Amice hindered my rush to seize the squire who had restrained her. She rose to her knees as I was about to leap over her. I stumbled and nearly fell, which gave the squire time to gain his seat and steady himself. I made for his leg, intending to pull him from the saddle, but his dagger flashed out and forced me back.
From his opposite side I heard a roar, and saw the squire turn. ’Twas one of the sergeants who had run ahead through the alley who was now attacking. I had no time to consider this, however, for at that moment a horse whirled before me and drove me back toward Amice. Sir Simon was the rider, and when he saw me step away from his rush he bellowed to the squires that they must be away, then spurred his horse off down the street.
The squires heard and followed. Arthur had the corpulent squire by a leg, ducking to dodge the wild swings of the fellow’s dagger. But when the horse gathered himself and sprang away Arthur was forced to release his hold, else he would have been dragged to some place where he would face three furious men alone, away from others of his force.
Arthur drew himself from the mud of the street, then knelt again to study the road at his feet.
“What have you found?” I asked.
“’Tis the short, fat fellow who rides the horse with the broken shoe. See here.”
I squatted beside him and saw in the moonlight the shape of the broken horseshoe which had so vexed us.
The ambush had been a failure. Amice Thatcher had nearly been seized from under my nose, the squires had got away, and Uctred was holding his right arm with his left and I thought it likely I would need to stitch up a wound.
My explanation for this debacle is that I spent a year in Paris studying surgery, not the capture of felons. All men seek to excuse their failures; why must I be different?
Our horses were stabled at the New Inn. By the time we retrieved them and set off in pursuit our quarry would be halfway to East Hanney and Sir John Trillowe’s protection. The only man who could pry the felons from his custody slept in Oxford Castle. I resolved to travel there at first light and seek Sir Roger’s aid. He would not be much pleased to be required to journey to East Hanney, but he has no love for either Sir Simon or Sir John.
I gathered the sergeants, some of whom had set off afoot following the squires, as if they would chase mounted men, and found Arthur inspecting Uctred’s arm. ’Twas too dark, with only the waning moon for light, to see how badly the groom was slashed. The sleeve of his cotehardie was neatly sliced, and I felt the damp of blood there and saw a dark stain upon the fabric. It seemed more than a scratch, but not so deep a gash as to warrant concern. At Amice Thatcher’s house there would be a cresset to give light enough to see and deal with the wound. I told the others that was where we would go first, and set off into the bury.
The ten of us crowded into Amice’s small house, and she lit two cressets from coals yet glowing upon her hearthstone. In their light I saw that Uctred’s laceration was not deep, yet required stitching if it was to heal properly.
The threadmaker would not appreciate being awakened at midnight, but I thought a length of his finest linen thread would serve for Uctred’s cut, and a threadmaker is likely to have a needle or two about his house. I was correct on all counts. The threadmaker was not pleased when he opened to my insistent pounding upon his door, his thread was of excellent quality, though not so fine or strong as silk, and he did possess several needles.
I had no herbs to dull Uctred’s pain, and Amice’s barley was not yet malted and was many days from becoming ale. Uctred seemed not to mind. He took off cotehardie and kirtle and waited stoically in the cold while I drew the edges of the wound together with six sutures.
While I worked, with Arthur and the sergeants looking on, I planned what must next be done. I was little confident that any plan to apprehend the malevolent squires would conclude as I wished, the unsuccessful plot to seize the felons here, at Amice’s door, being fresh in my mind. But a man may learn much from his failures, if he is willing.
We must sleep, for the next day would be long and wearisome for all. Although it was unseemly, I told Arthur and Uctred that they and I would remain with Amice for the remainder of the night. The squires were unlikely to return, but I had been wrong before. Arthur nodded and began piling rushes against a wall opposite to Amice’s bed.
The sergeants I sent to Amabel Maunder’s house, where I was sure they would soon be snoring. I spent much of the next hour upon Arthur’s pile of rushes, reliving the events of the past hours, devising useless schemes which might have succeeded. Some time before the morning Angelus Bell I finally fell to sleep.
The threadmaker’s wife had loaves and ale enough to break our fast, and when we were fed we set off for the New Inn. Arthur and Uctred I sent to Bampton, with Amice in their care. But before they set out I asked her how the squires had gained admittance to her house.
“They was at the back, in the toft. One of ’em whispered ’e was you. Said as there was a need to speak to me. Thought ’twas you. One man’s whisper sounds much like another’s.”
The squires knew who was seeking them, and how to avoid me. Some man had told them this, but there was no benefit to fretting now about who might have done so.
Arthur, Uctred, and Amice set off toward Bampton, Amice again riding in the chapman’s cart. Before they departed the New Inn I told Arthur to go directly to Galen House and leave the cart in the toft. Behind my house I had built a shed, with thatched roof, to keep firewood dry. It was large enough to shelter a small cart horse. I instructed Arthur to tie the chapman’s horse there, then take Amice to the castle where she might find safety with Kate.
Chapter 16
The sergeants and I went north, to Oxford. Most folk upon the roads do not like to see seven mounted men approaching, and so make it their business to clear the way for such a company. One man, when we drew near, vaulted a wall and trotted across a harvested oat field as if he had some pressing errand amongst the stubble. King Edward has done much to keep the roads safe, and we in England are not troubled as are the French with marauding bands of unemployed knights and men-at-arms, yet few men ever regret an excess of caution.
Our horses were rested and we traveled fast — as fast as Bruce could manage, he being an ancient beast. We arrived at Oxford Castle before the fourth hour, and I admit that images of the castle hall set for the Sheriff’s dinner came to mind.
There was, alas, to be no dinner. When I told Sir Roger of Sir Simon’s part in the near recapture of Amice Thatcher, he sent his clerk to have his horse made ready, and to tell the six sergeants to prepare to return to Abingdon and East Hanney. Wheaten loaves and cheese would make our simple dinner.
“Sir John will not risk himself to protect those villains,” Sir Roger said between bites of his loaf. “Not when Lord Gilbert Talbot’s bailiff saw them attempt to seize a woman.”
“And Sir Simon?” I asked, being willing to see my handiwork upon his ear undone on a scaffold.
“He was with the horses? Sir John has enough influence that, even was he with the squires when they laid hands on the woman, a King’s Eyre would likely set him free. We may, however, give him a fright.” He grinned as he spoke.
Sir Roger was in a hurry, so our dinner was hastily swallowed. The Sheriff, upon his younger, fresher horse, would have set a faster pace, but when he saw that Bruce could not keep up, he slowed. So it was that when we reached East Hanney none of those we sought was to be found.