I noticed that three men in a far corner also seemed to be ignored by the villagers. They were rough looking, with ragged clothes and unkempt beards. I saw them examining us; not staring openly like the villagers but with sidelong looks.
'See that tall fellow?' Mark whispered. 'I'd swear that's the rags of a monk's robe.'
The largest man, an ugly giant with a broken nose, wore a ragged shift of thick black wool and I saw that indeed it had a Benedictine cowl at the back. The innkeeper, who alone had been civil to us, appeared to refill our glasses.
'Tell me,' I asked quietly, 'who are those three?'
He grunted. 'Abbey-lubbers from the priory dissolved last year. You know how it is, sir. The king says the little houses of prayer must go, and the monks are given places elsewhere, but the servants are put out on the road. Those fellows have been begging about here this last twelvemonth — there's no labour for them. See that skinny fellow, he's had his ears cropped already. Be careful of them.'
I glanced round and saw that one of them, a tall thin fellow with wild yellow hair, had no ears, only holes with scar tissue around, the penalty for forgery. Doubtless he had been involved in some local enterprise of clipping coins and using the gold to make poor fakes.
'You allow them here,' I said.
He grunted. 'It's not their fault they were thrown out. Them and hundreds more.' Then, feeling perhaps he had said too much, the innkeeper hurried away.
'I think this might be a good time to retire,' I said, taking a candle from the table. Mark nodded, and we downed the last of our ale and headed for the stairs. As we passed the abbey servants my coat accidentally brushed the big man's robe.
'You'll have bad luck now, Edwin,' one of the others said loudly. 'You'll need to touch a dwarf to bring your luck back.'
They cackled with laughter. I felt Mark turn and laid my arm on his.
'No,' I whispered. 'No trouble here. Go up!' I half-pushed him up a rickety wooden staircase to where our bags were set out on truckle beds in a room under the thatch, whose population of rats could be heard scurrying away as we entered. We sat down and pulled off our boots.
Mark was angry. 'Why should we suffer the insults of these hinds?'
'We are in hostile country. The Weald people are still papists, the priest in that church probably tells them to pray for the death of the king and the pope's return every Sunday.'
'I thought you hadn't been in these parts before.' Mark stretched out his feet to the broad iron chimney pipe, which ran up through the centre of the room to the roof, providing the only warmth.
'Careful of chilblains. I haven't, but Lord Cromwell's intelligencers send back reports from every shire since the rebellion. I have copies in my bag.'
He turned to me. 'Do you not find it wearying sometimes? Always having to think when one talks to a stranger, lest something slips an enemy could turn to treason. It did not used to be like this.'
'This is the worst time. Things will improve.'
'When the monasteries are down?'
'Yes. Because Reform will finally be safe. And because then Lord Cromwell will have enough money to make the realm secure from invasion and do much for the people. He has great plans.'
'By the time the Augmentations men have had their cut, will there be enough left even to buy those churls downstairs new cloaks?'
'There will, Mark.' I spoke earnestly. 'The large monasteries have untold wealth. And what do they give to the poor, despite their duty of charity? I used to see the destitute crowding round the gates on dole days at Lichfield, children in rags pushing and kicking for the few farthings handed through the bars in the gate. I felt ashamed going into school on those days. Such a school as it was. Well, now there'll be proper schools in every parish, paid for by the king's Exchequer.'
He said nothing, only raised his eyebrows quizzically.
'God's death, Mark,' I snapped, suddenly irritated by his scepticism. 'Take your feet away from that chimney. They stink worse than that sheep.'