Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [361]
It was this little red-haired woman who now stood in front of him, while John and Nicholas, their large heads respectfully bared, kept silent, and holding her arms akimbo bluntly announced:
“Sir, we want to rent the old sheep house. What’s the price?”
He looked down at her in surprise. The old sheep house was still standing – a long, stone building that lay in a dip some distance away on the high ground. But since he had reduced his flocks, the ridges around it had not been grazed, and the place was now deserted and tumbling down. What could she want it for? Not wishing to waste time he shrugged.
“Sixpence a year.” It was a nominal figure.
Agnes nodded.
“Can we take it right away?”
“Take it when you like,” he answered. And without paying her any more attention he rode away.
As soon as he was gone she turned to the two men.
“Hurry,” she told them. “We must be gone at once.”
As soon as he entered the city, Godefroi went straight to the house of William Shockley. It was a natural choice, for few men were better informed. His house stood in the High Street, and though his primary business was in the export of wool and cloth, he had turned the whole floor on the street level into a store. Here one could find oysters from Poole, wine and fruit, woad, soap and oil imported through the lesser ports like Christchurch and Lymington or the great and growing port of Southampton on the south coast; there were herrings and salt fish brought over from Ireland through the trading city of Bristol in the west, and from more distant markets, pepper, dates, ginger, and fine silk clothes shipped through Southampton or the huge emporium of London. Not only was it a delight to inspect these wonders, but the carriers who brought them also brought news, and this was what made the merchant doubly valuable. He was the soul of the place, a big, bluff figure with a ruddy face, inclined to stoutness, and who loved to wear the brightest and most splendid clothes that he could find. His loose flowing surcoat, buttoned at the front, that fell like a dress to his knees, was of the most gorgeous brocade, worked with gold, that he had brought from London. His capuchon was wound into a huge turban on his head and he usually strutted amiably about the store, dispensing information.
But today, as soon as he saw the knight, he drew him to one side and whispered to him gravely.
“You have heard of this plague? It has come to Southampton.”
“When?”
“Yesterday. Word reached me this morning. Two dead already.”
“Is the city prepared?” Godefroi asked.
Shockley grimaced.
“I warned the mayor and the aldermen. It’s all I can do; but no one believes me and anyway, in the city, what precautions are possible? Personally,” he admitted, “I’m taking the family to the farm today.”
Godefroi nodded grimly. The merchant had six children and he could hardly blame him for wanting them out of the teeming streets of Salisbury.
When he left a few minutes later, he found that the merchant’s assistants had strapped two small panniers onto his horse. “Malmsey wine, just in from Christchurch,” William explained. “It’s a good protection against disease.”
The arrival of the Black Death at Sarum was discovered that afternoon.
The two carts containing William Shockley, his plump wife, their six children, and two servants, had trundled slowly out of the city on the Wilton road in the early afternoon; an hour later they had reached the small collection of timbered buildings beside Grovely Wood that was the Shockley farm. William and his wife were both relieved to be there; the children anxious to run into the spacious freedom of the surrounding woods.
He had sent word ahead and was glad to see that the Wilsons had opened the house to air it and already lit the fire in the main room where the food would be cooked. The