a tinder-box. That precious article cost a penny, and her wages were
fifteen pence a year. If we do a sum to find out what that would be
now, when money is much more plentiful, we shall find that Hildith's
wages come to twenty-two shillings and sixpence, and the tinder-box was
worth eighteen-pence. We should fancy that nobody could live on such a
sum. But we must remember two things: first, they then did a great deal
for themselves which we pay for; they spun and wove their own linen and
woollen, did their own washing, brewed their own ale and cider, made
their own butter and cheese, and physicked themselves with herbs.
Secondly, prices were very much lower as respected the necessaries of
life; bread was four loaves, or cakes, for a penny, of the very best
quality; a lamb or a goose cost fourpence, eight chickens were sold for
fivepence, and twenty-four eggs for a penny. Clothing stuffs were dear,
but then (as people sometimes say) they wore "for everlasting," and
ladies of rank would send half-worn gowns to one another as very
handsome presents. Fourpence was a good price to give for a pair of
shoes, and a halfpenny a day for food was a liberal allowance.
"Any news to-night, Hildith?" asked Avice, as she handed her neighbour
the tinder-box.
"Well, nay; without you call it news that sheriffs man brought word this
morrow that the Lord King had granted the half of her goods to old
Barnaba o' the Lichgate."
"She that was a Jew, and was baptised at Whitsuntide? I am glad to hear
that."
"Ay, she. I am not o'er sorry; she is a good neighbour, Jew though she
be."
"Then I reckon she will tarry here, and not go to dwell in the House of
Converts in London town?"
"Marry, she will so, if she have any wisdom teeth left. I would not
like to be carried away from all I know, up to yon big town, though they
do say the houses be made o' gold and silver."
Avice smiled, for she knew better.
"Nay, Hildith, London town is built of brick and stone like Lincoln."
"Is it, now? I always heard it was made o' gold. But aren't there a
vast sight o' folk there? nigh upon ten thousand?"
"Ay, and more."
"However do they get victuals for them all?"
"I got mine when I lived there," said Avice, laughing.
"And don't they burn sea-coal?"
"They did once; it is forbidden now."
"Dirty, poisonous stuff! I wouldn't touch it. Well, good-even. Shut
the door quick, Bertha, and don't watch me out o' sight; 'tis the
unluckiest thing man can do."
And Bertha believed it, as she showed by shutting the door.
Old Barnaba, the Jewess, had been dealt with tenderly. In those days,
if a Jew were baptised, he forfeited all he had to the King. Most
unaccountable it is that any Christian country should have let such a
law exist for an hour! These destitute Jews, however, were provided for
in the House of Converts, in London, which stood at the bottom of
Chancery Lane, between it and Saint Dunstan's Church.
It was bed-time soon after. Avice put away her distaff, Bertha folded
up her sewing, and they mounted the ladder. This was about seven
o'clock, which was then as late an hour as it was thought that
respectable people ought to be about. But by two o'clock the next
morning, Bertha was sweeping the kitchen, and Avice carding flax in the
corner. They did not trouble themselves about breakfast; it was an
unknown luxury, except for people who were very old or very delicate.
Two meals a day were the rule: dinner, at nine in the morning: supper,
at three in the afternoon. In those days they lived in a far harder and
less comfortable way than we do, and they had generally better health.
But, it must be admitted, they did not live nearly so long, and the
infant mortality among them was very great.
Morning was no time for story-telling. The rooms had to be swept, the
bread to be baked, the clothes to be washed, the pigs and chickens to be
fed. Moreover, to-day was the first day of the Michaelmas fair, and
things must be bought in to last till Christmas. The active work was
finished by about seven o'clock. Dinner was now got ready. It
consisted of two bowls of broth, then boiled dumplings, and lastly some
stewed giblets. Having made things tidy, our friends now tied on
woollen hoods, and each taking down from the rafter-hooks a capacious
basket, they went forth to do their shopping.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. The peculiar ways attributed to the little Princess, and
especially this incident, are taken from an account of a real deaf and
dumb child, published many years ago. There was certainly something
about the Princess which her attendants considered wonderful and
beautiful.
CHAPTER FIVE.
THE DUMB PLAYMATES.
Out into the Michaelmas fair our friends went.
In these days, when fairs have quite changed their character, we cannot
easily form a notion of what they once were. The fair, held in every
town four times a year, was a very important matter. There were much
fewer shops than now; and not only in the town, but from all the
surrounding villages people flocked to the fair, to lay in food and
clothes and all sorts of necessaries, enough to last till the next
fair-day. They had very little fresh butcher's meat, and very few
vegetables except what they grew themselves; so they ate numbers of
things salted which we have fresh. Not only salt fish and salt neat,
but salt cabbage formed a great part of their diet. The consequence of
all this salt food was that they suffered dreadfully from scurvy. But
they did not run to the doctor, for except in rare instances there was
no doctor to run to! All doctors were clergymen then, and there were
very few of them. In the large towns there were apothecaries, or
chemists, who often prescribed for people; and there were "wise women"
who knew a good deal about herbs, and sometimes gave good medicines,
along with a great deal of foolish nonsense in the way of charms and all
sorts of silly fancies. At that time, ladies were taught a good deal
about medicine, and a benevolent lady was often the doctor for a large
neighbourhood. But we are wandering away from the Michaelmas fair, and
we must come back.
The fair was a very busy scene. In some places it was hard work to get
along at all. The booths were set up, not in the streets but in the
churchyards, the market place, and on any waste space available. And
what with the noise of business, the hum of gossip, the shouts of
competing sellers, and the sound of hundreds of clogs on the round
paving-stones, it may be readily supposed that quiet was far away.
Avice's first business was to lay in a stock of salt meat and salt fish.
Very little of either was used fresh, for it was not obtainable: and
still less would have been used so far as fish is concerned, had not the
law, alike of the Church and of the State, compelled it to be eaten
throughout Lent, and on every Friday in the year. Little enough fish
would anybody have touched then, but for that provision. Avice bought
half of a salted calf, which cost a shilling; five hundred herrings, at
half-a-crown; a bushel of salt, at threepence (which was dear);
twenty-five stock-fish, at two shillings; a quarter of a sheep, at
fourpence; a quarter of wheat, at six shillings; a quarter of oats, at
five shillings; half a quarter of salt cabbage, at five shillings; and
five pounds of figs, at three-halfpence a pound. This was her provision
for the three months which would elapse before the Christmas fair. She
then went to the drapery stalls, and laid in two hoods, for herself and
Bertha, at a shilling each; ten ells of russet, to serve for two gowns,
at eighteen-pence the ell; twelve ells of serge, at three-halfpence the
ell; two pairs of shoes, at fourpence each. The russet was intended for
their best dresses; the serge for common. Considering how very little
went to make a garment, it seems likely that our ancestors wove their
stuff a good deal wider than we do. Avice also laid in a few other
articles of different kinds: a brass pot, which cost her 2 shillings 2
pence; five pounds of tallow, at three-halfpence a pound, and as many of
wax at sixpence; wax was largely used for a variety of objects. Her
last and costliest purchase she would have been better without. It was
a painted and gilded image of Saint Katherine, and cost fifteen
shillings. But Avice, though a good woman according to her light, had
enjoyed very little light, and did not understand half so well as we do
that she might go straight to God through the new and living way opened
upon the cross, without the intervention of any mediator except the Lord
Jesus. She thought she must pray through a saint; and she had no idea
of praying unless she could see something to pray to. Her old image had
lost much of its paint, and half an arm, and its nose was hopelessly
damaged. Therefore, as she must have one, poor Avice thought it best to
buy a new one, rather than have her old saint tinkered up. Alas for the
gods or the mediators who require to be tinkered!
By the time that these purchases were made, and the goods brought home,
it was not far from the supper hour; and Bertha prepared that meal by
boiling a dish of salt cabbage from one of the barrels. This, with
black bread and ale, made their supper.
The meal was just ready, and Avice had put away her carding, having
finished that kind of work for the day, when a rap at the door was
followed by the lifting of the latch, and the old smith put in his head.
"Any room for a man, have ye?"
"Plenty for you, Uncle Dan," answered Avice heartily; and Bertha's eyes
lighted up at the sight of her father.
Dan came forward and sat down on the stool which Bertha set for him.
"Has it not been a charming day?" said Avice.
"Ay, it's fine weather i' Lincoln," was Dan's dry answer. "Up at
smithy, it's none so bad neither--yet. Just a touch of thunder we had
this morning,--a bit of a grumble i' th' distance like: but I've known
worser storms a deal. Ay, I have so!"
Avice quite understood what kind of storm he meant.
"How do you get on without me, Father?" asked Bertha.
"Well, I'll not say I don't miss thee, my singing bird; but I'm willing,
when it's for thy good. I've got--let me see--two buttons left o' my
blouse, and I think there's one o' my flannel shirt, but I'm none so
sure. It's rather troublesome, for sure, when there's none o' th'
sleeves; they keep for ever a-slippin' up man's arm; but I could put up
wi' that easy if there was nought more. It's true I don't want to pull
'em down while even comes."
"Oh, Father, let me sew you some on!" cried Bertha.
"So thou shall," said Dan. "But I've a bit o' news for thee, lass.
Susanna's to be wed."
"With whom, Uncle?"
"Michael, cartwright, at corner."
"Is it a good match?"
"He's got his match, and she's got hern."
"They are well matched, then," said Bertha, laughing.
"They're a pair," said Dan, grimly. "He's eagre, and she's mustard; and
they'll none mix ill--but they'll set folks' throats a-fire as meddles
wi' 'em."
Eagre is the old English word for vinegar, which is just "wine-eagre."
It means anything sharp and acid.
"Is Aunt Filomena pleased?" asked Avice.
"She's never pleased wi' nothing," was the reply of her unfortunate
husband. "She give him lots o' sauce when he first come, and he's had
another spoonful every time since. He gives it her every bit as hot--I
will say that for him. His mother went by name o' old Maud Touchup, and
he doth her no disfavour. She knew how to hit folks--_she_ did. And
Michael's a chip o' th' old block."
"A little more cabbage, Uncle Dan?"
"Nay, I thank thee. I must be going home, I reckon. Eh, but you're
peaceable here! I reckon man could sleep i' this house, and not be
waked up wi' jarring and jangling. I tell thee what, Avice--when the
big folks up to London town runs short o' money, I wonder they don't
clap a bit of a tax on women's tongues! It'd bring 'em in a tunful in a
week, _that_ would."
"How would you collect it, Uncle Dan?"
"Nay, there thou floors me. They'd best send down a chap all over steel
to th' smithy, He'd get plucked o' pieces else. Well, God be wi' thee,
Avice. God bless thee, Bertha, my lass. Good-night!"
And Uncle Dan disappeared into the darkness. There were no street lamps
then. Every man had to carry his own lantern, unless he chose to run
the risk of breaking his neck over the round stones which formed the
streets, or the rough ground, interspersed with holes and pits, to be
found everywhere else.
They now sat down to work for the rest of the evening, Avice on the
settle in the corner, Bertha on one of the low stools which she brought
up to the hearth.
"Lack-a-day! what have I forgot!" said Avice as Bertha drew up her stool
and unfolded the apron she was making. "I thought to have asked Nora
Goldhue for a sprig of betony, or else purslane. 'Tis o'er late
to-night, and verily I am too weary to go forth again."
"Have you bad dreams, Aunt?" asked Bertha, knowing that a sprig of
either of those herbs under the pillow was believed to drive them away.
"Ay, child; they have troubled me these four nights past, but last night
more especially."
No wonder, after a supper on franche-mule! But it never occurred to
ignorant Avice that supper and dreams could have anything to do with one
another.
"Shall I fetch you a laurel leaf, Aunt?" suggested Bertha.
"Ay, do, child; maybe that shall change the luck. Best go ere it rain,
too; and that will not be long, for I saw a black snail in the channel
as we came in."
Bertha tied on her hood, and ran out to the house of the next-door
neighbour, who had a laurel in her garden, to beg a few of its leaves,
which were supposed to bring pleasant dreams. Having placed these under
her aunt's bolster, she sat down again to her work, and Avice resumed
her interrupted story.
"It was in July, 1254, when our little Lady was but eight months old,
that the Lady Queen set forth to join the Lord King in Gascony. There
were many ships taken up for her voyage, amongst which were the _Savoy_,
the _Falcon_, and the _Baroness_, that was my Lord of Leicester's ship.
In the ship wherein the Lady Queen sailed, was built a special chamber
for her, of polished wood, for the which three hundred planks were sent
from the forest to Portsmouth. But so short was she of money, that she
was compelled to bid the Treasurer to send her all the cups and basins
which the King had of silver, and all gold in coin or leaf that could be
found in the treasuries. Moreover, the Jews throughout England were
distrained for five thousand marks, for the ransom of their bodies, and
their wives and little ones, and by sale of their lands and houses. The
Lady Queen took with her divers pieces of English cloth for the Lord
King, seeing that French cloth is not nigh so good. Some things also
she commanded for the children, who were to tarry at Windsor during her
absence. Twenty-four silver spoons were made, and fifty wild animals
taken for their provision in the park at Guildford. Robes were served
out, furred with hare's fur, for Edmund the King's son and Henry de
Lacy; four robes for the gentlewomen that had the care of the children;
and for Richard the chaplain, Master Simon de Wycumb the keeper, and
Master Godwyn the cook: these were of sendal. And there were robes
furred with lamb for the King's wards, and for John the Varlet, and
Julian the Rocker, and my mother, and me thine aunt." [See Note 1.]
Both to Avice and Bertha it seemed quite a matter of course that the
Jews should find the money when the King wanted silk, or the King's
children silver spoons.
"But it seems to me, Aunt," suggested Bertha, "that the Lady Queen must
have spent all her money before she started."
"Oh no! the money was for the Lord King. In truth, I know not whether
she paid for the other things. But I did hear that as soon as the Lord
King knew she would come, and that she was bringing with her so much
money and plate, he began to spend with both hands on his side of the
sea. He sent at once for six cloths of gold that the Queen and Lord
Edward might offer in the churches of Bordeaux when they should arrive
there; he commanded to be made ready a fair jewel for Saint Edward the
Martyr, and a hundred pounds of jewels for Saint Edward the King, and
divers more for Saint Thomas of Canterbury, all which were offered when
he and the Queen returned home in December. There came in also, for the
King's coming back, many frails of figs, raisins, dates, cinnamon,
saffron, pepper, ginger, and such like; I remember seeing them unpacked
in Antioch Chamber, the little chamber by the garden."
"And what did it all cost, Aunt?"
"I know not, child. Maybe he never paid for those. He used to pay for
such things as he offered to the holy saints; but for debts to
tradesfolk and such, they took their chance. If he had money, he might
pay some of them or no, at his pleasure; and if not, then of course they
had to wait. Very sure am I that many a pound of musk came into the
wardrobe more than was paid for. Never was such a Prince for scents.
He loved musk as much as he feared lightning; and there was only one
thing in all this world that he feared more, and that was Earl Simon of
Leicester."
"And did the Lady Queen squander her money as much as the Lord King,
Aunt Avice?"
"She was every bit as bad. She always seemed to me as if a piece of her
brains had never grown up along with the rest. Some folks are like
that. In respect of money, she was a very child. She had not a notion
how far it would go, and she never would wait to have it before she
spent it. She always appeared to think it would come somehow: and so
far as she was concerned, it often did. But then she never saw the
homeless Jews who were sold up to furnish it, nor the ruined tradesmen
who had to wait till they could not pay their own way, and were sent to
prison for debt. I think she might have been sorry, if she had done. I
suppose we should all be sorry, if we knew half the evil we do. Well,
God pardon her!--she is a holy sister now in the priory at Amesbury.
And our present Queen always pays her bills, I have heard say. Long may
she live to do it!"
"How old was the little Lady when her parents came back?"
"She was just over a year old. I waited on her from the Castle of
Windsor to the Palace at Westminster, for the Lord King desired to
behold her at once. And was not he delighted with her! I doubt if any
of the royal children were as dear to the hearts of their parents as our
little Lady."
"Was she pleased to go?"
"Pleased!--she gave nobody a bit of rest," said Avice, laughing. "All
the journey through she was plucking at my gown, and pointing, first
here and then there, with her little cry of `Who? who?'--for she talked
at fifteen months old as much as she ever spoke in this world. And
before I could find out what she meant, she was pointing to something
else, and `Who? who?' came over again."
"Did you know then that she was deaf and dumb?"
"No! nor for months after. Truly, all her ways were so bright, and her
sense so keen, and her laugh so gladsome, that we never thought of such
a thing till she was long past the age when children ought to speak
freely. But when at last they began to fear the truth, it was indeed a
bitter grief to the royal parents. The Lord King offered five cloths of
gold at Saint Edward's shrine for the children, and specially for our
little Lady, in hope that the Divine mercy might be moved to have pity
on her. But it was all in vain."
Avice sighed heavily. And there was no one to say to her, O woman,
_small_ is thy faith! Was the Divine mercy no greater, which called
that little child, unspotted by the world, to tread the fair streets of
the Golden City, than the mercy thou wouldst have had instead of it?
"It was not long after that," said Avice, slowly drawing out the white
threads, "that our little Lady's health began to fail. The heats of
summer tried her sorely. She drooped like a flower that had no water.
Instead of playing with the other children, her gleeful laughter ringing
through the galleries of the Castle, she would come and draw her little
velvet stool to my side, and lay her head on my knee as if she were very
weary. And when I looked down and smiled on her, instead of smiling
back as she was wont, the great, dark wistful eyes used to look up so
sadly, as if her soul were looking out of them. Oh, it was pitiful to
read the dear eyes, when they said, `I am suffering: cannot you help
me?' And as time went on, they said it more and more. When the Lady
Queen came to Windsor, she was shocked at the sad change in our darling
little Lady. She called in Master Thomas, the King's surgeon, and he
advised that our little Lady should be removed from Windsor to some
country place, where the air was good, and where she could play about in
the fields. So she was put in charge of Emma La Despenser, Lady de
Saint John, at her manor of Swallowfield, in Berkshire. Of course I
went with her, and her cousin Alianora also, who was her favourite
playfellow, for it was not thought well she should be entirely with
older people, though I cannot say I was sorry to get rid of all those
rough boys. The Lord King also commanded that a kid should be taken in
the forest, as small and fair as might be found, for our little Lady to
play with: and very fond she was of it. It was a lovely little
creature, and grew as tame as possible. Ah, they were much alike, those
two little things!--both young, soft, lovely--and both dumb! I
marvelled sometimes whether they understood each other."
"And did she not get any better, Aunt?"
"Yes; for a time she did. The country air and food and quiet did seem
to do her good. She was so much better that she came back to Windsor
for the winter. But it was not thought well by Master Thomas that she
should go to London to be present at the great rejoicings that were made
when the Lady Alianora came from Spain--our Queen that now is, the holy
saints bless her! There were grand doings then, I heard; all London
city was curtained in her honour, and processions in every church, and
all superbly decorated; and the poor fed in the halls at Westminster, as
many as could get in; and the Lord King presented a silver cross to the
Abbey, and a golden plate of an ounce weight. Oh, it must have been a
grand sight!"
"Who paid that bill, I wonder?" said Bertha, laughing.
"Bless thee, child! how do I know? That was the autumn when there was
so much ado here at Lincoln touching the crucifixion of the blessed
Hugh, son of Beatrice, by the wicked Jews; one hundred and more of them
were brought to prison, first here, and afterwards at Westminster; and
when eighteen had been hanged, the rest were graciously allowed to buy
their lives for eighteen thousand marks. I daresay some of that went
for it--that is, for as much of it as got paid for."
That sum would now be equal to about two hundred and sixteen thousand
pounds. It never came into Avice's head to doubt whether the Jews had
crucified little Hugh. Such charges were often enough brought against
them--when those who called themselves Christians wanted an excuse for
stealing the jews' money and jewels. There has never been a single
instance, in this country or any other, in which the charge has been
proved true. A further favourite accusation, that the Jews used the
blood of Christian children to make their passover cakes, we know cannot
have been true; for the Bible tells us that the Jews were strictly
forbidden to eat blood. But what absurdity might not be expected from
people who had no Bibles, and of whom not more than one in a thousand
could have read it if he had had one? Are we half thankful enough for
our own privileges?
"Well!" continued Avice, "after this, the Lady Alianora came down to
Windsor with the Lady Queen, and our little Lady and she took to one
another wonderfully. And, indeed, it was little wonder, for she was as
fair and sweet a damsel as ever tripped over the greensward. Our little
Lady would run to her whenever she sat down in the children's chamber,
and say, `Up! up!' and then the Lady Alianora would smile sweetly, and
take her up beside her in the great state chair; and there they sat with
their arms round one another, looking like two doves with their heads
resting on each other's necks. And the Lady Alianora once said to me,
stroking our little Lady's hair--`I hope, Avice, thou givest her plenty
of love. She can understand that, if she cannot anything else.' Ay,
and so she could! She fretted sadly over the Lady Alianora when she
went away from Windsor. I think she and the little kid were more than
ever together after that. I have found them both asleep in a corner of
the chamber, resting on one another."
"Was she fond of pets?"