Miriam Bibby - Mistress Meg 02 - Mistress Meg and the Silver Bell by Miriam Bibby Read Free Book Online Page A

it. She was hardly aware of the constable with his staff or the man that
accompanied them. No; it was the third man, whose face was so familiar to her,
that drew her attention. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been helping to get
them all set in the stocks. She’d never forget his laughing face as he heaved
turnips at them. A little earlier, she’d been telling him his fortune - and a
grand fortune it had been, rot him.
     
    It was the
pigman from Guildern.
     
    * * * * *
     
    The Jingler
knew it was time to lose the nag. Marcaster was close enough now. He put the
little horse through a gate by the road and slapped it on the rump, which set
it cantering and bucking towards some cows. The cows snorted and jumped, with
their eyes popping, as it approached. He had some regret; it had been a good
enough little nag, but he was taking no chances of being picked up as a prigger
of prancers, not for that ‘un, anyway! He set off towards Marcaster with the
saddle and bridle stowed in his bag.
     
    Marcaster
had seen many, many Jinglers in its two thousand year history. From a little
huddle of huts where hunters and herders came down from the hills to trade -
and occasionally fight - with local farmers in the days before the Romans,
Marcaster had developed into a strategic centre under Roman rule, with a
cavalry barracks, town walls and a small arena where there were some wild
animal fights and gladiatorial contests. It had also gained a reputation for
food, drink and diversion. The cavalry barracks were now just some hillocks on
a common where stock was grazed and the stone and timber of the circus had long
since disappeared, but some of the walls remained. They had been rebuilt and
extended occasionally over the years, mostly whenever there was a rumour about
an invasion by the Scots. At one end, the town was dominated by a square tower,
the grim Norman keep that now served as Marcaster Jail. The moat that
surrounded it had been filled in to provide land for the courthouse, the
undersheriff’s house, the town hall and some fine new dwellings for merchants.
Marcaster was now known for its livestock and grain markets; and horses, not
unlike that ridden lately by the Jingler, still came jogging down from the
hills just as they had done in ancient times. Market days continued to be a
riot of thundering hooves as the horses and cattle ran through parts of the
town, but the local council was moving to bring this to an end.
     
    The
Jingler, whom Meg and Matthew had also known under the alias of James Jostler,
ignored the brooding tower that cast its shadow and a warning across the town
and made his way, inevitably, to a stable. Horses and stables always drew him
as a lodestone draws iron. In a lifetime around horses he had learned a thing
or two and some of these could be usefully be applied in legitimate service
that would earn him a few coins. The other, more dubious skills - well, they
just awaited an opportunity to be applied. The right opportunity. And so, finding
himself here, in Marcaster, in the knowledge that the Frater was keeping an eye
on the woman and her servant, the Jingler settled into his natural element. In
his experience, information, knowledge and that most important quality,
opportunity, were always to be found in a stable. And the best opportunities of
all were found in the stables of an inn. This one smelled good, in every sense
of the word.
     
    The Blue
Boar was a fine house: Marcaster’s best, in fact. It was also a busy one, with
its regular local and passing trade augmented by the occasional sporting match,
fair, or execution. The Jingler savoured the bustle around the stable yard that
accompanied the anticipation of some forthcoming event and it invigorated him.
And there was something especially lively in the air of the Blue Boar and its
yard; the ostlers and kitchen staff had a self-important air as they went about
their work. Some especially significant duty lay on them, the Jingler was