The Holy Innocents

Chapter Three

Geoffrey of Monmouth, in his Historia Britonum, tells us that Brutus, son of Sylvius, grandson of Aeneas the Trojan, founded Totnes, and gave his name to the whole island of Britain – but there are some things I have always begged leave to doubt. On the other hand, having seen it for myself, I would take anyone’s word that Totnes is a rich and thriving town, and that its wealth is founded on wool. All trades connected with that commodity – tucking, fulling, spinning, weaving, dyeing – are well represented both within and without its walls, and while other occupations do of course flourish there, it is the fleece of the Devonshire sheep which is responsible for its general air of prosperity. Or perhaps I should say ‘was’, for I have not visited the place for many years now.

And one thing at least I know has changed. In that spring of 1475, the castle was still in the possession of the powerful Zouche family, all ardent supporters of the House of York, and therefore the climate of the town was also Yorkist.

During the time that I spent there, I never heard a single whisper against King Edward or his younger brother, Prince Richard. Nowadays, however, that freebooting Lancastrian, Sir Richard Edgecombe of Cotehele, is lord of Totnes and appoints the castle’s constables.

But I digress… I followed Grizelda’s direction and went in by the West Gate, close to the cattle market. A drover entered just ahead of me, driving two of his beasts to the shambles for slaughter, and I asked him who in authority I might speak to concerning my sighting of the outlaws. He suggested the names of several Town Wardens, who would pass my information on to the Mayor who, in his turn, would decide if it were of sufficient importance to be retailed to the Sheriff.

‘But if you want to catch the early-morning trade,’ my informant advised me, nodding at my pack, ‘I’d leave all such civic matters until later. The women will be out and about betimes today. Most of ’era have been up since dawn, hocking, and they’ll be in the mood to spend money. If you’ve any blue ribbons in your pack,’ he added, ‘save some for me. My woman fancies herself in a blue ribbon, though why I don’t know! An uglier face it’d be hard to find between here and t’other side o’ Dartmoor. If you want a good stand,’ he continued charitably, ‘take up a position opposite the Priory, near the Guildhall.’

I thanked him and moved away. He called after me, ‘As to that other business, try Thomas Cozin. He’s a Warden of the Leech Well. He’ll give you a sympathetic hearing and not ask too many awkward questions.’ The friendly eyes twinkled. ‘Such as why you didn’t try to capture the entire band of ruffians single-handed.’

I laughed, in recognition of the drover’s shrewd appreciation of the pitfalls of dealing with Authority, repeated my thanks and strode out, past the pillory and the shambles, past prosperous looking houses and shops to an open space alongside the Guildhall, near the East Gate. There was already a small crowd of vendors, selling pies and hot pigs’ feet, bundles of rushes and earthenware pots. A wandering minstrel was piping a jig and a trio of jugglers entertained those townspeople who had already spent their money, but were not yet prepared to return home to dinner.

By the greatest good fortune, no other chapman had yet arrived to peddle his wares, so I was able to claim the undivided attention of the women once I had opened my pack and displayed its contents. I did a good trade in needles, thread, laces and other such mundane objects among the wives and beldams, but the younger, flightier women vied with each other in the purchase of ribbons and brooches, coloured leather tags for their girdles and kerchiefs of fine white linen, trimmed with Honiton lace.

I had sold more than half my stock when I saw a little knot of women coming towards me, their eager faces plainly expressing interest in my goods. A second look convinced me that they were a mother and three young daughters, so alike were they in their natural vivacity and general glow of good health. All were plump and round, like little robins, and with a delicacy and refinement of manner that raised them above the common ruck. But neither were they noble, there was only one servant girl, who carried the basket, attendant upon them, and their cloaks were made of camlet, trimmed with squirrel, not fur, lined with sarcinet. The family of a rich burgher, I decided, although I could take small credit for such a obvious deduction.

As they gathered around me, laughing and chattering, I could see that there was not much more than sixteen summers between the mother and her eldest child, a girl just entering upon womanhood and very conscious of the fact, judging by the provocative glances she directed towards all the men within range of her sparkling hazel eyes. I myself was the recipient of more than one glance, but steadfastly refused to return them, giving all my attention to the older woman and devoutly thankful that Joan, as her sisters called her, had not been a member of the hocking party I had encountered that morning. The two younger girls, variously addressed as Elizabeth and Ursula, were not as yet interested in the male sex except for their father, who, from their conversation, they regarded as the provider and source of all good things.

‘Mother, may I have this brooch? It’s so pretty and I’m sure Father would wish me to have it, don’t you think so?’

‘Oh, Mother, look at this doll. Father won’t mind if you buy it for me.’

‘Mother, I want a new needle-case and there’s an ivory one here which is big enough to hold at least half a dozen needles. If I explain to Father that I really do need it, he won’t care if you purchase it for me.’

‘Mother, this lawn kerchief will go very well at the neck of my green woollen gown. Father was saying only yesterday that it lacked sufficient adornment.’

Their parent, giving only half an ear to her two younger daughters’ requirements, was busy on her own account, making a selection of my wares, her small white hands hovering predatorily above the open pack, fluttering from object to object, touching first one thing and then another, unable to decide what she most wanted to buy. She, too, seemed to have no fear of a husbandly reprimand for her spendthrift ways as she selected ribbons, laces, two beautifully hammered pewter belt-tags and a pair of gloves, made in Spain. But the object of her greatest desire was the length of ivory silk brocade which, like the gloves, had come from the hold of the Portuguese merchantman, lying off Dartmouth. She fingered it longingly, but when I named my price, she did, at last, hesitate, as though such a purchase might stretch even uxorious tolerance too far.

‘Buy it, Mother,’ urged the middle girl, who was named, like my own child, Elizabeth, after our Queen. ‘Father remarked the other day that you need a new gown, didn’t he, Joan? And if he should quibble at the expense, I’m sure Uncle Oliver would be delighted to purchase it for you. He was inquiring yesterday how he could repay your hospitality. He has been staying with us for nearly three weeks.’

Her mother still hesitated, however. ‘I’m sure you’re right, dearling, but I cannot presume on either your uncle’s generosity or your father’s goodwill. But it is beautiful,’ she breathed, smoothing the brocade again. ‘See how it shimmers in the light.’ She thought for a moment, then seemed to make up her mind. ‘Chapman,’ she said, ‘after dinner, when you have finished here, will you be so kind as to bring this length of silk to my house, so that my husband can inspect it and judge of its quality for himself?’

‘I shall be most pleased to do so,’ I answered, ‘if you’ll give me your direction.’

She waved a delicate hand, prismatic with rings. ‘A little way up the hill. Ask for Warden Thomas Cozin. Everyone knows where we live.’ She spoke with all the certainty of someone of standing in the local community, and I had noted from the first that most passers-by acknowledged her and her daughters with a bow, a curtsey or a respectful word of greeting.

‘Thomas Cozin?’ I glanced at her sharply. ‘Warden of the Leech Well?’

She looked pleased. ‘You’ve heard of him already?’ I explained the circumstances as speedily as I could, and she frowned, her eyebrows almost meeting across the delicate, tip-tilted nose.

‘The outlaws were foraging again last night? Oh dear, oh dear! They are becoming such a menace in these parts.’ She lowered her voice so that her daughters should not hear. ‘The great fear is that they will grow so daring that they may find some way into the upper part of the town during the hours of darkness. The gates are locked from sundown until the sounding of the Angelus, but as you can see for yourself we are defended in part by a simple ditch and earthworks. Determined, evil men, could discover a way in, I’m sure.’ She shuddered. ‘And they have proved themselves capable of murder.’

‘Two children, I understand.’

Mistress Cozin nodded, unable for a moment to continue speaking. At last, she whispered, ‘Two innocents. Two little holy innocents with less than a dozen summers between the pair of them.’ She laid a hand on my arm, such a display of familiarity with a tradesman demonstrating the measure of her distress. ‘You must certainly tell my husband all you remember of the outlaws, Chapman. Even the smallest recollection may be of value.’

I doubted this, for the light had been poor and they were, when all was said and done, just men like a hundred others. Not one had had a club foot or a monstrous hump upon his back to distinguish him from his law-abiding fellows. Nevertheless, now that I was committed to visiting the Cozin household, I should do my duty and report what I had seen to the Warden.

‘I shall be with you after the dinner hour,’ I promised. ‘At this rate, my pack will be empty long before then.’ A squeeze of my wrist, and Mistress Cozin released me, suddenly aware of the impropriety of her conduct.

‘I shall tell my husband to expect you. Come girls,’ she added, raising her voice, ‘we must be go. Put your purchases in Jenny’s basket. Ursula! Elizabeth! Hurry along, now. Joan, don’t dawdle, please!’

The latter turned slowly from her contemplation of a young man listening to the minstrel, gave me a long, smouldering look from beneath her lashes and reluctantly followed her mother and sisters as they moved away. I blushed and hastily averted my eyes. Mistress Cozin called over her shoulder, ‘Don’t forget, Chapman!’ and, with the faithful Jenny trailing after them, mother and daughters began climbing the hill.

Long before the sun had reached its zenith, I had sold the bulk of my wares and was thinking of my dinner. It seemed many hours since I had eaten breakfast in Grizelda’s cottage, and my appetite, always large, told me it was time to go in search of food. So I bought two meat pies, from a pie shop, and a flask of ale and retraced my steps beneath the West Gate. From there, I followed the track which led downhill, past the cattle market, past the town’s medicinal spring, the Leech Well, and past the Magdalen Leper Hospital to the meadows about St Peter’s Quay, close by the ancient demesne of Cherry Cross. Here, within sight of the placidly flowing Dart and the dam which had tamed the tidal marshes south of the foregate, I assuaged my burning hunger and reflected on the events of the morning.

So much had happened since I had opened my eyes in the lee of a hedge just before daybreak that I was growing suspicious, suspicious that God was once again taking a hand in my affairs and using me as His divine instrument against evil. For ever since I had renounced my novitiate, four and a half years earlier, just after my mother’s death and in defiance of her wishes, I had been plunged into a series of adventures which, at the risk to myself of injury and danger, had resulted in villains being brought to justice for their crimes. It had been shown to me that I had a talent for solving puzzles and unravelling mysteries that baffled other people, and I had long ago accepted that this was God’s way of exacting retribution for my abandonment of the religious life. Not that my acceptance was meek and wholehearted, far from it! I got angry with God. I told Him plainly that I thought it extremely unfair that He should constantly be interfering in my life like this. I argued that there was no reason why I should obey Him, and that I was entitled to a quiet existence, free from aggravation. He listened sympathetically. He always does.

And I always lost.

I drank my ale slowly, staring into the distance on the other side of the river, where horizons were blurred and the contours of hills soft and mellow in the hazy afternoon mist.

Perhaps, after all, I was wrong, for nothing had happened so far which could require my special talents. I did not feel that I was expected to go single-handed after a band of dangerous outlaws, that merely required dogged persistence and a great deal of luck on the part of the Sheriff and his posse. Yet neither could I throw off the nagging doubt that there was something I had missed, some intimation that God had need of me again.

I scrambled to my feet, exchanged a few pleasantries with the workmen on the quay who were busy loading a ship with bales of woollen cloth, and set off back the way I had come. I was abreast of the leper hospital – a creditably large building, with chapel and hall and accommodation for, I judged, some half-dozen lazars – and was making for the crack between it and the Leech Well when I heard the jingle of harness and the thud of hooves, heralds of an approaching horseman. Turning my head, I saw a big chestnut with pale mane and tail, who flashed me a glance from brilliant, imperious eyes as he drew within range. The light ran like liquid bronze across the shining coat and rippling, powerful muscles.

A superb beast, who must have cost his owner a fortune.

I transferred my attention to the rider, a man whose lower face was concealed by a thick, full, dark brown beard. He was fashionably and richly dressed, with riding boots of soft red leather, a short red velvet cloak lined with sable, and a black velvet cap adorned with a brooch, comprised of pearls, encircling a large, winking ruby. A man of substance, obviously, yet there was a nervousness about him, as though he were unused to riding such a mettlesome mount. He held the animal on too short a rein and sat uneasily in the saddle.

I watched his erratic progress down the hill in the direction of the bridge which crossed the Dart at the bottom of the foregate. Then I ascended the incline to the West Gate and re-entered the town.

As Mistress Cozin had predicted, I had no difficulty locating the home she shared with her husband and daughters. The first person I asked at once pointed out the house in the shadow of the Priory, and advised me that the family was within. Plainly the comings and goings of the Cozins were of interest to their neighbours, and my first impression of their importance in the town was strengthened.

The house had a frontage two rooms deep and two storeys high. As I later discovered, a side passage, from which the stairs rose steeply to the upper floor, led into a courtyard, beyond which were the kitchens, and beyond that again, lay the stables, workshops and storehouses. As there seemed to be no back entrance, I took my courage in both hands and rapped loudly on the front door.

My knock was answered by the little maid, Jenny, whom I had seen that morning, attending her mistress. She led me upstairs to the front parlour, where the lady of the house and her daughters were sitting. This room had been extended out over the street, supported on pillars, a privilege for which householders had to pay a substantial fine. Unprepared for such preferential treatment, I stood awkwardly, just inside the door, stooping a little, as I so often did, to prevent the top of my head from brushing the ceiling. The two younger girls immediately started to giggle but were frowned into silence by their mother.

Mistress Cozin indicated a stool. ‘Pray be seated, Chapman. My husband and his brother will be with us very shortly. Meanwhile, you may lay out the brocade.’ Her gaze sharpened with anxiety. ‘You still have it? You haven’t sold it in the meantime?’

‘No, no,’ I assured her, and produced it from my pack, letting it cascade in a shimmering waterfall across my arm.

She breathed a sigh of relief just as the door behind me opened, and her husband and his brother walked in. I stumbled once more to my feet, trying not to let my astonishment show.

Thomas and Oliver Cozin were twins and as alike as two ears of wheat. But what caused my surprise was not their similarity, but the fact that either should be in any way connected with the four pretty and lively females seated around me. That Thomas Cozin was much older than his wife was immediately apparent, and, as I later learned, he must then have been in his forty-fifth year, he and his brother claiming to have been born around the time that the witch, La Pucelle, was captured by the Burgundians outside Compiégne. My first impression of the pair was one of greyness, grey hair, grey eyes, grey clothes. Both stooped a little and were very lean, the shape of the skull prominent beneath the parchment-like, finely stretched skin. There was something dusty and desiccated about them, and while I could imagine a marriage of convenience between Thomas and his sprightly, attractive wife, in my youthful arrogance I was unable to picture it as a love match.

My ignorance was immediately dispelled, as all four women rose and fluttered towards father and uncle, uttering little cries of pleasure, settling them in the best chairs, even the self-absorbed Joan hastened to pour them wine. The men displayed equal warmth, kissing cheeks and embracing trim waists with their bony arms. And as subsequent conversation led me to understand that they had been parted for no more half an hour since dinner, their show of affection was all the more remarkable. I have rarely in my life met a family so devoted to one another as that one.

‘So this is the chapman,’ Thomas Cozin observed as he sipped his wine. He smiled encouragingly at me. ‘You have something to tell me, I believe, concerning the outlaws. And so you shall, once’ – and the grey eyes twinkled with laughter – ‘the important part of your business here is concluded.’ He turned to his wife. ‘Alice, my dear, this, I presume, is the brocade you are so anxious to show me.’

She nodded and caressed the silk with a reverent hand. ‘I know it’s a great deal of money, Thomas, but nothing like so much as you would have to pay here, in Totnes.’

‘Nor in Exeter,’ Oliver Cozin put in. ‘It is certainly a fine piece of material, and now that I have seen it, I should like to present it as a gift to you, my dearest sister, in gratitude for your hospitality these past three weeks.’

A good-natured argument immediately ensued between him and his brother as to who should pay for the brocade, an altercation finally resolved by my suggestion that they should each contribute half the price.

‘The wisdom of Solomon,’ smiled Thomas Cozin.

‘An old head on young shoulders,’ agreed his brother.

The matter being thus amicably settled to everyone’s satisfaction, Alice and her daughters bore the brocade away to inspect it more closely in the privacy of her bedchamber, while I was left with the men to tell the story of my morning’s adventure. When I had finished, Thomas Cozin thanked me politely, but was of the opinion that it would be pointless to trouble either the Mayor or the Sheriff with it.

‘You saw too little, Master Chapman, for your story to be of much help.’

I inclined my head in agreement. ‘My own feelings, your honour, so I’ll trouble you no longer.’ I gathered up my pack and stowed away the two gold angels in the purse at my belt, buckling it securely. ‘I’ll wish you good-day and delay you no further.’

But as I rose to my feet, I was detained by Oliver Cozin.

‘A moment, Chapman.’ He regarded me speculatively with shrewd grey eyes. ‘Do you stay in Totnes overnight?’ I gave my assent. ‘Where were you planning to sleep?’

‘The Priory, if they can accommodate me in their guest hall. Otherwise’ – I shrugged – ‘anywhere warm and dry will do. Under a hedge, in a barn, even in a ditch provided it’s not full of water. I have a good frieze cloak in my pack which will protect me against inclement weather.’

Oliver Cozin glanced briefly at his brother, and a silent question and answer passed between them. Then he asked, ‘What would you say to a house, all to yourself?’ I stared at him in perplexity, and he went on, ‘Oh, don’t imagine that I’m offering you luxury. The house has stood empty these past two months, dust and cobwebs gathering everywhere. I am a lawyer and it belongs to a client of mine, for whom I am acting in the purchase of a property hereabouts. He was with me this morning, and expressed anxiety about his previous domicile, the house just mentioned, which remains unoccupied in spite of all his attempts to find a tenant for it. In normal times, such a fact would not trouble him, but with these outlaws roaming the district, he fears that they may penetrate the town and steal his goods.’

‘Then why does he not remain there himself?’

The lawyer’s tone sharpened. ‘Chapman, you either wish to accept my offer or you do not. Nothing else concerns you.’ I hesitated. The prospect of spending a night in the comfort of a well furnished house, and one, moreover, I should have all to myself, was tempting. Yet there was something here which made me uneasy, and my instincts bade me refuse.

‘But I shall be gone from Totnes in the morning,’ I cavilled. ‘What good will my protection be for a single night? The outlaws could strike tomorrow. Besides, how do you know that you can trust me? I might make off with some of your client’s goods.’

Oliver Cozin was affronted. ‘Do you think me such a fool that I can’t tell an honest man when I see one? As for your other question, one night is better than none. As the blessed St Martin said, half a cloak is preferable to no cloak at all.’

I glanced at Thomas Cozin, standing at his brother’s side, the two grey figures so alike that it was as though I had drunk too much ale and was seeing double. At present, their faces were expressionless, although there was, perhaps, just the tiniest flicker of worry in Thomas’s eyes. He did not have a lawyer’s ability to hide his emotions completely.

Was I imagining things? After all, what had they offered me but a comfortable lodging for the night? It would be foolish to refuse, even though I did not believe for a second that the outlaws would risk coming into the town. Such an occurrence had reality only in the fevered imagination of the townspeople.

‘Very well,’ I said. ‘I accept. And thank you.’