the town.”
“Most of these the abbey owns?”
“Aye. Good for us who be yet alive, after plague come twice. Rents is supposed to be fixed,” the tanner put a finger aside his nose and winked, “but a man – or an abbot – with an empty ’ouse’ll do what’s needful to find a tenant. Not that abbot Peter” (here the tanner spat upon the ground) “is pleased to do so.”
I turned to gaze again at the decrepit house where John Thrale had once lived. Had I lived in such a place, and found a treasure which would permit me to reside elsewhere, I might also have resisted losing the wealth to others, even to the point of death. The tanner turned to follow my gaze, and could hold his curiosity no longer.
“Why do you seek John?”
“I don’t. I know where he is.”
The tanner was silent for a moment, a puzzled expression upon his face. “You’d know more of John was you to ask ’im, not me.”
“Not so. He lies in a churchyard near to Bampton. I helped bury him. He was waylaid upon the road and murdered.”
The tanner crossed himself and studied his feet. “Poor John,” he said softly. “An’ him doin’ so well at ’is trade, too. ’Spect that’s why some brigands set upon ’im, eh? To seize ’is goods an’ money?”
“Aye. As you say. I have heard that he had sisters. Do you know where they might be found? Some of his goods were not taken, and I seek heirs so as to give what remains of Thrale’s possessions to them.”
The tanner pursed his lips and scratched his head, shoving aside his cap to do so. “’E did speak of kin, but where they may be I cannot tell. Gone often, was John. Would hitch ’is cart to a leather harness ’e made to go over ’is shoulders an’ about ’is waist, then off ’e’d go.”
“He drew his cart himself?”
“Aye… well, not for some months. ’Bout Whitsuntide ’e bought a new cart, an’ a horse to pull it. Had no barn; kept the beast in the house with ’im till ’e went to St. Helen Street.”
“The new cart was larger than the old, then?”
“Oh, aye. Wouldn’t be pullin’ the new cart by hisself. I bought the old one from ’im. Use it to haul hides about. There it sits.”
The tanner pointed behind his house to a shed where, at the side, a small cart was parked against a fence. “Gave three pence for it,” the tanner added.
John Thrale, near the end of May, had come into money. He bought first a horse and cart, then moved to a larger house in a respectable part of town, for which he paid perhaps as much as ten pounds. The tanner spoke true. An itinerant chapman was not likely to live so well on the profits of his business. And some men more dangerous than the tanner had noticed this also.
I bid the tanner good day and left him to his work. Perhaps a visit to the silversmith on East St. Helen Street should be my next call. The silversmith was not likely to know of Thrale’s sisters, but he might be the buyer of the ingots the chapman had made upon his hearth.
He was not, or if he was he did not wish to say so. I asked the silversmith first how he came by the metal which he fashioned into spoons and cups and jewelry. This was a poor beginning. The man was immediately on his guard, which was, perhaps, a clue that some of his supply was acquired in a manner unacceptable to the King.
“From Devon,” he said warily, “an’ from folks as wish to sell what they may have so to raise funds.”
“From mines in Devon?”
“Aye. Cornwall, too.”
“And merchants bring bars of silver from the mines to craftsmen such as you?”
“Aye. King’s seal stamped on ’em to show taxes paid.”
“If a silversmith purchased a silver ingot without the King’s seal…”
“He’d pay a fine.”
“But if you purchased silver from some man in financial embarrassment, what then?”
“No law against that, so long as the silver was ’is to sell, an’ not stolen.”
“Have you done so recently?”
The man’s eyes narrowed again, and
“Most of these the abbey owns?”
“Aye. Good for us who be yet alive, after plague come twice. Rents is supposed to be fixed,” the tanner put a finger aside his nose and winked, “but a man – or an abbot – with an empty ’ouse’ll do what’s needful to find a tenant. Not that abbot Peter” (here the tanner spat upon the ground) “is pleased to do so.”
I turned to gaze again at the decrepit house where John Thrale had once lived. Had I lived in such a place, and found a treasure which would permit me to reside elsewhere, I might also have resisted losing the wealth to others, even to the point of death. The tanner turned to follow my gaze, and could hold his curiosity no longer.
“Why do you seek John?”
“I don’t. I know where he is.”
The tanner was silent for a moment, a puzzled expression upon his face. “You’d know more of John was you to ask ’im, not me.”
“Not so. He lies in a churchyard near to Bampton. I helped bury him. He was waylaid upon the road and murdered.”
The tanner crossed himself and studied his feet. “Poor John,” he said softly. “An’ him doin’ so well at ’is trade, too. ’Spect that’s why some brigands set upon ’im, eh? To seize ’is goods an’ money?”
“Aye. As you say. I have heard that he had sisters. Do you know where they might be found? Some of his goods were not taken, and I seek heirs so as to give what remains of Thrale’s possessions to them.”
The tanner pursed his lips and scratched his head, shoving aside his cap to do so. “’E did speak of kin, but where they may be I cannot tell. Gone often, was John. Would hitch ’is cart to a leather harness ’e made to go over ’is shoulders an’ about ’is waist, then off ’e’d go.”
“He drew his cart himself?”
“Aye… well, not for some months. ’Bout Whitsuntide ’e bought a new cart, an’ a horse to pull it. Had no barn; kept the beast in the house with ’im till ’e went to St. Helen Street.”
“The new cart was larger than the old, then?”
“Oh, aye. Wouldn’t be pullin’ the new cart by hisself. I bought the old one from ’im. Use it to haul hides about. There it sits.”
The tanner pointed behind his house to a shed where, at the side, a small cart was parked against a fence. “Gave three pence for it,” the tanner added.
John Thrale, near the end of May, had come into money. He bought first a horse and cart, then moved to a larger house in a respectable part of town, for which he paid perhaps as much as ten pounds. The tanner spoke true. An itinerant chapman was not likely to live so well on the profits of his business. And some men more dangerous than the tanner had noticed this also.
I bid the tanner good day and left him to his work. Perhaps a visit to the silversmith on East St. Helen Street should be my next call. The silversmith was not likely to know of Thrale’s sisters, but he might be the buyer of the ingots the chapman had made upon his hearth.
He was not, or if he was he did not wish to say so. I asked the silversmith first how he came by the metal which he fashioned into spoons and cups and jewelry. This was a poor beginning. The man was immediately on his guard, which was, perhaps, a clue that some of his supply was acquired in a manner unacceptable to the King.
“From Devon,” he said warily, “an’ from folks as wish to sell what they may have so to raise funds.”
“From mines in Devon?”
“Aye. Cornwall, too.”
“And merchants bring bars of silver from the mines to craftsmen such as you?”
“Aye. King’s seal stamped on ’em to show taxes paid.”
“If a silversmith purchased a silver ingot without the King’s seal…”
“He’d pay a fine.”
“But if you purchased silver from some man in financial embarrassment, what then?”
“No law against that, so long as the silver was ’is to sell, an’ not stolen.”
“Have you done so recently?”
The man’s eyes narrowed again, and
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