Chapter
1
1445-Sittyngborne
in the county of Kent.
Sittyngborne
was shrouded with fog on a cold morning. Puddles in the street
boasted a crust of clear ice over the mud beneath. The figures of
early risers engaged in various activities seemed ghostly until they
were almost upon you, then appeared suddenly, as clear as day.
The
sun would struggle to burn of the fog by mid-day if at all. Winter
had come early to this tiny town on the north downs of Kent and the
fog itself sent a chill through the bones. The guard on the east gate
shivered, looking forward to his relief arriving. There was a warm
fire in the guard house and they would be having breakfast about now.
He
had heard sailors who plied their trade along the tidal creek and up
to London gossip that the Thames was likely to freeze. There was even
talk of a great frost fair, where Londoners would indulge in business
and pleasure on the frozen river itself. It was rare but so was the
arrival of the north winds which bought these conditions so early. At
times the great city was cut off in bad winters. If it's early
arrival was anything to go by this year was likely to be one. It
would be hard on those who relied on trade with the city.
A
few hardy souls were about. A hawker up early to get the best patch
and a merchant on his way to open his small shop walked along,
peering into the white mist that shrouded everything. They almost
bumped into each other.
Near
the Creek was a small building with a wooden frame and simple stone
built chimney. The framework was covered in wattle and daub. The
thatched roof was in poor repair. Bits of the dry and cracked outer
covering were falling off in the freezing conditions. Windows and
doors were covered by bits of sacking. It was built on what was
little more than a large garden, almost barren now, but the state of
this plot was the last thing on the mind of one of the two occupants.
The other was barely aware of the world around her.
Inside
the hut Philip Reyner sat on his dirty straw mattress. He was a small
child. His oval face was framed by unruly brown hair, shaped roughly
like a pudding basin and his ears were hidden beneath it. He had
green eyes over a thin nose and a narrow mouth His arms and legs were
well muscled for a boy his age. They got a lot of use. He was thin
but that, also, was to be expected given his situation.
Numbers
meant little to him but if truth were known he could not have been
more than nine years old.
The
family dwelling had two small rooms, the first containing two small
straw mattresses on the floor. One was his and one his Mother's.
Apart from that the only other furniture was an old Chest, a stool
and a table. There was a small fire in the hearth, barely enough to
warm him on this cold night. The sounds of the livestock could be
heard in the other room, separated by a curtain of old sack cloth. It
hadn't always been like this, once they had lived in a cottage with a
kitchen and bedchambers. Philip sighed at the thought. He had known
hardship and sorrow but tonight was the worst of his young life.
He
held a Ring in his hand. It was his only legacy from his late and
unlamented father, Matthew, who had died of a mysterious infection
four winters before. No-one knew what it was. The town gossips had
attributed it to everything from the pox to the plague. The town had
seen people suffering with various ailments. They thought they knew
the symptoms but this was different. Towards the end he vomited blood
a lot.
A
physician may have provided a diagnosis but they were expensive, very
expensive. The apothecary took some eggs and milk in exchange for an
unintelligible diagnosis about humours being out of balance. He had
bled the man and assured his family he would be well in a few days.
It was not common practice for an apothecary to do this but, aside
from the cost, Sittyngborne boasted no Physician.
They
might as well have saved the food for themselves. Medical cures
rarely worked, even those prescribed by a Physician. The Apothecary
who attended Matthew Reyner had a large shop in Sittyngborne near
the 'Lyon'. He often boasted medical knowledge so they had taken him
at his word. He may have put more effort into saving Matthew if he
had been paid in coin but it was doubtful he could have saved the
patient even then.
Philip
often wondered about the Ring he held. It looked like Gold to his
young eyes but he had never really seen any before. Even so it had to
be worth something. Could they have saved his father if they had sold
it? After his father had died he had asked his mother that question.
She had answered that the Ring was his legcy, or something like that
and that it had been in the family for many years. She also said it
was important, though she did not know why and She would not sell it.
In
any case Matthew had been a drunken sot. He seemed to blame everyone
but himself for his laziness, drinking and womanising. Mary had
suspected that that the illness was God's punishment and it was his
sins that killed him.
So,
Matthew died and his wife scraped together the cost of a poor burial
by selling a little of their produce. After the rents and the tithes
there was barely enough to feed them that year. They were reduced to
eating what little they found or could scavenge. They had once farmed
a few strips of land around the town and it had provided a good
income but then his father gradually sank into the mire of drink,
gambling and whores. He was able to exchange the tenancy of his
fields, one by one, for cash. His neighbour Master Tyler was hungry
for land and took all that he could get. Mistress Tyler felt a little
guilty that her husband took advantage of Matthew's situation and
tried to make up for it by making small acts of charity and sending
Mary cast off clothing for her and Philip.
Things
settled down eventually and they actually found life a little easier
without Matthew. They would never admit the fact, it would be
disrespectful. He had been absolved of his sins and if God forgave
him who were they to argue. Even so It soon became apparent just how
much Matthew had been spending when they found they were able to
amass some coin in the following years.
Sighing,
he replaced the Ring in a small bag around his neck. The bag was a
Yule gift from his mother, she had made it from some spare leather
and it contained all those things a small boy treasures.
They
had managed well until his mother had found a growth where her breast
and armpit merged. Such things were rare but she had seen it in
elderly people. They usually wasted away quickly and invariably died
within a few years. She had not mentioned it to Philip, hoping she
was an exception but after six months it had grown considerably and
she was losing weight rapidly. She bowed to the inevitable and
consulted the apothecary. Once again he blamed the humours building
up and bled her. When the lump didn't go down he bled her again but
it was an expensive business. If it had been working she would have
used all her meagre savings but the treatments were obviously not
achieving anything.
Philip
had heard his mother discussing it with Mistress Tyler and asked her
about it and she saw no point in lying to the boy, if things went as
they had with the other sufferers he would have to know. She told him
about the growth and that it was likely to be the death of her.
He
overheard another conversation between the two women a few weeks
later about a man in a nearby town who claimed to remove such lumps
with a knife but he charged more than the physicians. Rumour had it
that more patients died than survived but it offered a chance of his
mother recovering. He was sure the Ring would raise enough for the
operation and offered it to his mother to sell, but this time she
became angry and told him that she would never sell it no matter how
pressing the need. She had also said that, if it was God's will she
should die, she would accept it.
His
mother lost more weight, becoming little more than skin and bone. She
seemed to be in pain most of the time. The symptoms got worse as
time went on. Even Philip could foresee the inevitable conclusion.
And today God had called her.
After
a night of listening to his mother's pain filled attempts to breathe
and offering what comfort a boy could offer to a dying adult, she had
called him to her.
“Hold
my hand my beautiful boy.” She said weakly. “I go to God soon, I
hear him calling now.”
He
held her hand which was almost skeletal in keeping with the ravages
of the disease that held her prisoner.
“When
I am gone fetch the Priest, he will do what is needed. I have saved
some money in the Chest, enough
to bury me. You will not be in debt for my sake.....”
Once
again she drifted off into a troubled and pain filled sleep for an
hour or so. Just before dawn as the light began to show through the
sacking covering the tiny window, she started as if remembering an
urgent errand. She panicked when she saw Philip was gone from her
side. The boy rushed over to her and held her thin hand again. Her
voice was so weak he could barely make out her words.
“My
son you have kin over Maydstone way, find them, they will help. They
are in our debt. I must go to God now.....I am sorry to leave you to
face this harsh world alone...”
Tears
rolled down his mother's face as she kissed her son for the last
time.
“I
Love you my boy......” She whispered and then with a dry rattle in
her throat she expelled her last breath and her eyes turned flat and
glassy.
Philip
cried over the still form of his mother for what seemed like forever
but eventually he laid her hand down and closed her eyes as he had
seen her do for his father. He kissed her cold forehead and sat once
again on the mattress to wait.
As
soon as it was as bright as the fog would allow he went to the large
Church of St Micheal near the spring at the east end of the High
Street. He took a moment to kneel before the statue of the Virgin. It
was set into a niche in a buttress of the Church and offered the
parishioners a chance to pray when no services were in progress
inside. He dutifully prayed for his parent's souls, but his prayers
were hasty because of the nature of his surroundings.
He
was in the midst of grey, lichen covered and ancient gravestones. It
was scary enough at night but in the fog it seemed eerie and
menacing. His imagination peopled it with ghostly apparitions hiding
behind each stone. As soon as he felt he had prayed enough the
literally ran around the walls of the great Church, expecting a
skeletal hand to grab him with each step.
He
wiped his face with a dirty hand on the way but all he managed was to
spread the dirt on both. The Priest, a kindly man who had visited
both his parents when they were ill, was in the Church porch
unlocking the great wooden door. The boy tugged at his black robe.
He
told the man of his mother's death and the Vicar, Father Mark, went
back to the hut to perform the necessary rites for her.
The
Priest was out of breath when they arrived at the tiny structure. The
boy picked up a wooden cup and offered him some beer from a small
barrel which he accepted. He drank it, though it proved to be very
bitter, and when he regained his breath he thanked the lad.
He
bent over the body of Philip's mother. She had taken on the pallor
of the deceased. The Priest muttered words the lad couldn't
understand as he made the sign of the cross over his mother's chest
several times. Afterwards he sat down and tried to offer comfort to
the boy. Philip spoke very little. This kindly fat man was the same
man who preached about sin and hell fire every day and small boys
always had sins, imagined or otherwise, on their conscience. He was
intimidated and his tongue refused to co-operate.
“Your
mother was at peace with God, she had already confessed her sins to
me when I visited a few days ago and was absolved. Now we must make
enquiries as to what we can do for you, young Philip. Have you family
nearby, friends of your mother possibly?.”
“Mistress
Tyler.” The boy said shyly. “She lives up the lane.”.
That
appeared to use up his meager store of words but the Vicar knew the
woman well. She helped in his magnificent Church. It was not far. He
had time before mass to visit her.
Father
Mark broke the awkward silence.
“I
will see her on my way back and discuss your sad case with Adam
Smith, the Sherriff's man and we will see what can be done. Mistress
Tyler will no doubt bring you when she comes to mass today but it
will take some time to arrange things. Come and see me tomorrow after
Morning Mass.”
After
the Priest left Philip set about the daily routine. It was not much
different today. He had been used to doing the chores alone since his
mother's illness took a turn for the worse. He was no stranger to
hard work. He was often out before dawn gathering Chestnuts and
picking up windfalls in the orchards which proliferated in this part
of Kent. He had even worked in the fields during harvest. His mother
often went fruit picking, taking Philip with her. These were his
favourite memories of his mother, industriously picking apples and
singing or telling him stories. It was all this and his mother's
hard work and prudence that kept them from starving.
Even
so he knew that someone like him would not be allowed to continue to
farm the land. His home would have to be given to someone who could
make the most of it, not a young boy who would be incapable of
working it alone. He sensed his time here was nearly over. He had no
idea what would happen next. Philip possessed a quick and questioning
mind. All the time he was carrying out his daily jobs, he was
thinking about different futures and where he would end up. His
thoughts presented scenario after scenario for his consideration.
None seemed as good as this tiny hut with his Mother but that was
over now. He looked around while he worked. The Sun had broken
through the fog now though small patches lingered. Apart from that
the hut was bathed in a weak wintry light.
With
the animals fed he thought about finding his friend Ned, (Mistress
Tyler's youngest boy.) if only to get away from his Mother's body.
He knew it was not Mary, According to Father Mark her soul was with
God, though his treacherous mind started asking questions about that
too. It was the shell that remained which scared him a little and he
was sure it made a few odd noises.
Before
he could set off to find Ned, Mistress Tyler and her youngest son
walked down the lane towards him. Ned was a few years younger than
Philip and wanted to play, seemingly unaware of his friend's grief.
His Mother ordered him curtly to show some respect and sit quietly.
It was awkward, Philip would have welcomed the chance to discuss all
this with Ned. His mother bustled around tidying, though in truth
there was nothing much to tidy. Mary's body emitted a low grumbling
noise. It was extremely loud in the silence. Mistress Tyler, who had
seen death many times, ignored it. Ned, like Philip, was fearful of
it's brooding presence.
Thankfully
Some men arrived with the parish coffin on the Tyler's handcart. They
took his Mother's body to the Church. Mistress Tyler, after ensuring
the place was clean, though Philip wasn't sure why, took him to mass
at mid-day. She was pious and attended services most days. He prayed
for his mother's soul but part of him wondered, irreverently, how
much more prayer it would need. The Priest said she was already with
God so he didn't see how his prayers would make much difference.
After
Church he was taken to the Tyler's neat thatched cottage and seated
with Ned at the huge table for the main meal of the day. He sat
quietly and picked at his food while the family chattered around him.
Of course his Mother's death was the main topic.
For
the rest of the day he endured Master and Mistress Tyler and even
some of the older of the 5 Tyler children ordering him about. It was
all bustle and rush.
Master
Tyler told him he would be staying with them for the night.
Towards
evening Tyler went to tend the Reyner animals with his oldest son
Edward. They made sure the house was secure. All Tyler could do was
tie the sacking covering the doorway with leather thongs, the hut
boasted no real door. Edward Tyler proudly thought about their
cottage, which had a wooden door and crude bolts top and bottom.
This
day had been one of the longest of Philip's life. There was little
room in the home of such a large family so he was put in lean-to
where the animals slept, on a bed of straw. He knew his mother was
with God, he had been told so endlessly today. Only now did it hit
him, though, that he was alone and he cried, great heaving sobs that
racked his small body. They seemed to go on forever. His sobs
eventually subsided and tiredness took over as he slid into a
troubled sleep.
