A Chorus of Innocents Read Free Page A

hill, with a nice tower on it to keep an eye out for raids. It was October, so only a few women were out in the gardens, mostly tidying up for winter or planting winter cabbages. The surviving cattle and sheep were scattered over the infield and most of the pigs had gone to make sausages now so there wasn’t a lot of noise. There was ploughing going on nearby, with the village plow and its oxen struggling through some new Earth that might grow some wheat next year, while the children followed it gathering up the stones. The harvest had been poor thanks to the bad weather in July, and no doubt the people were hoping to grow a bit more on the new field next year.
    The two of them didn’t need to talk much. They knew what they were about, had done it before, and so they decided to make for the church alehouse. That was a small thatched building next to the church in the old way and the church was one of those that had been altered, not demolished.
    It was cold and damp and the men were out of their own country. They rode into the village, tethered their horses by the duck pond and walked up to the alehouse. They weren’t very many miles north of Berwick itself and hoped to get to the city that night and find lodgings there. They didn’t expect to find any in this village, any more than they had in the last two or three.
    The village alehouse was no longer run by the church. A young man stood behind the bar and the usual people were there, despite it being afternoon. Two men sat in the corner playing dice, a third was hunched over his quart by the fire, a fourth was asleep. The fifth and sixth were standing by the bar, arguing over whether a billy goat could beat a ram in a fight, if you could get them to fight and how would you do that anyway. The seventh was a travelling barber surgeon, obvious from his pack, sitting in the corner, reading a book. As they came in, he stood up and stretched his back, put his book carefully in his large pack, and said in a London voice, “I’ll pay you now, shall I, Tim?”
    â€œNae need, Mr Anricks, ye paid for more than your tab when ye drew my tooth for me.”
    â€œAre you sure? You paid me for it at the time.”
    â€œAy, but I never lost a tooth before so nice and easy. I’ll be telling ma dad about ye, that’s sure, he’s got a bad tooth too.”
    â€œWell thank you, I appreciate it. I’m for Edinburgh now and after I think I’ll head west and see if there are any bad teeth in Dumfriesshire or even Carlisle.”
    â€œBound to be, Mr Anricks. Me dad’ll be waiting for when ye come back.”
    â€œNow mind what I tell you, the invisible worms that eat your teeth, they love sugar and honey and so if you scrub your teeth with a cloth and salt, that’ll keep them away.”
    â€œAy, and I’ll keep the charm ye sold me too, that’s even better.”
    â€œHm. Good day to you.”
    â€œClem!” bellowed Tim. “Bring Mr Anricks’ pony round for him.”
    A boy leapt out from under the counter and pelted out the door and the tooth-drawer followed him out, moving a little stiffly, as if his back hurt.
    â€œEhm…” said the older traveller, “good day to you.” Everybody turned and looked. “That’ll be two quarts, please.”
    This was an event. Two strangers coming into the alehouse. A smaller boy was staring from where he’d been whittling under the counter. The older man hated the feeling of being conspicuous, but you couldn’t help it.
    The quarts were drawn from the only barrel and the younger man paid, twice as much as usual on account of them being foreigners of course. That was all right, they had plenty of money.
    After both had taken a drink, the older one said, “What’s the name of this village?”
    Several people answered and it seemed you could choose between Lesser Wendron or Minor or the old one of Wendron St Cuthberts.
    â€œAh. St