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Authors: Stephen Wheeler
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assistant, was busy distributing leftover scraps from the abbey’s dinner table to the deserving poor. Among those clamouring for free handouts was a particularly pathetic, filthy and hooded cripple dressed in rags and bent double with age and infirmity.
‘What’s this, Mother Han, no eye-patch today? Are we witnessing a miracle? Has sight been restored to the sightless? Halleluiah and praise be!’
Brother Richard stopped what he was doing and peered hard at the hooded hag before him.
‘You’ve been round once already today,’ he said angrily snatching back the half trencher he had just given her and shoved it into the hands of the little girl who was waiting next in line.
Mother Han spat on the ground and let out a string of invectives at the hapless Richard before shambling out of the queue. I shambled after her.
‘I might have guessed it was you, Brother Stuck-up,’ she sniffed. ‘Haven’t you anything better to do than spy on decent folk trying to ward off the pangs of hunger for a few hours?’
‘You don’t look hungry to me, quite the opposite. And alms are for the needy. It was fortunate that I happened along to stop you stealing food from the mouths of innocent babes - like that little girl behind you.’ I noticed the same girl was keeping pace a few yards behind us now while picking at her trencher.
‘It was her I was doing it for,’ she said jabbing a backward thumb. ‘I can wheedle more out of you tight-fisted monks than she can.’
‘I don’t think Brother Richard would permit a waif like that to go hungry.’
‘Not today maybe. But she’ll need to eat again tomorrow. Will you be here to feed her?’
‘So it’s charity work you do now. Is this your latest vocation?’
‘More so than yours.’
‘Mine is a vocation from God.’
‘Who’s to say mine isn’t?’
She stopped briefly by the plague-stone and peered inside. The plague-stone is a bowl-shaped vessel honed out of solid rock and sticking out of the abbey wall into which donations are placed for lepers and others in need. It is kept filled with vinegar as a barrier to disease. Mother Han dipped her hand into the liquid, scooped out the few coins that lay on the bottom and then licked the vinegar off her fingers.
I wrinkled my nose in revulsion. ‘Aren’t you afraid of catching something?’
‘What I en’t got already en’t worth catching. Besides, I got you here to cure me, ain’t I?’ she cackled. Then she scowled again. ‘What do you want? It aren’t good being seen ’sociating with a monk. Gives an honest woman a bad name.’
I sighed. ‘I was in the market today.’
‘I know. I seen ya.’
‘Then you also saw what happened.’
‘Saw some Frenchie monk spouting some nonsense.’
‘After that, I mean. The fight.’
‘Fights happen all the time in the market,’ she sniffed.
‘Not many end in murder.’
She shook her head. ‘Didn’t see no murder.’
‘If you were there you must have seen it. The place was in uproar.’
She stopped. ‘I’m a half-blind old widder-woman. What would I see?’ And to make the point she fished in a pocket for her eye-patch and replaced it over one eye.
‘You and I both know there’s nothing wrong with your eyes. They’re as good as mine.’
‘Pity then you can’t see what’s in front of yours.’
‘So you did see something. If you did then for goodness sake speak up. A man’s life may depend on it.’
She shrugged. ‘What do I care? If he don’t hang for that he’ll hang for summat else. He’s a Londoner. Only one thing worse than a Frenchie and that’s a Londoner. Sounds like a good day’s work to me,’ she cackled.
I turned and faced her. ‘Mother Han, did you see who killed Brother Fidele or not?’
She pouted. ‘Your trouble, Brother Snooty, is you keep asking the wrong questions.’
‘Then tell me what questions I should be asking.’
She sighed and stuck three grimy fingers in my face: ‘Who was there? Who took Hamo in? And
‘What’s this, Mother Han, no eye-patch today? Are we witnessing a miracle? Has sight been restored to the sightless? Halleluiah and praise be!’
Brother Richard stopped what he was doing and peered hard at the hooded hag before him.
‘You’ve been round once already today,’ he said angrily snatching back the half trencher he had just given her and shoved it into the hands of the little girl who was waiting next in line.
Mother Han spat on the ground and let out a string of invectives at the hapless Richard before shambling out of the queue. I shambled after her.
‘I might have guessed it was you, Brother Stuck-up,’ she sniffed. ‘Haven’t you anything better to do than spy on decent folk trying to ward off the pangs of hunger for a few hours?’
‘You don’t look hungry to me, quite the opposite. And alms are for the needy. It was fortunate that I happened along to stop you stealing food from the mouths of innocent babes - like that little girl behind you.’ I noticed the same girl was keeping pace a few yards behind us now while picking at her trencher.
‘It was her I was doing it for,’ she said jabbing a backward thumb. ‘I can wheedle more out of you tight-fisted monks than she can.’
‘I don’t think Brother Richard would permit a waif like that to go hungry.’
‘Not today maybe. But she’ll need to eat again tomorrow. Will you be here to feed her?’
‘So it’s charity work you do now. Is this your latest vocation?’
‘More so than yours.’
‘Mine is a vocation from God.’
‘Who’s to say mine isn’t?’
She stopped briefly by the plague-stone and peered inside. The plague-stone is a bowl-shaped vessel honed out of solid rock and sticking out of the abbey wall into which donations are placed for lepers and others in need. It is kept filled with vinegar as a barrier to disease. Mother Han dipped her hand into the liquid, scooped out the few coins that lay on the bottom and then licked the vinegar off her fingers.
I wrinkled my nose in revulsion. ‘Aren’t you afraid of catching something?’
‘What I en’t got already en’t worth catching. Besides, I got you here to cure me, ain’t I?’ she cackled. Then she scowled again. ‘What do you want? It aren’t good being seen ’sociating with a monk. Gives an honest woman a bad name.’
I sighed. ‘I was in the market today.’
‘I know. I seen ya.’
‘Then you also saw what happened.’
‘Saw some Frenchie monk spouting some nonsense.’
‘After that, I mean. The fight.’
‘Fights happen all the time in the market,’ she sniffed.
‘Not many end in murder.’
She shook her head. ‘Didn’t see no murder.’
‘If you were there you must have seen it. The place was in uproar.’
She stopped. ‘I’m a half-blind old widder-woman. What would I see?’ And to make the point she fished in a pocket for her eye-patch and replaced it over one eye.
‘You and I both know there’s nothing wrong with your eyes. They’re as good as mine.’
‘Pity then you can’t see what’s in front of yours.’
‘So you did see something. If you did then for goodness sake speak up. A man’s life may depend on it.’
She shrugged. ‘What do I care? If he don’t hang for that he’ll hang for summat else. He’s a Londoner. Only one thing worse than a Frenchie and that’s a Londoner. Sounds like a good day’s work to me,’ she cackled.
I turned and faced her. ‘Mother Han, did you see who killed Brother Fidele or not?’
She pouted. ‘Your trouble, Brother Snooty, is you keep asking the wrong questions.’
‘Then tell me what questions I should be asking.’
She sighed and stuck three grimy fingers in my face: ‘Who was there? Who took Hamo in? And
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