer’s day like this.’
‘He showed me foxes,’ Matthias continued, his lower lip trembling. ‘He did no one any harm. He used to live there.’ He pointed with his thumb back over his shoulder towards the church. ‘He drew a beautiful rose.’
Rahere stood up. ‘And I have come to do justice for his death,’ he declared, his voice harsh and low. ‘So, little Matthias, the day is drawing on. Show me the path to Sutton Courteny.’
‘I thought your pony was lame?’ Matthias chattered as they walked back towards the lych-gate.
‘Oh, just a pebble in his shoe.’
Without asking, the clerk picked Matthias up and put him on the saddle and climbed up behind him. He gathered his reins, clicked his tongue and the horse moved on, the pony trotting behind. The clerk wore a perfume, a faint fragrance. Matthias felt warm and secure, though he wondered why such a clerk should come by forest paths.
‘Before I arrive anywhere,’ Rahere spoke up, as if he could read Matthias’ mind, ‘I like to ride around, speak to people, acquaint myself with the place in which I am going to work. I learn a lot that way. So, Matthias, this ride is not free. Tell me about Sutton Courteny.’
The boy began to chatter. How his father was the priest, that Christina, his mother, was ill. About the different accidents which had occurred since the hermit’s death. How he hated the Preacher. How Baron Sanguis was kind and how Bogglebow, the witch woman, had died so mysteriously.
The clerk listened. Now and again he would interrupt with a question. Matthias was so engrossed in this series of questions and answers, he hardly noticed the wolf’s-heads until they were upon them. Just where the path narrowed, before it turned the corner, the outlaws, seven in number, came like shadows out of the trees. Armed with sword and dagger, they blocked the path: two carried longbows, arrows notched to the string. Their leader, dressed in dirty green, his head covered by animal skins, swaggered forward.
‘A traveller and a boy.’ His voice was harsh. ‘Get down from your horse!’
‘Stay still,’ the clerk murmured to Matthias.
‘We could have shot you from the forest,’ the outlaw continued. He moved sideways and whistled under his breath. ‘But that horse looks expensive and it’s the horse we want to save, and your clothes, of course.’ He laughed over his shoulder at his companions. ‘Nothing like a bloody arrow wound to ruin a good shirt. So, down you get, fine sir, you and the boy. We’ll take your clothes, your purse, your weapons, your horse. If you are good and do what we say, you can keep your lives.’ He spread his hands. ‘I am all compassion.’
‘You promise our lives?’ Rahere replied.
‘On my mother’s honour. Or rather your father’s.’ The outlaw laughed aloud. ‘That is if you have one!’
‘When I put you down,’ Rahere whispered, ‘run like the wind!’
He lowered Matthias gently to the ground. The boy scampered into the undergrowth. Even as he did so he heard the horse behind him neigh. He stopped and turned round. The clerk had moved with lightning speed, digging his spurs in savagely. The great war horse had leapt forward in rage, its hooves scything the air. The outlaw leader was knocked over like a twirling ninepin. The bowmen were unable to loose but now they closed. Matthias, fingers to his mouth, saw them slice the clerk’s body with sword and dagger and heard the yells of expectant triumph. These faded as the clerk just turned his horse and came back. Sword raised, he struck the outlaws like an avenging angel. The horse, trained to war and quickened by the scent of blood, struck out with iron-shod hooves. One outlaw, hands to his face, staggered away screaming, the blood pumping between his fingers. Matthias stood stock-still. He had seen Baron Sanguis’ mounted men practise at the tourney but never anything like this. For a short while the stillness of the forest was shattered by the scrape of steel, the cries and oaths of men locked in mortal combat.
And then it was over. The clerk still sat on his horse, face sweating, chest heaving, his sword covered in blood from tip to hilt. Five of the outlaws lay dead; one knelt whimpering, still holding his face. Another groaned in agony, twisting on the ground. The clerk nudged his horse towards them. Twice his sword was lifted, coming down in cutting scythes and the two surviving outlaws died. Rahere dismounted. He cleaned his sword on one of the outlaw’s cloaks, took a water bottle from his saddle horn and splashed his hands and face. He then inspected the horses.
‘They are fine,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘They are trained for war, Matthias. Notice how the sumpter pony stayed stock-still and how the destrier fought like a warrior.’
Rahere picked up his sword where he had placed it against a corpse, resheathed it and walked along the trackway. He pulled the small, red ribbon from his hair, shook his hair loose around his face like Matthias had seen Christina do. Then he took a comb from his wallet and began to comb his hair, all the time staring at Matthias.
‘A bloody day’s work, eh?’
The boy just stared at the corpses. It had happened so quickly. One minute these were living men, dangerous, now they lay scattered about like hunks of meat.
‘Life and death,’ the clerk declared.
‘But they cut at you,’ Matthias said. ‘I saw them cut you with sword and dagger.’
‘You probably saved my life,’ Rahere replied. ‘They may have been after the horse but one of them, with a spark of kindness, balked at killing a child.’
‘They struck at you,’ Matthias repeated.
The clerk now retied his hair at the back of his head. He brushed the dust and stains from his cloak, jerkin and hose.
‘Two things, Matthias. First, if you strike at a man on a horse, your sword is going upwards: it loses a great deal of its force. Secondly,’ he threw his cloak over his shoulder and pulled up his jerkin. Matthias glimpsed the bright steel mesh beneath. ‘Milanese steel,’ the clerk explained. ‘Light as a feather but stronger than iron. Now come, boy. Let’s ride in triumph to your village. I’ll leave you at your house and then I’ll go to Baron Sanguis. I’ll tell our good lord to clear his forest paths.’
They continued on their journey. Only as they entered Sutton Courteny did Matthias remember the clerk’s words: ‘
8
The Chronicler of Tewkesbury, when he came to describe the bloody and horrific events which occurred in Sutton Courteny around the Feast of All Saints 1471, noted that the beginning of the end was the Preacher’s trial
