Read [Roger the Chapman 05] - Eve of Saint Hyacinth for Free Online

outcroppings of stone which suggested that there might once have been dwellings around the clearing. I suspected that this could have been the site of a small hamlet; probably over a hundred years ago, before the Great Plague devastated Europe in the middle of the preceding century, wiping out whole communities.
    Those of you who have read my previous chronicles will know that, although not blessed - or cursed - with the second sight, I have inherited from my mother a sixth sense which sometimes manifests itself in dreams, and at others in a kind of foreboding. It was the latter which suddenly seized me in its grip, causing me to stand stock still, every hair rising on the nape of my neck in fear, droplets of sweat trickling down my spine. I had a strong sense of evil, but whether of some past deed or one yet to come I was unable to tell. The silence was deathly; not a bird sang nor an insect hummed, whereas, seconds before, the woods had been lull of such noises. The surrounding trees seemed to move closer, until I felt crushed and stifled by their menacing presence...
    The moment passed. I shook myself like a dog which has at last reached dry land after treading water. The trees withdrew. There was a sudden flurry of movement as a bird winged its way through the branches to its nest, calling assurance to its little ones. Grasshoppers and crickets once again resumed their chattering chorus. I stooped to pick up my pack, noticing as I did so a small bunch of flowers - bluebell, campion, trailing stems of ground ivy placed at the base of the shrine. They had been torn up from amongst the grasses, some of which had been pulled up with them, and, although not dead, were wilted and jaded. I stared at them with interest, wondering who had bothered to make his or her way to this isolated spot in order to honour a saint no longer represented. And why? What was the purpose of the offering?
    But the flowers could provide me with no solution and I turned my attention to finding a way out of the clearing. It was then I saw that a narrow track, about the width of a man, had already been flattened through the undergrowth to my left; a rough path hacked between the trees and rushes and yellowing grasses. Using my own cudgel I was able to force my way along it and, ten minutes later emerged on to the path which I had been travelling before I so stupidly got lost.

    * * * *

    The sun was riding directly overhead by the time I once again joined the main Winchester road from Southampton.
    The dinner hour was long past, but thanks to my stupidity I had not eaten, so I set off towards the city, hoping to find somewhere to satisfy my hunger. A roadside ale-house, maybe, or a friendly cottage, whose goodwife would be willing to sell me victuals. I had not gone far, however, when I heard the creak of wheels behind me and, glancing over my shoulder, saw an empty cart approaching, pulled by a heavy chestnut horse and driven by a square-set country fellow dressed in a smock of grey homespun and thick, woollen hose. Stout boots of rough brown leather encased the lower part of his legs. The cart drew to a halt beside me.
    'Want a ride, chapman?' the man asked laconically.
    'I'd be grateful,' I answered. 'But I'd be still more grateful if you'd tell me where I can find food and drink round here. I've had no dinner.'
    The man screwed up his face and tugged at the liripipe of his hood. 'Missed your tucker, have you?' He regarded me thoughtfully. 'Don't look the sort who'd forget to eat. And it's midday now. Two hours past dinnertime.'  
    'I made a short cut through the woods and, like a fool, took the wrong turning. You know how it is when you try to be too clever.'
    The man laughed. 'Aye, I know.' He patted the empty seat. 'Jump up. I'm going to collect a load of wool from a farm near here. The goodwife’ll feed you, I'll be bound. A good-hearted, if sharp-tongued soul who'll be glad, I reckon, to see a pedlar.'
    I mounted to sit on the board beside him,