Miriam Bibby - Mistress Meg 02 - Mistress Meg and the Silver Bell (18 page)

“Very
good!” said Matthew, laughing politely as he kept on backing away. The old
man seemed to have something else to say. He held his hand up to stay Matthew.

“Ye’re
not from round here are ye?” he said, but conversationally rather than
suspiciously. “In Marcaster t’see the running horses, eh?” His voice
dropped and grew conspiratorial as he gestured for Matthew to move closer to
him. “Tell me lad - who d’ye think will win, eh?”

“If
only I knew that, I’d be a very rich man, Gran’da,” said Matthew.
“The best I can say is - whichever is the swiftest.”

The old man
seemed disappointed.

* * * * *

Matthew
handed Meg the sovereign with a flourish and a smug look. The challenge had
been met. Meg was studying the coin closely whilst he told her his story.

“I
found all very much as we’d imagined it,” concluded Matthew. “Apart
from the loose brick in the chimney, which alarmed me for an instant.”

“‘Twould
not surprise me if there were some hiding places within the chimney as
well,” mused Meg. She put the sovereign into her hand as though feeling
its weight.

“It’s
possible,” said Matthew.

Meg looked
at Matthew with amusement in her eyes. “D’ye know what the legend is on
this coin? Or has your Latin decayed since y’left the priests?” She held
it out to him. Matthew looked at it with narrowed eyes. The inscription on the
side showing the Queen seated on her throne was: A DNO FACTU EST ISTUD ET EST
MIRAB IN OCULIS NRIS.

Matthew
wrestled with it briefly, then his eyes gleamed with mischief. “‘It is the
Lord’s doing and it is marvellous in our eyes.’” He bowed. “With a
little aid from your servant, of course. But then don’t they say that God helps
the doers?”

“Aeschylus
said something in that way, certainly. In Scotland they would say ‘The De’el’s
aye good to his ain’.”

“Hmmm.
And why did you want me to replace the sovereign?”

Meg seemed
not to have heard him. “Tomorrow,” she said, looking directly at him,
“you will take this sovereign to the goldsmith and ask him to weigh
it.”

Matthew
groaned, slapped his head with the palm of his hand and looked back at her.
“You are, without a doubt, the most provoking, changeable damned witch
…”

“Oh,
come now, Matthew. Is that your best? Sir George Paston says far worse things
about me than that.”

“I’m
sure he does,” grumbled Matthew, “but perhaps he has more license
than do I, your
servant
…” He glanced across at Meg and they both
burst out laughing.

“I
heartily wish I had been able to see it,” said Meg. “Perhaps I’ll
turn chimney sweep next time.”

“Why
not,” agreed Matthew. “You are slighter than I.”

Meg
flourished the coins. “We’ll hire a lad if needs must.”

“Or a
lass.”

“Here,”
said Meg. “This should slake a most considerable thirst, I think.”
She tipped several coins into his hand and stored the sovereign away separately
from the others. “And I will not be requiring you any more this day.
You’ve done well, but you already know that and I’m not about to invoke the sin
of pride in you any further.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, then
continued, “He’s a fine man, our Master Kane; and a shrewd one. Talented,
too. But - I fear there is something that he is keeping to himself. And I think
- there is some matter to do with this Goldspink that casts a shade on
him.”

“Why
is it - he - of interest to you?” asked Matthew, curiosity getting the
better of him. In the time he had spent on the road with Meg, he had learned to
keep it in check, most of the time. He had seen some situations played out to
their fullest extent through a sequence of strange twists and turns, and others
apparently come to an abrupt end only to surface again in another place and
time.

“The
best I can say is that sometimes there is a connection that I cannot entirely
explain. So it is with this man; and so it was with you, when we first
encountered each other.”

“Yes,
I shall not forget that soon,” said Matthew with a grin.

“You,
my poor Matthew, accused of a crime for no greater reason than the fact you
were a stranger.”

“A
foreigner.”

“It
must gall to hear every nation on earth spoken of without them guessing the
truth about you.”

“Why
should I mind? They
never
guess the truth about
you
.”

“A
touch, a veritable hit! Very good, dear Matthew. Now, which truth would that
be? No, don’t tell me. Run along and spend your well-earned vail.”

* * * * *

I
have
earned
this, thought Matthew, watching as the ale was drawn for him. He settled
himself on a bench against the wall and glanced round at the other drinkers,
some of whom he knew by now. He nodded to the familiar faces. He was still not
sure of Meg’s intentions; but for now, he was just going to enjoy his drink in
the knowledge that he deserved it. The room was already full and drinkers were
still coming in. Soon he found an elderly man whose face he recognised coming
to sit by him. Matthew moved up towards the chimney breast to make room for
him. Chimneys. He smiled to himself.

“Good
even t’ye,” said the man. He took a sip of his drink. “You’re the lad
with the dog, aren’t ye? The little dog. Clever little beast.”

“He
is,” agreed Matthew. There was a pause. “They serve a good brew
here.”

“Good
enough,” agreed the old man in an offhanded way. “Not like the ales
of my youth of course.”

Matthew was
amused. It was not the first time he had heard an old man say that ale - or
other things - were so much better in the days of his youth. The girls were
prettier, the horses bigger and stronger, the men tougher, the summers sunnier.
Or, on occasions, the winters were colder. He waited. Most times the
conversation quickly turned to Matthew and his assumed “foreignness”.
People were curious. Sometimes they were wary. They could, of course, be nasty
and dangerous and he had experience of that too. Mostly they were interested
and often kind. He felt that he knew the English quite well by now. They were
an odd mixture; fascinated by the foreign and novel and, at the same time
mocking and critical of anyone who was different. And now they had begun to
explore the globe. He could see it in his mind, the turning globe, with the
great surging seas and little ships, terrifyingly small, travelling over them.
Out there were the English, sailing, raiding and drinking, sure of their
superiority over the Spanish, the French, the Moors, the Venetians … the
Scots …

Matthew
realised that the old man was saying something to him. “In Marcaster for
the gentry’s match, are ye? Care to guess the outcome? Got a wager on it, ha’
ye?”

Matthew
shook his head, smiling.

The old man
started to say something about how bad the times were and how the running
horses were a mixed blessing to the town.

“Good
for the alehouses, o’ course, but y’can’t hardly get yer own seat in yer own
inn when the town’s so full o’ folk. Why, owd Robin Roberts was just saying
that he came across a foreigner up to no good just today. He’s blind, poor owd
feller but he knows when summat’s wrong.” He pronounced “wrong”
in the local way, “wrang”.

Matthew was
less concerned about the fact that he had been noted than the fact that he’d
been singled out as a “foreigner” when the man couldn’t even see him.
Wasn’t his English good enough then? He practised enough and was proud of it.
Then he almost laughed out loud as he remembered that “foreigner”
could be applied to someone from the next village or town. He’d often come
across that.

The old man
took another sip of his drink. Then, the expected, “You’re not from
hereabouts, are ye?” Matthew was just about to shake his head and explain
when the old man continued, “You’re from the New World, eh?”

This was
the first time that anyone had recognised Matthew. He had been called a Spaniard,
a Frenchman, a Moor. Sometimes the words were just a description but other
times they were definitely intended to insult, coming from an Englishman or
woman. This man - he knew what Matthew was; who he was. But - that was the
difficult thing. Matthew was no longer sure of what he was, in the sense of
what to call himself - and he no longer cared. He certainly knew who he was in
terms of experience, knowledge and well, plain sense of self.

He turned
to the old man. “Yes, I am. How did you know?”

“I’ve
seen men like ye afore.”

“Where?”
said Matthew, astonished. “And - when?”

“On
board Spanish ships. When our ships was held in the Spanish ports, not so long
agone.”

“But -
” began Matthew. The man must be - oh, maybe he could be in his seventies
or eighties! What had he been doing on board an English naval vessel in recent
times?

“Oh, I
know what ye’re thinking,” chuckled the old man. “Ye’re wondering
what an old man like me would be doing there? Serving me country lad, serving
me country! And yes, it’s a long time since I saw the egg!” He chuckled
again. “I’m eighty-six, ye know.”

“Eighty-six!”
marvelled Matthew.

“Aye,”
said the man, “but capable of serving me country in time of need. They was
takin’ all sorts on board when needed. And at least I was shipwise. Most of me
life at sea. Know the ropes, I do.” He held up his left hand. The second
and third fingers were missing and the little finger ended at the last joint.

“In a
sea battle?” asked Matthew, sympathetically and curiously.

“No,
lad, no. The ropes, like I was telling ye! Learned the ropes the hard way, as a
lad, I did. Always treat a running line with respect.”

Matthew
knew exactly what he meant. He had spent a lot of time in the rigging and had
done his share of hauling, dropping anchor and tying up. The old man was off on
a reverie now, remembering an exploit in his younger days.

“Once
we was boarded in the Mediterranean by Sicilian pirates. After the rogues
rammed and boarded us we was taken ashore and that feared us,” he said,
“because we was certain to be taken up for the galleys. Fortunate though,
because we was bought by the Moors - “

“Fortunate?”
queried Matthew.

“Aye,
lad, fortunate! For if they’d been Spanish galleys, we’d none of us never have
seen home again. But after sore trials, there was thirty-seven of us ransomed
and so we came home alive. I remember - I’ll never forget - all the bells of
London rang and the crowds! I was deaf with the shouting and my eyes were sore
with crying …”

Matthew
listened with genuine interest, making an occasional comment.

The old man
continued, “When I was a lad, there was a big battle up north, at
Branxton. I mind loading the arrow shafts for fletching …” Finally,
after a number of entertaining stories - and a few obvious tall tales - he
paused. “Makes you dry, talking,” he said. Matthew took the hint.

“Now,
lad,” said the old man, when their drinks were refreshed. “How came
you here?”

“Where
to begin?” said Matthew, smiling. “Yes, I am - from the New
World.” He paused. “It was - a new world - to me, for I was very
young when I - left it.”

“What
d’ye recall of it?” asked the man.

“I
remember - ” said Matthew, slowly, “running wild in what seemed to me
to be a paradise.” Quick, fleeting visions passed in front of his eyes.
“I remember - mainly greenery that seemed so tall, so tall; of course it
was, because I was so small. I remember - always being IN this - tangled -
green world and watching and waiting. I wanted to hunt, like all the boys I
knew. And fish, of course. Lots of fish, in the sea and in the streams. There
was everything we needed. We lacked nothing, nothing … and I ran wild when I
could, there in the green or on the beach. And in the water. I was like a fish
…”