determined to strengthen his position with Matilda by ensuring that no harm came to her or her daughter.
It was two days later before Alice noticed the first change in the appearance of Joan Lupus. When she awoke, the invalid seemed to be brighter in the eye and sat up in her bed to take more interest than usual in the food that was brought. When Matilda and the older nurse came to change the cloths that staunched her bleeding, they found them dry for the first time in weeks. Next day, her colour was noticeably better, the pallor of her inner eyelids having changed to pink — and the following morning the lady of the manor declared herself strong enough to get out of bed and sit for a while in a leather-backed chair in the solar.
Everyone was delighted, as, unlike her husband, his wife was popular — or perhaps pitied — by the villagers and manor servants. Alice was commended by them for her expert care, and Matilda was content to keep well in the background, wondering if her stone had had any effect or whether this recovery would have happened anyway. She decided to leave it in place under the bed for the time being, in case it was still working its charm.
However, a few days later Joan was so much better that Alice said that there was no need for Matilda to help her any longer, as the lifting and general bed-care now seemed unnecessary. Afraid that she might not be able to recover her stone if she no longer had access to the bedroom, she retrieved it and put it back in its old hiding place. This was in the morning, when she reluctantly went back to her previous toil in the kitchen, but in the afternoon the village was hit by the equivalent of a thunderbolt.
The first Matilda knew of it was when she was returning to the kitchen after tipping a wooden bucket containing turnip and carrot peelings into the pigsty. As she crossed the bailey, she saw Parson Thomas hurrying from the gate towards the hall door, his limp accentuated by his haste. For a brief moment hope surged in her breast that he was coming with some news of her father’s manumission, but then she remembered that it was next week that he was going to Exeter. However, even the faintest hope of some development made her seize some clean platters from the kitchen and use them as an excuse to go to the back door of the hall and lurk just inside, where shelves held the dishes and utensils for meals. Walter Lupus, his steward and bailiff and the miller were sitting at a table within earshot and she could hear the grey-haired priest’s high-pitched voice quite clearly.
‘It was there the day before yesterday, for I cleaned it myself!’ he announced in an agitated voice. ‘Together with the chalice, it’s always stored in that aumbry in the chancel.’
Matilda knew that he was referring to an oak chest near the altar, where the priest’s vestments and the sacred vessels for the Eucharist were kept.
‘And you’ve looked everywhere else, father?’ rumbled Walter Lupus.
‘Of course I have!’ snapped Thomas, for once made irritable by his concern. ‘Three times, in fact. And there are precious few hiding places in that bare little church.’
Keeping as still as possible in the shadows, Matilda soon gathered that what was missing was the paten that held the scraps of pastry that were used to offer the body of Christ during the Mass. Walter Lupus rose to his feet and thumped the table with his fist.
‘That plate was silver! My father, God rest him, donated it to the church at the time of my birth, in thanks for a son, after having had three daughters!’
Simon Mercator leaned back on his bench to look up at his master. ‘That makes it all the more terrible, sir, for it has sentimental as well as monetary value!’
‘It was good Devon silver fashioned by smiths in Exeter and cost more than nine marks, so my father was fond of telling me,’ ranted Walter. ‘It must be found! Turn the village inside out if needs be!’
The steward and bailiff were on their feet now, Simon trying to reassure the manor lord that it would be retrieved.
‘It has to be in the village. No one from outside has been here these past few days,’ he brayed. ‘I’ll find the thief, have no fear of that! ’
‘What about that poxy carter, that Adam from Shebbear?’ roared Walter. ‘Though he was useful over those women, he’s a shifty character. I’d not trust him with a stale loaf, let alone a silver plate!’
The bailiff shook his head. ‘I’ve not seen him here for weeks. I think he may well have fallen foul of the villagers over that affair and taken his trade elsewhere.’
Simon Mercator persuaded Thomas de Peyne to sit down and poured a cup of wine for him. ‘I’ll not rest until we have got your plate back, Father!’ he said placatingly.
‘That’s the problem. It’s not my plate,’ replied Thomas. ‘I am but a temporary incumbent here and have betrayed my stewardship of this church’s sacred property!’
‘Not betrayed, Father. It is not your fault, but the fault of the evil, sacrilegious robber who has dared steal from the house of God!’ replied the steward. ‘But never fear, we’ll find him!’
He walked towards the main door and yelled for Garth. By now, other servants had sensed that something was going on and had crowded near Matilda, so she no longer needed to hide. She whispered an account of the theft of the Eucharist plate and there were murmurings of outrage at such an impious crime. Its value of nine marks was almost beyond their comprehension, as a mark was worth more than thirteen shillings.
Garth came clumping up the steps into the hall and, before Simon could speak, Walter Lupus had taken over. ‘Start a hue and cry around the village! Call in everyone who is in the fields, and we will set up a search. Let not a single stone go unturned — every croft and toft is to be ransacked! Look in every barn, cow-byre and fowl-house! Understand?’
Garth gaped at him and looked at the steward, who usually gave him his orders. ‘But what are we to search for, sir?’
‘A silver plate, stolen from the church!’ snapped Simon. ‘Tell everyone that if it is not found by sundown, there will be trouble such as they’ve never known before!’
The Communion paten was found well before sundown, mainly because two of the searchers knew exactly where it had been hidden.
All normal community life had come to an abrupt halt, as everyone over the age of six who was not bedridden, senile or sick was turned out to comb the village. Matilda, Gillota and Philip kept together, as an added opportunity to enjoy each other’s company. They used sticks to beat the verges and search the ditch between the church and the further end of the village street, prodding between the withering weeds of autumn for the glint of silver plate.
For more than an hour Kentisbury looked like an anthill, swarming with figures poking in and out of every cottage, barn, pigsty, ox-byre and privy. For the fifth time Thomas de Peyne made a futile exploration of his church and grounds, peering into every nook and cranny of his house, knowing that he was wasting his time but afraid to give up.
About an hour before sunset a sudden cry went up from one of the cottages.
‘It’s here! I’ve found it!’ came a stentorian bellow from one of the searchers.
There was a stampede of all those within earshot, followed by the rest of the villagers who had seen them running. Those first through the gate in the fence around the croft were rewarded by the sight of Garth brandishing a shining disc the width of a large handspan. He held it above his head, as Walter Lupus, Simon Mercator and the manor reeve came pounding from the various points where they had been searching.
‘It was pushed into the thatch, here!’ yelled the steward’s servant. Proudly, he indicated the frayed lower edge of the straw-covered roof, where it ended at head height, overhanging the whitewashed wall of cob.
Garth pushed his fingers between the layers of the six-inch-thick thatch, then slid the plate back into the crack to show how it had been concealed.
Hearing the commotion, Matilda and her daughter began trotting down the track towards the growing crowd, Philip close behind. Then, as they got closer, they slowed in horror.
‘That’s my cottage!’ howled Philip. ‘The bastards have trapped me!’
Without even a sign from Lupus or Simon Mercator, Philip de Mora was grabbed by Garth and Daniel the instant he set foot through his own gate.
Though he struggled violently, he was no match for the two large ruffians, who forced him to his knees before the manor lord and his steward, who were standing at the corner of the cottage where the plate had been found.
‘You contemptible thief!’ snarled Simon. ‘Stealing from a church is a blasphemous sacrilege, as well as a common crime. You’ll hang for this!’
Struggling, the former archer howled back at him. ‘You set this up, damn you! To pay me back for accusing you of running your dirty hands over young virgins!’
