Miriam Bibby - Mistress Meg 02 - Mistress Meg and the Silver Bell (26 page)

“Unspecified,
Master Selby,” replied the Clerk. He looked at the pigman who simply
looked vague. And slightly furtive.

“Discounted,”
said Selby decisively. “Legitimate coin of the realm only.”

“That
is all, sir,” said the Clerk.

“So,
let us recount,” said Selby. “Three pennies, a groat, two farthings,
three ha’pennies and a counterstamped shilling - from the reign of our young
King Edward, may he rest in peace, I take it?” - the Clerk shrugged and
nodded - “making in total?” The judge glared around the courtroom.
“Well, come along, how much is that in total?”

George
glanced around him and saw that the entire room was in agonies of
contemplation. Some of the jury were busily counting on their fingers. The
Clerk, staring upwards as though the answer was on the ceiling, was running
over the list and periodically shaking his head and starting again. Even the
pigman was frowning as he tried to add it all up. Clink looked around the court
with astonishment on his face, the first animation he had shown. Next to
George, Sir Richard was mumbling.

“Thruppence;
and fourpence for the groat is sevenpence, and - George, what else did he say?
You saw the deposition.”

George
could only shake his head. He feared if he said anything he would start to
laugh. He was looking forward to recounting the scene to Sim.

“It
was more like a schoolroom than a courtroom,” he could hear himself
saying. “At any moment I expected to see a finger point at me and hear
Selby say, ‘You, boy! How much is that? Hurry up, I haven’t all day’.”

Eventually
the judge grew tired of waiting.

“Useless!
Useless!” he snapped. “Well, I shall tell you - and as for you,
sirrah - ” with a glance at the pigman “let me tell you, my father’s
pigman would have known precisely the value of the coins he had in his purse,
precisely to the farthen! Well, it is exactly, exactly, thirteen and one half
pence! “The judge looked around smugly. Everyone looked relieved. That was
a felony, then. Goods to the value of more than twelve pence.

“Were
it not for the fact,” hissed the judge, suddenly leaning forward and
glaring at them all, “that one of those coins was - ” and here he
almost leered around the court with a single eye popping at them whilst the
other was half closed “a counterstamped shilling of the reign of King
Edward, God rest his soul. Counterstamped, aye. But for
how much
? Eh?
Eh?”

There was
an appalled silence in the courtroom. George realised where the judge had been
leading them. When Elizabeth had come to the throne, the shortage of good coins
had led to the reissue of debased shillings from Edward VI’s reign. These were
counterstamped to reflect the actual value of their silver content - either
fourpence ha’penny or twopence farthing. Which one was it in this case?

“Well?”
said the judge, looking directly at the pigman.

“I - I
- can’t recall, your honour,” stuttered Piggen eventually.

“You
can’t recall?” said the judge, almost benignly. He looked around with a
triumphant air. “Well, let me help you. Can y’recall the counterstamp?
Because you see, if the coins were counterstamped to the value of twopence farthing,
it brings us to a total of - well?”

Everyone
started looking worried again.

“I
will tell you,” said the judge with finality. “A total of eleven
pence and one farthing. Eleven pence one farthing, good people. Less than
twelvepence. And therefore NOT a felony. And where are those coins now,
Piggen?”

“I’ve
spent ‘em,” said the pigman miserably.

“You’ve
spent them.” The judge settled back again. “And ye can’t recall what
was stamped on the shilling? Let me help ye, man. ‘Twould either have been a
portcullis - or a greyhound. Which was it? The portcullis - or the
greyhound?”

“Well,
sir…” began Piggen slowly, looking at Selby, “it seems to me that
it had the value of fourpence halfpenny, your honour … I recall it had a dog
stamped on it and so …”

“Wrong!”
shouted the judge. “That would be twopence farthing!”

There was a
pause. Then Selby let the courtroom have his opinion on the presenting of this
case. It was hot and strong and indiscriminate. Everyone came in for some of
his vitriol, from the absent Sim to the unfortunate Justice Brough, who was
still at home with his terrible toothache - although George wondered about this
- to the pigman, the Clerk, and the quality of schoolmasters in this
maladjusted age. The Clerk of the Assize was visibly shrinking and his face was
scarlet as he listened to Selby’s tirade. Finally the judge turned to Clink.

“And
as for you, we shall return you to the jail to await our decision on your
future. Case adjourned until the morrow. Wilson!” The Judge was addressing
the Clerk, who walked swiftly over. As George watched the two of them in close
conversation with one another, the Clerk nodded and glanced across to catch
George’s eye. Selby leaned back in his seat and folded his arms. The Clerk
began to cross the courtroom.

“Sir
George Paston, a word in your ear, if you please, sir!”

George felt
a slight stab of apprehension.

“Sir
George,” began the Clerk, frowning, “His honour Judge Selby has
advised me that he is minded to dismiss this case.” He paused, before
beginning again in a lower tone, “Judge Selby advised me that he thought
the case was - messily presented - his precise words - and that your cousin
should have made a note of the true value of the coins when he had the
opportunity. This case should have been matter for the petty jury.”

“My
apologies to Judge Selby,” said George glancing across at the judge, who
was staring into space. “We had many concerns that day.”

“However,”
continued the Clerk, “he also said there is other matter concerning this
prisoner. It seems to Judge Selby that this John Parkins is clearly a vagrant
and has also, according to the evidence presented by yourself today, broken out
of custody. I think this is the concern of the Guildern justices, is it not? Or
his parish of origin?”

George
understood. Clink was an irritating nuisance rather than a serious problem and
he should never have ended up in this court. The easiest way to deal with him
was to move him on or to find more substantial matter to present against him -
and to do it properly this time. It was not unusual for rogues to be moved
around in this fashion since no one wanted the responsibility or the expense of
them. Were he to be found guilty of vagrancy - which he would be - he would be
burned through the ear and set to labouring work. He would be little better
than a slave. There was nothing George could do but agree with the Clerk - and
Judge Selby. 

“One
last thing, Sir George,” continued the Clerk,  in a more friendly fashion.
“We - er, that is I - understand that you have an engagement to ride Sir
Richard Grasset’s horse in a forthcoming match. That is so, is it not? Well,
Judge Selby has decided that this rogue shall be kept under lock and key until
you have done so. And - ” he glanced round at the Judge and lowered his
voice again ” - perhaps you will be so good as to advise us of the horse’s
chances in this match … ?”

Ruby
hurried away from the courtroom without any clear idea of where she was going
or what she was going to do. She found herself wandering over a piece of common
land with some trees on it. It was quiet and peaceful. Without realising it,
Ruby had found what she needed at that time: solitude. She began to half pray,
half argue with something or someone that was invisible. An occasional sob
constricted her throat.

“Why
should Clink be imprisoned - or die - for what he did? There’s plenty who
consider themselves above the rest of us who do harm and they never gets taken
up. Fine lords and ladies; they never pay for nothing. Why don’t you let him
go? Just send him free, ye - oh!” Ruby suddenly stopped and put her hand
to her mouth. She was shocked to see a man, carrying a bundle of firewood, who
was looking at her curiously. He had immensely broad shoulders and strong arms,
but he was not tall and this was partly why she hadn’t seen him sooner; the
other reason was that he had been stooping down to pick up another small log of
wood. He didn’t say anything, simply looked at her with interest. She noticed,
despite her shock and grief, that he was good-looking. He had glossy dark hair
and a black beard and his eyes were large, sharp and intelligent. He looked …
strong. Solid. Ruby sniffed back her tears and stole another glance at him.

“My
pardon,” she said. “I - I didn’t know … “

The man
shook his head.

“Nothing
harmed,” he said. “But - forgive me - you seem to be in great sorrow.
I do not wish to intrude - but - can I aid you in some way?”

Ruby shook
her head.

“‘Tis
kind of you, but - no,” she said and sighed deeply. The man did not move
away.

Zacharias
saw an attractive woman with long, dark hair hanging loose around her brown
face. Ruby had fastened up her hair for the courtroom but it had tumbled down
around her shoulders after she ran out and she was scarcely aware of it.
Zacharias noticed the fine lines around her eyes that suggested, despite the
current seriousness of her expression, she laughed often and fully. There she
was, standing under an old May tree, giving him the occasional wary glance
whilst he just carried on staring. The scent of the May blossom suddenly
carried over to him in all its strength, sparking a memory. He had been very
small and had found this wonderful flower, which smelled so intriguing, and had
broken small branches of it and carried armfuls home for his mother. He had just
been about to take it into the house when one of his mother’s elderly
relatives, who was visiting and was seated outside, stood up in alarm.

“Blod
mam mawr!” she had called. It was the old tongue, Welsh, and a warning
that these flowers were death to the mother if brought into the house, although
he only found that out much later. His mother had reacted strangely, Zacharias
considered. She had just smiled at Zacharias, hugged and thanked him - and
then, to her relative’s horror, brought some of the flowers inside.

“They
are beautiful,” she said. “How could they mean harm?” And she
did not die, not for years anyway. She had no fear for many of the things that
caused fear in others. She was a brave woman and she matched his father in
spirit. All this was in Zacharias’s mind as he stared at Ruby. He gave his
handsome smile and Ruby drew a sharp breath.

It was all
too much for her. Suddenly she broke into sobs, turned around and ran off
again.

“Wait!”
said Zacharias, but it was too late. He watched her run away and then turned
back to collecting wood, his thoughts turning around her. She was a comely
woman, despite her sorrowful look. It had been a curious coincidence. Usually
he would have sent one of the local lads to collect wood for him, but he had needed
to clear his head because he was expecting a visitor - and that meeting would
certainly need all the attention he could give it. Slowly he made his way back
to his home.

When Amiot
Goldspink knocked tentatively at his door, Zacharias was ready for him.

“Come
in, Amiot,” said Zacharias in a kindly fashion. Amiot sat down. Zacharias
poured him some ale and sat facing him, watching him closely. His eyes were
almost, but not quite, twinkling. “And how goes it?”

“Well,
Zacharias. It goes well.” Amiot gave the lie to this by putting a hand up
to his mouth and starting to bite a nail; and then, realising what he was
doing, he dropped the hand and gave a sickly smile.

“No
more wagers?”

“None,
Zacharias. I said I will take no more.” Amiot seemed almost relieved.

“Good,
good. ‘Tis wearing, is it not, having a care for large amounts of precious
gold?”

“Aye,
Zacharias; and none knows better than you. And I!” Amiot heaved a great
sigh. As Zacharias carried on looking at him with his shrewd eyes, Amiot began
to look uneasy.

“It’s
gold I wish to discuss with you, Amiot,” said Zacharias. He had suddenly
found something very interesting in the corner of the room and fixed his gaze
on it.

“Oh?”
said Goldspink, innocently, but his voice quavered a little.

“Aye.
Y’see, my old friend, I have discovered your - secret. What you have been doing
with the gold. Before it came to me.”

Goldspink
suddenly deflated and started to babble. “‘Tis not a crime, Zacharias!
No-one is hurt by this. How can it be a crime?”

Zacharias
sat quietly. Goldspink ran on.

“How
did you guess, Zacharias? Ye’d surely not tell on me? Not your old friend -
Zacharias, I beg you …”

Zacharias
held up a hand. “As to how I discovered it; ‘twas more of a skill than
guessing. The gold - felt - wrong to me.”

Amiot sat
twisting his hands together miserably.

“I’d
never felt temptation like that before, Zacharias. To see - all that gold -
come by so easily. Some of ‘em were going to lose it anyway. What did it matter
if they lost a bit more - to me?”

“You’d
not clipped coins before, I could tell that, Amiot.”

Amiot gave
a short laugh.

“You
must have examined every one of ‘em, then, Zacharias!”

“That
I did. I know gold. And I got to know every one of those coins. I could see the
ones where you were still doing trials on them. Y’didn’t quite know what you
were doing. But then you got the feel o’ it. You did not too bad a job of work
then, Amiot.”

Silence
fell. Then Amiot looked across at his friend, almost despairingly.

“How
do you resist it, Zacharias? All that gold; every day, all that gold! And
silver!”

“‘Tis
different when you work with it,” said Zacharias, in a matter of fact
tone. “Is there aught else you should tell me? Did you do - aught else
with the coins?”

“I
shugged some of them up in a sack,” said Amiot. Zacharias knew exactly
what he meant. As well as clipping tiny pieces of gold from the edge of some of
the coins, whilst trying to leave them looking as untouched as possible,
Goldspink had shaken the gold for hours in a coarse sack, causing tiny
fragments to stick to the fabric. Then he would have burned the sack and
collected the gold flakes that remained.

There was a
pause.

“What
will you do?”

“I
don’t know. I know what I
ought
to do. What my duty is.” There was
a long silence after Zacharias had said this. Clipping was a treasonable
offence. High treason. And that meant hanging, drawing and quartering. The fact
that the practice was widespread did not make it any less a crime. Zacharias
poured them both more ale. “What did ye do with the clippings?”

“I
have them yet, Zacharias. I - know someone who can …”

“Don’t
tell me. I don’t wish to know.” Zacharias guessed that Goldspink had found
someone to strike them back into coinage, using an illegal stamp. Or perhaps he
simply meant to hand on the clippings for a price. To sell them, in other
words, to a counterfeiter, leaving no evidence remaining against Goldspink. Had
he even thought to approach Zacharias? He would be an obvious choice.

Goldspink
was flooded with relief at what Zacharias had said. “Thank ye, oh, thank
ye Zacharias! I knew that …”

“I
have not said I will not do anything, Amiot. I need to think on this.”

Amiot’s
shoulders sank again. “Whatever you think best.”

“Aye,
whatever’s best. And best means go, now, Amiot.”

When
Goldspink had gone, Zacharias heaved a huge sigh. He felt melancholic. What he
hadn’t told Goldspink was that he too was feeling - not exactly guilty, but
worried. It was something that was impossible to share with anyone. Just a
feeling. The strange conviction that - somehow - someone else knew what was
going on. Also, the even stranger feeling that somehow - impossible though it
was! - someone had been in his house. Ridiculous. He had hardly been out of
sight of it lately and when he did need to go out, he made sure that one of the
neighbours kept an eye on his home. Occasionally one or two of the local lads,
trustworthy ones, came and stayed while he was away. He knew they couldn’t get
into the bedchamber or any of the other secret hiding places that he had. Not
without giving that fact away, anyway.

It had
happened after that woman paid her visit. The woman with the dog. She had been
so knowledgeable about stones and metals and she’d kept Zacharias talking until
late. She’d said she would return to discuss her requirements and leave a
deposit, but she hadn’t returned, yet. Like all craftsmen, Zacharias knew that
the authorities kept an eye on what he was doing. There were official visits
from the Wardens of the Goldsmiths’ Company and also from local officials.
There had never been a serious problem yet. Was it possible that the woman was
in some way involved with these? Then there’d been that lad who came round to
have the sovereign weighed. Nothing unusual in that. And yet …

Zacharias
went up to the bedchamber and retrieved the gold. Almost casually, he began to
stack it into neat piles on top of the chest, checking the edge of each coin
carefully for the second time. How obvious was it? Because if he didn’t betray
Goldspink and it was noted, suspicion would fall onto him, Zacharias. That was
a very unpleasant thought. Zacharias had never done anything bad in his life.
Not really bad. He carried on stacking the coins. What he had said to Amiot was
true; he knew gold. He almost knew each individual coin and he began to wonder
if he had really started to stack this gold without a purpose. All was well -
nothing was missing.

If all was
well, why could he not shake off the uncomfortable feeling?

* * * * *

George, who
had decided to stay overnight in Marcaster before the match, spent a restless
night at the Hart and Hawthorn. He had half hoped, half feared that Meg and
Matthew would reappear for the running horses; but there was still no sign of
them. Knowing Meg, though, this did not necessarily mean that there was no
mischief afoot. However, there was plenty to think about regarding the match
and he knew that Richard was pleased to have him there in Marcaster in case of
further threats or even direct attacks on his horse. Richard had sent a servant
for Gallus and the horse was now safely back at Marfield Hall receiving the
best of treatment for his leg. Oddly, though, he appeared to be completely
sound again.

It was hard
to sleep. The long, light May night and some late roistering and arguing in the
street - dealt with by the watch - kept George awake most of the time.

“Tha’s
a mazer, lad!” he heard one drunk roar at another. “T’Widderis
‘orse’ll never last!” His companion roared something incomprehensible back
and the two stumbled away, shouting and singing.

As dawn
broke, George, having given up the pretence of trying to sleep, was already
dressed and ready to ride. He went down to the stable, where the Widderis and
Grasset grooms seemed to have come to some sort of understanding. The horses
were ready and both were well guarded by servants from both houses.