King's Gold

Agatha had been to Worcester several times in her life, to markets and twice to see the executions, but today was different as she continued with Father Luke on towards her goal, the huge cathedral that stood in the middle of the city.

‘Let us enter and pray before we go to see him,’ Father Luke said as they reached the massive west door. He looked up, she saw, as though in profound piety, like a saint about to enter his named church, but it didn’t impress her. When they had entered the city, she had seen the way that he had eyed each tavern and low ale-house. He was no better than any other man, and was as keen on a drink as her own Ham had been.

Ham had loved coming to the market. There was always a good profit to be made, he reckoned. Not that Agatha saw it. He’d come, sell his produce, make money, and then spend it in a tavern and doze on the cart on the way home. She said he was a purse, accepting coins from one man and passing them on to another within the day.

He had been so enthusiastic when he was young, had Ham. He had plans then, for making money. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t a free man, he would say. Others had managed to build good flocks; buy houses and rent them – take a field or two and charge for pasturage. And he was right. Even the Bishop here at Worcester would be pleased with a serf who made money, for the Bishop took a tenth of everything the serf earned, as well as the best of his animals when he died. The system worked for everyone.

But then his enthusiasm waned. He was too comfortable, that was the trouble. He liked an easy life. That was why Agatha found the idea of Ham stealing the priest’s money so believable. He would have taken that opportunity if it fell into his lap.

In the thirty-odd miles to walk here, away from the vill and Jen, away from the daily drudge of milking, cleaning the sty, seeing to the chickens, preparing food and drink, listening all the while to Jen’s chattering, Agatha had had time to reflect, and not all her thoughts were comfortable.

For instance, she had always bemoaned her fate, thinking that her husband had cost her a better life. Alice shone as an example of how her life could be improved. Yet now she wondered whether Ham had ever felt the same. Maybe he thought that he could have done better without her. There were women who inspired their menfolk, she knew. They would flatter and cajole, promise favours later in their beds, and in other ways persuade.

Not all succeeded, for there were three women in the vill who were thought either to be shrews who deserved a thrashing, or foolish chits who should be regularly beaten. In Agatha’s mind, all were equally stupid. A woman who didn’t expect her husband to treat her with respect was a fool. If Ham had ever tried to beat her, she would have made him regret it. Without a doubt some of Ham’s friends looked down on him because he couldn’t cow her. So be it. If a man tried to thrash her, she’d soon give him reason to regret his temerity!

Father Luke was at the door now, and she came to with a start. For a moment there, she had been back in the past with her memories. Now she recalled that there was a sterner purpose to her visit here. She nodded and walked in after him, and stood in the vast, echoing nave.

It was busy. Three merchants stood at the side, arguing loudly about a sale, while a peasant with two grey raches stood, head lowered, brows beetling as he stared truculently towards the altar. A woman knelt on the stone floor, weeping and pulling her hair while two boys and a young girl stood at her side looking baffled and anxious. A couple at the back of the church were holding hands, he pretending to be entirely unaware of the woman at his side, while she gazed adoringly up into his face. Two old men sat on the floor, backs to the wall, playing a game of knucklebones, one chuckling throatily and holding out his hand for a penny.

A priest was trying to catch two boys who darted in and out among the congregation, but he was too fat and slow to make any headway. The boys ran laughing loudly, while the incense soared up to the roof and priests mumbled their incomprehensible words. It was enough to make a body give up on the Church, she told herself.

They prayed, and then waited until Father Luke could speak to a cleric. Soon Luke was beckoned, and he followed the cleric out.

Agatha did not mind. Women would not be welcome in the Bishop’s Palace, she knew, and she was content to leave Father Luke to conduct the interview. He was too simple to think of bilking her and trying to get out of the arrangement. For it was in his interests to find that money now, too. He was an old fool, to be sure, but he seemed to think he had the vill’s future to think of. He would work hard to bring the money back to Willersey.

‘Well?’ she demanded as he strode back to her where she waited outside, some while later.

Looking up, he registered how far the sun had moved across the sky. ‘Past noon already,’ he muttered.