The Tainted Coin by Mel Starr

they yet seek it? No, John Thrale had not visited the covert place where ancient coins and jewelry were hid before he was attacked in the forest near St. Andrew’s Chapel.
    But if the cache was yet to be visited when Thrale made his rounds, why had he one coin hid in his cheek? The answer to that question drove sleep even farther from me. The chapman had one coin because it was there, in the wood to the east of St. Andrew’s Chapel, that he had found the hoard. If he had already visited the cache, he would have had more loot in his possession. Buried somewhere in that wood was the treasure Amice Thatcher’s captors sought. Perhaps John Thrale had been surprised as he uncovered the hidden wealth, and managed to hide it, but for one coin, before his assailants came upon him. If the treasure was at some place farther along his route, he would have had no coin with him.
    I had more questions than answers, and slept little that night for considering these matters over and over again.

Chapter 8

    A rthur and I left the New Inn early next morn, attended mass at St. Nicholas’s Church, sought the baker so as to break our fast with a loaf, then set out for the crooked lanes of the bury. I had some forlorn hope that Amice Thatcher might have returned to her home, or would do so early this day. If not, she would not know about or resent me entering her house to see if there was anything in it which might tell me of her abduction, if that was truly what occurred when she went off with the men who had slain John Thrale.
    The hour was yet early, but the lane before Amice Thatcher’s hut was aswarm with those who lived or labored in that place. It would not do to break down her door, flimsy as it was and easily breached. Inhabitants of such a lane look out for each other, and I saw several sideways glances of suspicion as we stood before Amice’s door.
    I rapped my knuckles smartly upon the decaying planks of the door. There was no response, not even from the crone who lived across the way. She was about some work of her own, no doubt, which was good. Busy with her own tasks, she would not see as Arthur and I left the street and sought the rear of Amice’s house.
    The passages between Amice’s home and those on either side were narrow. But if she earned a living as an ale wife there must be a toft behind her hut where she had vats and tubs for brewing. And if so, there must be a door opening to the toft from the rear of the dwelling. Such a door would not, I thought, be stronger than the door which opened to the street, so might be more easily forced, with the added advantage that doing so would be unobserved by a neighbor.
    The space behind Amice Thatcher’s house was as I expected. The tubs and kettles necessary to her trade were there, and a door did indeed open from the house to this work space. It would be impolite to burst in upon the woman if she was within, so I rapped upon the door as I had earlier at the front of the house. There was, again, no response.
    Oddly enough, this rear door was more stoutly constructed than its fellow at the front. Perhaps Amice believed that if some intruder sought uninvited entry he would be more likely to do so from the privacy of the toft than the street, where his deed might be observed. If so she thought, she was correct.
    No fences separated Amice’s toft from those of her neighbors. I studied both spaces before turning to Arthur and making known my intent. There was no latch or lock upon this rear door – iron is too dear for such folk. The door was simply barred inside. A thin blade, slipped between door and jamb, might raise the bar and gain us entry. With my dagger, while Arthur kept watch, I hacked away at the doorframe until I could slide the dagger between door and jamb. The bar lifted readily.
    Someone had been here before us. Amice Thatcher’s few belongings were strewn about the single room. Even the hearthstone in the middle of the chamber was overturned, and some man had