was no older than Wulf’s boy, he told us to mind thee when thee wandered, Meister, as wander thee did
till us was blue out of breath. A-diggin’ up and a-buryin’ thee was, and in and out of rafters and trees—’
‘Go thou to the point, old man,’ Roger said, gripping the edge of the table fiercely with both hands. Yet he was surethat he already knew what the answer was to be. ‘Why didst thou write to me? What hast thou for me?’
‘Us shall show thee, Meister,’ Wulf said with a secret smile. ‘Us can’t show thee here, but us has it all, fear thee not.
Us took it all, and more. Us made proper fools of they King’s men. Us took away thy diggings, and put thy buryings in they
ilke holes’
‘What dost thou mean?’
‘Nay,
Meister, glare not so at wold Wulf,’ the serf said, beginning to snivel. ‘They was but bits of trash, as mote be said, like
boys ud bury—’
Roger fought back his temper, as best he could. There would be no point in so alarming the old man that he became incoherent.
‘Tell me what thou hast done,’ he said, with a gentleness he was still far from feeling. ‘And hew to it quickly and directly.’
‘Aye, that be what us was doing, Meister, an thee’ll let us. Meister Christopher that was thy father was a gentry-man, could
read and cypher, and yonder King’s men be gentry, too, as mote be said. Wold Wulf ud not want his hands snipped off for thieving
– or drawn and quartered like a common traitor, they being King’s men. Us thought better to leave summat in they holes, an
they King’s men find some writing of Meister Christopher to riddle where they holes be duggen. So us put matter into ’em from
thy boy’s holes, that thee made when thee was a-writing precious little, Meister Roger. All the rest us has here.’
The old man looked filmily at him with a mixture of hope and senile cunning, slightly tinged with reproach.
‘All?’ Roger said.
‘Nay, not all, Meister,’ Wulf said. ‘Thee knows a poor serf’s let into no inn free, nay, nor wears new shoes neither – us
be not so blind us can still see thee a-looking at oor poor feet. But us be eating of naught but millet porridge and a mite
of dredge-corn; thilke ale thee did buy us, and the first wold Wulf’s tasted since us runned away. But all the rest, us has,
Meister.’
‘I thank God thou didst not run clean away,’ Roger said grudgingly.
‘Where ud us rinnen, Meister? Us be full of pain in the bones and good for naught, as mote be said. Here’s a safe enough cozy
for wold Wulf that’s as near to his Maker as may be, and knew thee’d nowt but leave us silver penny to buy a herring with
till us be called.’
‘Show me what thou hast.’
‘This way.’ The old man got up stiffly and led the way toward the kitchen. On the other side, he admitted Roger into a narrow
room so hot, airless and foul even in this weather that Roger could hardly drive himself further once the door was opened.
The door itself was fastened with nothing but a staple.
‘Thine host bath doubtless stolen it all in thine absence,’ he muttered, trying to hold his breath and breathe at the same
time.
Nay, Meister,’ Wulf said absently. ‘He’s wold Wulf’s nephew-in-law – no slyer ever put green vitriol in vinegar, but won’t
steal from us till us be dead. Here, now—’
He rummaged in a heap of filthy straw while Roger accustomed his eyesight to the dimness. There was literally nothing else
in the room but a low, broad three-legged stool and an anonymous heap of rags.
Then, grunting, the old man had hauled from the straw a purse of rawhide almost twice as big as his head. ‘Here it be,’ he
said, setting it on the stool. ‘Us saved it all for thee, Meister Roger.’
Roger pulled open the mouth of the bag and plunged a hand in, his fingers closing convulsively in the cold, liquid mass of
coins. He carried the handful to the door, which he opened slightly to let in a little
till us was blue out of breath. A-diggin’ up and a-buryin’ thee was, and in and out of rafters and trees—’
‘Go thou to the point, old man,’ Roger said, gripping the edge of the table fiercely with both hands. Yet he was surethat he already knew what the answer was to be. ‘Why didst thou write to me? What hast thou for me?’
‘Us shall show thee, Meister,’ Wulf said with a secret smile. ‘Us can’t show thee here, but us has it all, fear thee not.
Us took it all, and more. Us made proper fools of they King’s men. Us took away thy diggings, and put thy buryings in they
ilke holes’
‘What dost thou mean?’
‘Nay,
Meister, glare not so at wold Wulf,’ the serf said, beginning to snivel. ‘They was but bits of trash, as mote be said, like
boys ud bury—’
Roger fought back his temper, as best he could. There would be no point in so alarming the old man that he became incoherent.
‘Tell me what thou hast done,’ he said, with a gentleness he was still far from feeling. ‘And hew to it quickly and directly.’
‘Aye, that be what us was doing, Meister, an thee’ll let us. Meister Christopher that was thy father was a gentry-man, could
read and cypher, and yonder King’s men be gentry, too, as mote be said. Wold Wulf ud not want his hands snipped off for thieving
– or drawn and quartered like a common traitor, they being King’s men. Us thought better to leave summat in they holes, an
they King’s men find some writing of Meister Christopher to riddle where they holes be duggen. So us put matter into ’em from
thy boy’s holes, that thee made when thee was a-writing precious little, Meister Roger. All the rest us has here.’
The old man looked filmily at him with a mixture of hope and senile cunning, slightly tinged with reproach.
‘All?’ Roger said.
‘Nay, not all, Meister,’ Wulf said. ‘Thee knows a poor serf’s let into no inn free, nay, nor wears new shoes neither – us
be not so blind us can still see thee a-looking at oor poor feet. But us be eating of naught but millet porridge and a mite
of dredge-corn; thilke ale thee did buy us, and the first wold Wulf’s tasted since us runned away. But all the rest, us has,
Meister.’
‘I thank God thou didst not run clean away,’ Roger said grudgingly.
‘Where ud us rinnen, Meister? Us be full of pain in the bones and good for naught, as mote be said. Here’s a safe enough cozy
for wold Wulf that’s as near to his Maker as may be, and knew thee’d nowt but leave us silver penny to buy a herring with
till us be called.’
‘Show me what thou hast.’
‘This way.’ The old man got up stiffly and led the way toward the kitchen. On the other side, he admitted Roger into a narrow
room so hot, airless and foul even in this weather that Roger could hardly drive himself further once the door was opened.
The door itself was fastened with nothing but a staple.
‘Thine host bath doubtless stolen it all in thine absence,’ he muttered, trying to hold his breath and breathe at the same
time.
Nay, Meister,’ Wulf said absently. ‘He’s wold Wulf’s nephew-in-law – no slyer ever put green vitriol in vinegar, but won’t
steal from us till us be dead. Here, now—’
He rummaged in a heap of filthy straw while Roger accustomed his eyesight to the dimness. There was literally nothing else
in the room but a low, broad three-legged stool and an anonymous heap of rags.
Then, grunting, the old man had hauled from the straw a purse of rawhide almost twice as big as his head. ‘Here it be,’ he
said, setting it on the stool. ‘Us saved it all for thee, Meister Roger.’
Roger pulled open the mouth of the bag and plunged a hand in, his fingers closing convulsively in the cold, liquid mass of
coins. He carried the handful to the door, which he opened slightly to let in a little
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