alone?
“I have preparations which will ease his pain. I will return at the sixth hour. ’Tis too late to mend the cut on his scalp, or do aught for his nose, but I can allay his hurt.”
I left Peter Carpenter at work on the broken door and jamb and sought Kate and my dinner. When I returned to Philip Mannyng’s house Peter was near finished repairing the splintered door. I had with me a pouch of herbs: pounded lettuce seeds to help the man sleep, and hemp seeds and leaves to reduce the pain of his broken nose. I brought also the crushed root and leaves of comfrey, to make a poultice for Philip’s bruised face. Such a preparation should have been applied straight away after the injury was discovered, but perhaps the comfrey might do the man some good even yet.
I instructed Amabil to measure a portion of the herbs into a cup of ale three times each day for her husband to drink, and was ready to depart when Arnulf Mannyng entered the house. He did not notice my presence at first. The house was dim and the man was intent upon his injured father. He strode to Philip’s bed and sat upon the bench I had recently vacated.
Arnulf Mannyng was as sturdy as his father was frail. In shadow against the window he appeared much like Arthur; not so tall as me but weighing thirteen stone or more. Arnulf is a prosperous tenant of the Bishop of Exeter. Since the plague much land lies waste for want of men to plow and seed and harvest. Mannyng had added a yardland to the property of his father which he had assumed a year past when the old man was no longer able to work. Rumor had it that Arnulf had paid but six shillings gersom for the vacant holding, which included a tumble-down hut the man now used as a barn for his three cows and two oxen.
I stood silent in a corner while Amabil tended the fire and Arnulf spoke to his father. It was not my intent to pry into family business, but I was there and could not avoid the conversation.
Arnulf began by asking his father how he did, which needed no reply, for any man could see he was likely to soon see the Lord Christ, unless there be a purgatory, which I am come to doubt. Perhaps I should not write so, but I think it unlikely a bishop will ever read these words of mine, or trouble himself with a heretical surgeon should he do so.
The son’s next words brought me to quick attention. “I told you last week you’ll need worry no more of bein’ attacked again,” he assured the old man. “Not as Thomas atte Bridge was found hangin’ from a tree at Cow-Leys Corner.”
“Amabil told me also,” Philip whispered. “Little good his death’ll do me now.”
While his father spoke Arnulf shifted on his bench to observe his mother. She had placed a pot upon the coals. Arnulf had but to raise his eyes from the pot to see me standing between door and window.
“You have a guest,” he said harshly.
“’Tis Master Hugh, him as is Lord Gilbert’s bailiff. He has brought herbs to ease your father’s suffering.”
“Ah… well then,” his voice softened, “we are in your debt.”
“Mixed with ale, the herbs will bring some release from pain and aid your father’s sleep. And comfrey made into a paste will speed healing of his bruised face.”
“What is owed for this?”
“Tuppence.”
Arnulf fished about in his pouch and brought forth the coins. He stood and delivered them to my hand without another word. It was I who spoke.
“Did Thomas atte Bridge deal the blows to your father?”
“Aye, so I believe.”
“Why would he do so?”
“Because he was too much the coward to attack me.”
“He had reason to dislike you?”
“So he thought.”
“Was his thinking flawed?”
“Nay… I suppose not.”
“You did harm to Thomas?”
“In a way. We both sought a yardland of the bishop. I offered a better price. ’Twas land vacant near two years since John Rugg died with all his family when plague returned.”
“Thomas resented losing the property?”
“Aye. He
“I have preparations which will ease his pain. I will return at the sixth hour. ’Tis too late to mend the cut on his scalp, or do aught for his nose, but I can allay his hurt.”
I left Peter Carpenter at work on the broken door and jamb and sought Kate and my dinner. When I returned to Philip Mannyng’s house Peter was near finished repairing the splintered door. I had with me a pouch of herbs: pounded lettuce seeds to help the man sleep, and hemp seeds and leaves to reduce the pain of his broken nose. I brought also the crushed root and leaves of comfrey, to make a poultice for Philip’s bruised face. Such a preparation should have been applied straight away after the injury was discovered, but perhaps the comfrey might do the man some good even yet.
I instructed Amabil to measure a portion of the herbs into a cup of ale three times each day for her husband to drink, and was ready to depart when Arnulf Mannyng entered the house. He did not notice my presence at first. The house was dim and the man was intent upon his injured father. He strode to Philip’s bed and sat upon the bench I had recently vacated.
Arnulf Mannyng was as sturdy as his father was frail. In shadow against the window he appeared much like Arthur; not so tall as me but weighing thirteen stone or more. Arnulf is a prosperous tenant of the Bishop of Exeter. Since the plague much land lies waste for want of men to plow and seed and harvest. Mannyng had added a yardland to the property of his father which he had assumed a year past when the old man was no longer able to work. Rumor had it that Arnulf had paid but six shillings gersom for the vacant holding, which included a tumble-down hut the man now used as a barn for his three cows and two oxen.
I stood silent in a corner while Amabil tended the fire and Arnulf spoke to his father. It was not my intent to pry into family business, but I was there and could not avoid the conversation.
Arnulf began by asking his father how he did, which needed no reply, for any man could see he was likely to soon see the Lord Christ, unless there be a purgatory, which I am come to doubt. Perhaps I should not write so, but I think it unlikely a bishop will ever read these words of mine, or trouble himself with a heretical surgeon should he do so.
The son’s next words brought me to quick attention. “I told you last week you’ll need worry no more of bein’ attacked again,” he assured the old man. “Not as Thomas atte Bridge was found hangin’ from a tree at Cow-Leys Corner.”
“Amabil told me also,” Philip whispered. “Little good his death’ll do me now.”
While his father spoke Arnulf shifted on his bench to observe his mother. She had placed a pot upon the coals. Arnulf had but to raise his eyes from the pot to see me standing between door and window.
“You have a guest,” he said harshly.
“’Tis Master Hugh, him as is Lord Gilbert’s bailiff. He has brought herbs to ease your father’s suffering.”
“Ah… well then,” his voice softened, “we are in your debt.”
“Mixed with ale, the herbs will bring some release from pain and aid your father’s sleep. And comfrey made into a paste will speed healing of his bruised face.”
“What is owed for this?”
“Tuppence.”
Arnulf fished about in his pouch and brought forth the coins. He stood and delivered them to my hand without another word. It was I who spoke.
“Did Thomas atte Bridge deal the blows to your father?”
“Aye, so I believe.”
“Why would he do so?”
“Because he was too much the coward to attack me.”
“He had reason to dislike you?”
“So he thought.”
“Was his thinking flawed?”
“Nay… I suppose not.”
“You did harm to Thomas?”
“In a way. We both sought a yardland of the bishop. I offered a better price. ’Twas land vacant near two years since John Rugg died with all his family when plague returned.”
“Thomas resented losing the property?”
“Aye. He
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