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  Lucifer’s Harvest

  “Another exciting page-turner by Mel Starr. Confronted by skulduggery in the Black Prince’s camp, resolute surgeon Hugh de Singleton risks neck and soul to uncloak the villains. Starr beautifully depicts the sounds, sights and smells, as well as the emotions, of the medieval world in this welcome addition to his long-running series.”

  – Jill Dalladay, author of the The Abbess of Whitby

  The chronicles of Hugh de Singleton, surgeon

  The Unquiet Bones

  A Corpse at St Andrew’s Chapel

  A Trail of Ink

  Unhallowed Ground

  The Tainted Coin

  Rest Not in Peace

  The Abbot’s Agreement

  Ashes to Ashes

  Lucifer’s Harvest

  Lucifer’s Harvest

  The ninth chronicle of Hugh de Singleton, surgeon

  MEL STARR

  Text copyright © 2016 Mel Starr

  This edition copyright © 2016 Lion Hudson

  The right of Mel Starr to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  All the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Published by Lion Fiction

  an imprint of

  Lion Hudson plc

  Wilkinson House, Jordan Hill Road

  Oxford OX2 8DR, England

  www.lionhudson.com/fiction

  ISBN 978 1 78264 188 9

  e-ISBN 978 1 78264 189 6

  First edition 2016

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  Cover image © guido narducci / Alamy Stock Photo

  For Nick, Alex, Elliot, and Oliver

  “A day of battle is a day of harvest for the devil”

  Rev. William Hook; 1600–1677

  Acknowledgments

  Several years ago, when Dan Runyon, Professor of English at Spring Arbor University, learned that I had written an as yet unpublished medieval mystery, he invited me to speak to his fiction-writing class about the trials of a rookie writer seeking a publisher. He sent sample chapters of Master Hugh’s first chronicle, The Unquiet Bones, to his friend Tony Collins. Thanks, Dan.

  Thanks to Tony Collins and all those at Lion Hudson who saw Master Hugh’s potential. Thanks especially to my editor, Jan Greenough, who, after nine books, knows Master Hugh as well as I do, and excels at asking such questions as, “Do you really want to say it that way?” and, “Wouldn’t Master Hugh do it like this?”

  Dr. John Blair, of Queen’s College, Oxford, has written several papers about Bampton history. These have been invaluable in creating an accurate time and place for Master Hugh. Tony and Lis Page have also been a great source of information about Bampton. I owe them much. Tony died in March 2015, only a few months after being diagnosed with cancer. He will be greatly missed.

  Ms. Malgorzata Deron, of Poznan, Poland, offered to update and maintain my website. She has done an excellent job. To see the result of her work, visit www.melstarr.net

  Glossary

  Aketon: a padded coat, worn beneath armor to absorb blows, or on its own by ordinary soldiers.

  Aloes of lamb: lamb sliced thin and rolled in a mixture of egg yolk, suet, onion, and various spices, then baked.

  Ambler: an easy-riding horse, because it moved both right legs together, then both left legs.

  Angelus Bell: rung three times each day – dawn, noon, and dusk. Announced the time for the Angelus devotional.

  Assumption Day: August 15. Celebrated the assumption to heaven of Mary, the mother of Christ.

  Bailiff: a lord’s chief manorial representative. He oversaw all operations, collected rents and fines, and enforced labor service. Not a popular fellow.

  Bolt: a short, heavy, blunt arrow shot from a crossbow.

  Braes: medieval underpants.

  Burgher: a town merchant or tradesman.

  Captal de Buch: an archaic feudal title. In 1370 the holder was Jean de Grailly, praised as an ideal of chivalry.

  Chapman: a merchant, particularly one who traveled from village to village with his wares.

  Chauces: tight-fitting trousers, often of different colors for each leg.

  Chrismatory: a container for holy oil.

  Cinq Ports: five ports on the English Channel, closest to France: Hastings, Hyth, Dover, Sandwich, and New Romney. (Mayor of New Romney in the 1590s was Thomas Starr.)

  Coppice: to cut back a tree so that a thicket of saplings would grow from the stump. These shoots were used for everything from arrows to rafters, depending upon how long they were allowed to grow.

  Cotehardie: the primary medieval garment. Women’s were floor-length, while men’s ranged from thigh- to ankle-length.

  Crenel: open space between the merlons of a battlement.

  Cresset: a bowl of oil with a floating wick used for lighting.

  Cuisse: plate armor defense for the thigh.

  Daub: a clay and plaster mix, reinforced with straw or horse hair.

  Dexter: a war horse, larger than pack horses, palfreys, and runcies. Also, the right hand direction.

  Easter Sepulcher: a niche in the wall of a church or chapel where the host and a cross were placed on Good Friday and removed on Easter Sunday.

  Egg leach: a thick custard, often enriched with almonds, spices, and flour.

  Fast day: Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. Not the fasting of modern usage, when no food is consumed, but days upon which no meat, eggs, or animal products were consumed. Fish was on the menu for those who could afford it.

  Free company: at times of peace during the Hundred Years’ War bands of unemployed knights would organize themselves and ravage the countryside. France especially suffered.

  Gathering: eight leaves of parchment, made by folding the prepared hide three times.

  Gentleman: a nobleman. The term had nothing to do with character or behavior.

  Halberd: a long pole with axe blade attached, and topped with a spike.

  Harbinger: a scout sent ahead of the army to find lodging.

  Hind: female of the red deer.

  Kirtle: a medieval undershirt.

  Lammastide: August 1, when thanks was given for a successful wheat harvest.

  Liripipe: a fashionably long tail attached to a man’s cap.

  Lych gate: a roofed gate through the churchyard wall under which the deceased rested during the initial part of a funeral.

  Mangonel: a siege engine used to throw missles to break down a city wall.

  Marshalsea: the stables and assorted accoutrements.

  Maslin: bread made from a mixture of grains, commonly wheat or barley and rye.

  Merlon: a solid portion of a castle wall between the open crenels of a battlement.

  Michaelmas: September 29. The feast signaled the end of the harvest. Last rents and tithes were due.

  Nine man morris: a board game similar to tic-tac-toe, but much more complicated.

  Ninth hour: about 3 pm.

  Palfrey: a riding horse with a comfortable gait.

  Poleaxe: also called a halberd.

  Pomme dorryse: meatballs made of ground pork, eggs, currants, flour, and spices.

  Porringer: a small round bowl.

  Portcullis: a grating of iron or wood hung over a passage and lowered between grooves to prevent access.

  Pottage: anything cooked in one pot, from
soups and stews to a simple porridge.

  Reeve: an important manor official, although he did not outrank the bailiff. Elected by tenants from among themselves, often the best husbandman. He had responsibility for fields, buildings, and enforcing labor service.

  Remove: a course at dinner.

  Runcie: a common horse of lower grade than a palfrey or ambler.

  St. Bartholomew’s Day: August 24.

  St. John’s Day: June 24.

  St. Thomas the Apostle’s Day: July 3.

  Shingle: a stony, heavily graveled beach.

  Solar: a small private room, more easily heated than the great hall, where lords often preferred to spend time, especially in winter. Usually on an upper floor of a castle or great house.

  Sole in cyve: sole boiled, then served with a sauce of white wine, onions, bread crumbs, and spices.

  Squire: a youth who attends a knight, often in training to become knighted.

  Stockfirsh: inexpensive fish, usually dried cod or haddock, consumed on fast days.

  Stone: fourteen pounds.

  Trebuchet: a medieval military machine which could hurl stones with great force – similar to a mangonel.

  Tun: a large cask capable of holding over 200 gallons.

  Victualer: responsible for finding food for an army on the move.

  Villein: a non-free peasant. He could not leave his land or service to his lord, or sell animals without permission. But if he could escape his manor for a year and a day he would be free.

  Wattle: interlacing sticks used as a foundation and support for daub in forming the walls of a house.

  Whitsuntide: Pentecost, seven weeks after Easter Sunday: “White Sunday”.

  Wimple: a cloth covering worn over the head and around the neck.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Afterword

  Chapter 1

  When I first traveled to France I did not rue the journey. I was a student, and like most lads eager to see new lands and learn new things. I was then on my way to Paris to study surgery at the university.

  I was less eager to cross the sea in the year of our Lord 1370 when Lord Gilbert Talbot, my employer, required it of me. France was no longer a new land to me, and perhaps I had lost the desire to learn new things. I learned many new things anyway. Knowledge is not always desired or intended. It is, however, often useful, even if unwanted, and accumulates like the grey whiskers which Kate occasionally finds in my beard. At least for this journey I would ride a palfrey rather than walk.

  Three days before Whitsuntide I awoke to a pounding upon Galen House door. My Kate was already from our bed and called out that Arthur must speak to me. Arthur is a groom to Lord Gilbert Talbot and has been useful to me and his employer in helping untangle several mysteries which fell to me to solve. The fellow is made like a wine cask set upon two coppiced stumps, with arms as thick through as my calves.

  I am Hugh de Singleton, surgeon, and bailiff to Lord Gilbert Talbot at his manor of Bampton. I assumed that Arthur’s early appearance at my door meant that someone in the castle required my surgical skills.

  This was so, but not in the manner I expected.

  I drew on chauces, donned my cotehardie, ran my fingers through my hair, and descended the stairs. Arthur stood dripping upon the flags at the entrance to Galen House. The day had dawned grey and wet. Arthur would not, I thought, be about in such weather unless propelled by some important matter.

  “I give you good day,” he said, and continued before I could ask his business. “Lord Gilbert wishes speech with you this morning. ’Tis a matter of import, he said, and asks for you to wait upon him without delay.”

  “Is m’lord ill, or injured? Or some other in the castle? Shall I take instruments and herbs?”

  “Nay. Lord Gilbert’s well enough, an’ all others, so far as I know. Didn’t tell me why he wished words with you; just said I was to seek you an’ give you his message.”

  “Which you have done. Return to the castle and tell Lord Gilbert I will be there anon.”

  I splashed water upon my face to drive Morpheus from me, hastily consumed half of a maslin loaf, and swallowed a cup of ale. Weighty matters should not be addressed upon an empty stomach. Half an hour later I walked under the Bampton Castle gatehouse, bid Wilfred the porter “Good day,” and set my path toward the solar where I expected to find Lord Gilbert.

  But not so. John Chamberlain was there, and told me that my employer was at the marshalsea. I descended the stairs to the yard, crossed to the stables, and found Lord Gilbert in conversation with Robert Marshall and a gentleman I had not before seen.

  “Ah, Hugh, you have come,” Lord Gilbert greeted me. “I give you good day. Here is Sir Martyn Luttrel with news from France. Hugh, Sir Martyn, come with me. We will speak in the solar.”

  News from France which must be discussed in the solar could not be agreeable. I had no hint of Lord Gilbert’s topic, but assumed the conversation would have something to do with the burly stranger who had appeared at Bampton Castle. So it did.

  When we were seated Lord Gilbert explained his reason for calling me to him.

  “Sir Martyn has brought disquieting news from France,” he began.

  ’Twas as I feared. News from France is often troubling. Much like news from Scotland.

  “King Charles has announced that he is confiscating Aquitaine, in violation of the Treaty of Bretigny. No matter how many times we vanquish the French they will not remain subdued. The Duke of Berry has even now an army approaching Aquitaine.

  “Prince Edward has sent for knights and men-at-arms from England to assist him in opposing the French king. I am his liegeman, and am required to provide five knights, twelve squires, and twenty archers and men-at-arms. My chaplain will accompany us, and I wish to have a surgeon as a member of my party.”

  So far as I knew Lord Gilbert had but one surgeon in his employ; me.

  I was speechless at this announcement. Lord Gilbert saw my mouth drop open and continued before I could voice objections which were forming in my mind.

  “You have crossed to France once already,” he said, “so know that the passage is not arduous in summer.”

  When we might return no man could know. Returning to England in December did not bear thinking about.

  “And I am not so young as I once was,” he continued. “I am yet fit for battle, but ’twould be well to have you at hand should some French knight strike a lucky blow. Or unlucky, depending upon one’s loyalties,” he laughed.

  “But what of folk here?” I finally stammered. “If I travel with you to France there will be no bailiff to see to the manor. Who will serve in my place to collect rents at Michaelmas?”

  “John Prudhomme has served well as reeve. I intend to appoint him to your post till we return. Your Kate I would have oversee the castle,” he continued. “’Tis not a duty beyond a woman. Lady Petronilla did so when I was at Poitiers and she was then younger than Kate. I have no one to leave in charge of Richard but his nurse, and ’tis not meet for a woman of such station to supervise a castle. John Chamberlain will deal with most matters. Kate will not be much troubled.”

  I knew what Kate’s opinion of this move would be, but before I could explain my wife’s loyalty to Galen House Lord Gilbert continued:

  “Kate will lodge in Lady Petronilla’s chamber. It has been empty since the Lord Christ took her from me, but I will see that it receives a good cleaning. ’Tis a large chamber. Plenty of room for Bessie and Sybil.”

  Lord Gilbert had considered that I might object and answered my protests before I could voice them.

  But for one matter.

  “Warfare is a perilous bus
iness,” I said. “What if I am slain in battle or captured and held for ransom? Who will care for my family? I am not wealthy. Kate would find few resources if I was taken and held for ransom.”

  This assumed that a French knight would believe a poor surgeon’s life worth the trouble of sparing for a trifling ransom.

  “Oh,” Lord Gilbert said, pulling at his beard. “Just so. I pay your wages, so have some thought as to your value. What say you, Hugh? What are you worth?”

  “To you, or to Kate and Bessie and Sybil?”

  “A fair question. Would one hundred pounds serve for ransom if you are taken, and ten pounds each year to Kate if, the Lord Christ forbid, you are slain? Neither is likely, mind you. ’Tis my thought that, if this expedition comes to a battle, you will be far from the field, prepared with your instruments and physics to deal with wounds.”

  “What if you also are slain?” I said. “Or seized? Who then will provide for Kate?”

  “I will see an Oxford lawyer and have drawn up a document which will serve as your security in this matter. Does that satisfy you?”

  The tone of his voice told me that Lord Gilbert was becoming exasperated with my objections. I decided that I must make no further protest. If a great lord wishes a man to accompany him to France it is best for the fellow to see the journey as an opportunity rather than an obligation and make the best of it. Priests often assign travel as a penance, and with good reason, but after all, France is not Scotland.

  Sir Martyn was present for this conversation but took no part in it other than to turn his head from me to Lord Gilbert as we spoke in turn. Lord Gilbert’s conversation now turned to his visitor.

  “Where are you bound this day?” he asked.

  “I am to seek Sir John Trillowe, then Sir Richard Coke and Sir Ralph Lull on the morrow.”