gold shielding the sky. No one was around yet, and quickly Matilda found the hole she remembered from her childhood days, about shoulder high in the rough bark. She recalled that birds used it for nesting and squirrels left nuts there, but now she quickly thrust the little stone into the crack and covered it with a handful of moss pulled from the other side of the tree. With a last glance to make sure she had not been observed, she hurried back to the manor after cutting some wayside herbs to put in her bucket.
Meanwhile, Walter Lupus and his steward had again shrugged off Thomas de Peyne’s impassioned plea for mercy for the condemned man and his repeated request that the matter be sent to the justices in Exeter.
Thomas was uncertain what Walter was thinking about this issue. He remained silent and just shook his head at all the priest’s supplications, but it was the steward who did all the talking, almost as if he had the manor lord under his thumb, instead of the other way around.
‘You’re wasting your time, parson — and mine!’ snapped Simon. ‘Better if you employed it in shriving the man and getting his confession. Time is rapidly running out for him.’
Despondently, Thomas took this advice and went to the stable to spend the last hour with Philip, who seemed dull and apathetic, hardly answering him. He made a mumbled confession, which did not ring true to the priest’s ears, though Philip firmly denied stealing the Eucharist plate.
Soon, Garth came in to jerk on his fetters and pull him out to lead him down the road to the hanging tree, followed by Walter Lupus, Simon and the other officers and senior servants of the manor such as the bailiff, sergeant, huntsman, hound-handler and hawker. Thomas de Peyne walked alongside the alleged felon, talking earnestly to him and saying prayers for his soul, which seemed to fall on deaf ears. A few villagers were waiting at the gates, but the majority of the manor deliberately kept away. This was unusual in a hanging, as when a known criminal or outlaw was to be dispatched it became almost a festive occasion. Now, however, the absence of most of the village was intended as a mute protest against the tyrannical behaviour of the lord and especially his evil steward.
By the time the dismal procession reached the large oak, Daniel had already gone ahead to throw a rope over the large branch and form a noose in one end, which hung down ominously at about head height. Where permanent gallows were erected, such as those in Exeter or Tavistock, the condemned were either made to climb a ladder and were then pushed off with a noose around their neck — or stood on an ox-cart, which was then driven away, leaving them dangling. Here the execution was performed more simply, by hauling them up until their feet left the ground.
Without any delay, Philip was marched across to stand under the branch, which was as thick as a man’s waist where the rope ran over it.
Thomas, his eyes moist with compassion, stood alongside the doomed soldier, continually intoning Latin prayers. Well back, Matilda and Gillota, with a handful of villagers, stood weeping as they watched the noose being placed over Philip’s head by Garth.
Through her tears Matilda tried to concentrate her willpower on the winged stone, though she was beginning to despair of its powers. She felt Gillota doing the same and, with a surge of mental effort, they both urged the artefact to help them.
‘Get out of the way, Father!’ called Simon Mercator. ‘You’ve done all you can. Now let justice take its course.’
Daniel and Garth went to the other side of the branch and grasped the free end of the long rope, taking up the slack until the noose was dragging Philip’s head erect. Simon moved towards the trio, holding his hand up in the air, ready to give the fatal signal.
‘Now, pull!’ he shouted, letting his hand fall. As Thomas made the sign of the cross in the air and despairingly chanted a last valediction, the two ruffians hauled on the rope together. Philip made a gargling noise as he was lifted from the ground by his neck.
The next moment there was a creaking groan and then an ear-splitting crack as the sturdy branch tore away from the trunk of the great oak and thundered to the ground in a blizzard of dust and leaves. There were screams from Daniel and Garth as the falling branch swept them aside like dolls. Miraculously, Philip was untouched, rolling well clear with the rope still around his neck. The further end of the branch landed on Walter Lupus, the foliage and smaller branches flattening him to the ground, bruising and scratching much of his body.
But it was Simon Mercator who fared worst, as he was standing midway between the two thugs and the manor lord. The half-ton of wood fell directly upon him, pinning him to the ground and breaking both his legs.
With much shouting and screaming, the onlookers ran towards the chaotic scene, though no one seemed in a hurry to tend to the steward. The bailiff and sergeant of the Hundred hastened to aid Walter Lupus, whose clothing was ripped and whose face and hands were bleeding from superficial wounds. He seemed to have been struck on the head, as though he was conscious he was groaning and unable to stand or speak.
Gillota and Matilda raced to help Philip, who was on his hands and knees, tugging to get the rope from around his neck.
‘Are you hurt?’ asked Gillota, who was first to reach him.
‘No, but it was a miracle! I thought my last moment had come,’ he gasped. ‘What happened?’
Thomas de Peyne put a helping arm around him as he staggered to his feet. ‘A miracle indeed!’ agreed the priest, still bemused by what had happened. He had suspected for some time that there was more to Matilda than met the eye, but as a devout Christian he had to eschew anything outside his faith, so he held his tongue for fear it might land her in serious trouble.
By now, more people had appeared, streaming down from the centre of the village, having heard the commotion. They stood and marvelled at the huge fallen branch. Several went behind the mass of foliage that lay on the ground and dragged out Daniel, who had a broken arm, and Garth, who was unconscious from a blow on the head. Then they attended to the steward, as the bailiff and sergeant were still fussing over Walter Lupus. The branch was across Simon’s legs, and it took eight men to shift it off him.
‘He’ll never walk again without sticks,’ said the blacksmith, the strongest man there when it came to lifting trees. ‘If he survives this, he’ll be no use as a steward or anything else. Maybe it’s God’s retribution!’
The injured men were propped against the bole of the great oak until it was decided how to move them, and together with some of the villagers Philip and Thomas stared up above them at the yellow-white scar where the branch had come away from the trunk.
‘It doesn’t look rotten, so why did it fall?’ asked Philip. He was thankful yet mystified at being snatched from the brink of death.
‘No rot there. The wood’s as healthy as me!’ declared the village wheelwright, an expert in anything to do with timber. ‘A little tug on a rope wouldn’t snap that! You should have been able to swing a pair of oxen from that branch.’
Matilda, now openly clinging to Philip’s arm, gave her daughter a look of triumph, and in return Gillota gave her a nod of secret delight.
‘I can hear the stone singing from here,’ she whispered.
A month later Emma’s cottage in Shebbear had a visitor. A docile pony arrived at the gate and an elderly man in a priest’s cassock under his black cloak gingerly slid from the saddle.
‘Father Thomas!’ cried Gillota in delight as she rose from her weeding to greet him. Inside the toft, he was regaled with food and drink, as he was introduced to Emma, who had recovered almost completely from her earlier stroke. Matilda and Gillota sat at his feet as he told her his news.
‘I’ve finished my penance in Kentisbury at last,’ he said. ‘The bishop found someone who was willing to live there permanently, so I’m on my way back to Exeter but came out of my way to see you, as I have news.’
‘We have news, too, Father Thomas,’ said Matilda proudly. ‘I am soon to be wedded to Philip and live here. That will make me and Gillota free women again, against any challenge!’
The canon smiled roguishly. ‘I am delighted to hear it, Matilda — but as to becoming free by that route, there is no need, for you are already free!’
He explained that, as he had promised some time ago, he had searched the county court records in Exeter for any evidence of a document of manumission for Matilda’s father. He found nothing, but by chance had spoken to a parish priest in Exeter who remembered witnessing such a document from Kentisbury when he was in Barnstaple several years before, though he could not recall the name of the freed man. The next time Thomas was in Barnstaple, he called on the chaplain of St Peter’s Church who, searched the archives and produced the parchment which confirmed that Matthew Lupus had indeed given Roger Merland his freedom!
