Rest Not in Peace (11 page)

When Sir Roger and Lord Gilbert saw Bruce led from the stables they mounted their horses and I clambered upon Bruce’s broad back. Lord Gilbert led the way under the portcullis. Wilfred tugged a forelock as we passed. Iron-shod hooves clattered across the drawbridge and we were soon upon Mill Street, where Lord Gilbert turned his mount toward the forest and Cowley’s Corner.

“You’ve set William’s nose straight, then?” Lord Gilbert said as we rode easily toward the wood.

“Aye. A painful lesson, but such are not soon forgot.”

“Just so,” Sir Roger laughed.

“You wished to tell us of Sir John’s wrath,” my employer said, “and why William’s words goaded him to strike the lad.”

“’Twas Robert told me that the Lady Margery has more than one admirer.”

Lord Gilbert’s eyebrow lifted under his cap, as I knew it would, and he cocked his head toward me, awaiting explanation.

“Sir John also holds the lady in much esteem.”

Lord Gilbert sighed and glanced to the sky. “Had I known of the disorder in Sir Henry’s household I would never have extended an invitation for him to visit. Well… too late for second thoughts now. So two knights wished the Lady Margery free of her husband?”

“But Sir John had kept his desire for the lady to himself, but for a drunken leer when Robert saw,” I said.

“Did he not know,” Sir Roger said, “that Sir Geoffrey wished also to supplant the lady’s husband?”

“He did,” I said. “All the household seemed to know, including, I believe, Sir Henry.”

“Are not Sir John and Sir Geoffrey friends?”

“So they seem,” I said.

“’Twould not be the first time friends have fallen out over a lady,” Lord Gilbert observed.

Sir Roger went to the heart of the matter. “Now you have another who might have wished Sir Henry dead.”

We rode through the forest in silence for a time, each considering in his own way the events of the past few days. Lord Gilbert soon tired of this, being a gentleman and thus easily bored. He spurred his beast to a gallop and Sir
Roger and I did likewise to keep up. We thundered past Cowley’s Corner and toward Alvescot, frightening squirrels and jackdaws, for better than a mile before Lord Gilbert drew upon his reins and brought his steed to a walk. I was much relieved. Teetering upon Bruce while the horse is in full gallop is akin to riding upon a cart with square wheels.

Lord Gilbert had slowed his mount because of a path through the wood leading from the road which he wished to follow. The way was narrow, just a track cut through the forest for use of the verderer, so we went in single file. Conversation was then shouted rather than spoken, especially if Lord Gilbert wished to address me, as he led the way and Bruce and I were in the rear.

“Sir John will live, you say?” he yelled.

“Aye,” I replied.

“Then I believe William has suffered enough for his indiscretion, and Sir John has paid the price of his temper and the blow to William’s nose. What say you, Sir Roger? Are these sleeping dogs best left to lie as they now are?”

“Perhaps,” the sheriff agreed, “if the dogs you speak of are willing.”

Our shouted conversation echoed through the forest as the sheriff and I found agreement with Lord Gilbert that William and Sir John be strongly urged to end their quarrel with no further blows, with perhaps a thinly veiled threat as to Lord Gilbert’s response were his wishes disregarded, at least while the two men resided within Bampton Castle.

I wondered who would deliver this proscription to Sir John and William. I learned soon enough. “Hugh… will you see your patients again this day?”

“Aye, m’lord.”

“Tell them what is decided. Do not spare them harsh words. I want no repetition of their brawl while they remain under my roof. After you have discovered
Sir Henry’s murderer, and they have departed with Lady Margery, I care not if they wish to continue slicing and battering each other.”

We emerged from the wood north of Bampton, where the path found the road to Witney. Lord Gilbert turned his mount toward the spire of St Beornwald’s Church, which could be seen in the distance, rising above the clustered houses of the town.

We returned to the castle in silence, enjoying the sun and contemplating dinner. As we approached the castle drawbridge I glanced down into the green, scummy water and saw floating there an object which I could not identify. Twigs and sticks and other such debris often may be found in a moat, but the thing I saw was worked by some man, shaped and rounded. I paid it no more attention and followed Lord Gilbert and Sir Roger under the portcullis to the marshalsea.

A few moments later we entered the hall, where all was readied for dinner, and a valet produced an ewer of water and towels for our ablutions. The morning ride and my labors had left me with an appetite, and so I did wondrous injury to the removes as they were placed before me.

While I ate I watched my companions but saw no behaviors which might indicate a guilty conscience. Sir John and William, who might have reflected in their countenances such a sentiment, were not present.

My thoughts also turned to the object I had seen floating in the moat. I decided that when the meal was done I would leave the castle and fish the thing out of the water. I was curious about what it might be, and how it had come to be there, as it did not seem to be anything common to a moat.

As there is no current in the moat, and this day the breeze was slight, the object I sought was in the same place
I had seen it when riding Bruce toward the drawbridge. A rounded piece of wood, about the size of my fist, floated amongst lily pads two or three yards from the bank. I had no desire to wade into the green, turbid water to retrieve the thing, and in any case it was far enough from the shore that it likely floated in water neck deep.

I returned to the marshalsea and interrupted a page at his work. I instructed the lad to get a rake and a length of rope and report to me with these items at the moat.

What caused my curiosity about the floating object I cannot say, except that such a thing was unusual in a moat, even though such bodies of water are likely to attract much which castle folk discard, though nobles frown on such practice. Someone had worked to remove the corners from a block of wood, and evidently then discarded the object of their labor. I wondered for what use the thing had been made, and why it now bobbed in the moat.

Rakes and ropes are common enough about a castle marshalsea, so it was not long before the page appeared, rake over one shoulder and rope coiled over the other.

“Do you see yon piece of wood floating there in the moat?”

“Aye,” the lad replied.

“Tie the rope to the rake, then cast it out and draw the thing to the bank.”

The page set about this work, and at the third cast of the rake succeeded in bringing the object close enough to shore that, with me holding him by one hand, he was able to lean over the moat and lift the thing from the water. He handed the rounded block to me gingerly, coated as it was with some of the foul stuff found floating in a moat. Some castles of the older sort are surrounded by moats containing filth from the garderobes, which drain into them. The garderobes of Bampton Castle are not so
constructed, for which I was much relieved as I examined the circular wooden object I held before me.

It was actually not round, more a rounded oblong, and had once, I think, been square, or nearly so. Someone had carved edges away with a blade so that what once had been a cube was now pear-like in shape and of near the same size. Where the stem of a pear would be I saw a hole, about half the size of my little fingernail in diameter. Was this indentation accidental to the object’s purpose, or was it significant to the intended use?

Along one side of the object I saw a line of smaller holes, four in number, as if some man had driven a row of tacks into the thing, then removed them.

I carried yet in my pouch the bodkin used, so I believed, to slay Sir Henry whilst he slept. I drew it from my pouch and attempted to fit the blunt end into the hole in the carved ball. It fit quite well, and I was able to push the thin iron rod deep into the wood. Was this coincidence, or did I now hold in my hand the completed weapon with which one man slew another?

If this was the weapon used to murder Sir Henry, it seemed possible to me that each part, the bodkin and the wooden brace, had first some other use, and was modified to do evil. If I could discover their original service I might find who had turned them to murder.

I had already tried to uncover the origin of the bodkin, with no success. Perhaps I would have better luck with the wooden knob.

Lord Gilbert and Sir Roger had likely retired to the solar after dinner, and I might there have sought their opinion of the object I had taken from the fetid water of the moat. I decided not to disturb them when I had only more questions, but no answers. Perhaps I should have done so. I might have learned its original purpose sooner.

The day had turned gloomy and as I stood before the drawbridge a light mist began to fall. The page had coiled his damp rope and awaited further instruction. I sent him back to his work at the marshalsea and turned to Mill Street and my home. I had become weary of my quest for a murderer, and I knew from experience that an hour or two with my Kate and Bessie would improve my ill humor.

The sun which had warmed the morning ride with Lord Gilbert and Sir Roger was now hidden behind low clouds. The mist which drove me from the castle moat soon became a gentle rain. I did not hesitate at Shill Brook to gaze into the water, but hastened to Galen House. The bell atop the tower of St Beornwald’s Church rang for nones as I approached my door.

Rain had brought a chill to the afternoon, so I was pleased to be able to draw a bench beside the fire and steam myself dry while Kate stirred the pease pottage which would be our supper. No pork flavored the bland meal, for ’twas a fast day. I drew the pear-shaped lump of wood from my pouch, told my spouse where I had found it, and gave her my opinion of its purpose.

Kate took the thing delicately in her fingertips, as if it was yet bloody from use, and examined it in silence.

“The bodkin was fixed to this hole?” she asked, pointing to the cavity drilled into the end of the knob.

“Aye, so I believe. If not to this piece of wood, then to another very much like it.”

“Why not throw the bodkin and wood into the moat together?” Kate asked.

“I have asked myself the same question. When the murderer thrust the iron into Sir Henry’s ear the bodkin would have been forced against the wood and deep into the knob, but when the felon attempted to draw the point from Sir Henry’s skull it was likely loosened from the wooden
base. The bodkin was not fixed to the wood, so when the point entered Sir Henry’s ear it was caught there and remained when the murderer tried to pull it free.”

“If so, how did the felon free it from Sir Henry’s ear?” Kate asked.

“’Twas not held so fast as it would have been had it been driven through another place in the skull. There is an opening in the bone within the ear, and a man’s skull is weaker there.”

“Oh,” Kate said with a wrinkled lip. “A woman’s also, I presume?”

“Aye. For all of our differences, for which much thanks to God, we are much alike.”

Kate looked to the floor, where Bessie played with a wooden spoon, and spoke again. “Our differences will become plain soon. Bessie will have a sister or brother come Candlemas.”

“I have guessed as much,” I admitted.

Kate seemed disappointed. Her brow furrowed. “How so?” she asked.

“You take little or nothing to break your fast,” I said. “And last Friday I heard you retching in the toft when I departed for the castle.”

“Oh… I thought to surprise you with the news. You are pleased?”

“Indeed so.”

“I had forgot,” Kate continued, “that you are a bailiff and ’tis your business to bring hidden things to light.”

“’Tis a gloomy business, and one I sometimes wish to abandon.”

Kate was startled into silence for a time. “What would we do, if you did so?” she finally said.

“Return to Oxford. I have some reputation there as a competent surgeon. If enough folk do themselves harm I
might keep the wolf from our door. And we would have the rent from your dowry house.”

“I have grown fond of Galen House,” Kate said, “and Bampton, also. Could you not find enough custom here?”

“I think not. If I surrender my post as Lord Gilbert’s bailiff but remain in Bampton I fear we will soon be paupers.”

“Perhaps your melancholy will pass.”

“If I discover who did murder in Bampton Castle my spirits will improve, I think, but each day which passes seems to take me farther from a resolution, not nearer.”

“I find,” Kate said, “that on such a dreary day my mood is often as low as the clouds. Perhaps the sun will appear tomorrow and improve your humor.”

“I wish it may be so.”

We sat in silence for a time, then Kate returned to the subject of the knob and bodkin.

“You think the felon wished you or Sir Roger to find evidence of a squire’s guilt, so kept the bodkin to serve the purpose, but cast away the wooden part of the tool?”

“Aye. But why not leave both parts where they might be found? It may be that the knob points more to the murderer than the bodkin does, and that is why the felon cast it away. If I can discover where it came from I may be on the trail of the murderer.”

In truth my disposition began to recover at that moment, for Bessie had tired of counting her toes and toddled to my knee, begging to be held. I approved her request and spent the next hour jabbering with my daughter, escaping all thoughts of murder, and enjoying the warmth of the fire. Did I really wish to give up my post and my place in Bampton because of the vexation I felt at not yet discovering who had slain Sir Henry? By the time Kate ladled our supper into bowls and set them upon our table
I was ready to return to the search for a murderer. Perhaps it is a duty of children, although they know it not, to cheer their parents with the simplicity of a childlike joy and trust.

I brought a bucket of water from the well, and after Kate washed our bowls, nursed Bessie, and took her to bed, we sat together on the bench enjoying what warmth remained upon the hearth. The rain had ceased, but drops lingered upon the glass of our windows, and the cloudy evening grew dark early.