Rest Not in Peace (13 page)

“What is it?” Lord Gilbert asked when the oaken door was shut.

“Somewhere in your castle there is a man who has been scratched and bitten when he did murder,” I said, and explained what I had found in Sir John’s chamber.

Lord Gilbert looked to Sir Roger and spoke. “Did you see any man in the hall just now who appeared scratched or bitten?”

The sheriff puzzled over the question for a moment before he replied. “Nay… of course, I wasn’t seeking any such wounds. When we return we must be alert. The fellow cannot escape us, I think. Sir John has caught his murderer for us.”

The sheriff’s optimism was misplaced. We returned to the hall but neither I nor Lord Gilbert nor Sir Roger saw anything amiss upon face or form of any man, gentleman or commons, who took his dinner in the hall that day.

Conversation in the hall was muted, as all who dined there knew that among us was a felon, and perhaps two. Such thoughts lead a man to considering whether or not he might also have unwittingly made an enemy and so become the next victim. Such considerations do little to promote appetite or discourse.

Only Squire William of the castle residents was absent from the meal. Whether that was due to the injury to his nose or to his pride I cannot tell. As in the past few days when I dined in the hall, I watched for some behavior which might indicate a troubled conscience. I saw none.

As the meal ended I saw John Chamberlain escort a man into the hall. The fellow was mud-spattered, as if he had been riding hard upon the roads. The newcomer strode straight to the high table and leaned over to speak to Sir Roger.

L
ord Gilbert required of me that I rejoin him and Sir Roger in the solar when dinner was done. A sergeant, he said, had just arrived with news that on the previous day a brawl between students of Merton College and town folk of Oxford had got out of hand. Such altercations have in the past often become riots lasting for days, with bloodshed and death. King Edward would not be pleased should his realm be so troubled, and would doubtless hold Sir Roger responsible if students and town folk ran amuck whilst he was in Bampton. The sheriff’s horse was being saddled at this moment so he might speedily return to Oxford and with a brace of sergeants knock a few heads to bring a halt to the melee.

The sheriff had been of little help, yet I was sorry to see him and his sergeants leave Bampton. But it was as Sir Roger himself had said: he was best suited for enforcing the law at sword point, and seemed elated to mount his beast and be off to a conflict.

Lord Gilbert, Lady Petronilla, and I bid Sir Roger “farewell” and watched as he and the sergeants thundered across the drawbridge and set their mounts toward Shill Brook and Oxford in an easy, ground-consuming canter. The sheriff would be at Oxford Castle by late afternoon and would, I was certain, plunge with enthusiasm into the business of restraining youthful miscreants. I wished the discovery of murderers might bring me as much fulfillment as cracking recalcitrant skulls brought to Sir Roger.

“Well,” Lord Gilbert said when the sheriff had disappeared on his way, “we are on our own. Lady Margery continually harps on about returning to Bedford. I have told her that Sir Roger will not permit it until the felon who slew her husband is found. Now we seek two murderers. Truth be told, I’d like to be rid of her.” I saw Lady Petronilla nod agreement, then squint as if the movement caused her head to ache. “What do you think?” Lord Gilbert continued. “Are you near to uncovering the truth?”

“Perhaps there are two murderers now to be found,” I replied. “Or perhaps one who has slain two. Am I near to exposing the guilty? I suppose so. But how near I cannot say. I am like a man told to travel such and such a road to a destination, which he will recognize when he arrives, but not told how far he must go to reach the place. I have found reason to believe various members of Sir Henry’s household guilty of his murder, but then find reason to think my first assessment in error.”

“Have you new evidence, other than what you found in Sir John’s chamber?”

I remembered the knob-shaped piece of wood and drew it from my pouch. “Yesterday, when we went riding, I saw this in the moat, and fished it out. What do you make of it?”

I wished to learn if Lord Gilbert would draw the same conclusion I had about the object, so allowed him to study the thing without benefit of my opinion.

“Some man has carved away the edges, and there is a hole at the end. Hmmm… and here are four small holes in a row.”

Lord Gilbert voiced his thoughts as they came to him, turning the knob in his hands all the while.

“You would not have this in your pouch, nor would you place it in my hands, except that you believe it has to do with Sir Henry’s murder. Is this not so?”

I nodded agreement.

Lady Petronilla peered at the knob as Lord Gilbert turned it in his hand. “The bodkin which pierced Sir Henry fit into that hole, did it not?” she said.

“So I believe.”

“What of the four small holes?” Lord Gilbert said. “They are little more than pin pricks.”

“Perhaps that is what they are,” Lady Petronilla said. “Some small tacks were driven in to hold some other thing in place.”

“If so, the tacks were small,” Lord Gilbert said.

“If I knew what was held in place against the wood,” I said, “I might learn to what use the thing was put.”

“And knowing that might lead to a felon?” Lord Gilbert asked.

“It might. Have you thoughts as to what might have been fixed to the wood using such small nails? It must have been something which could not pull free easily, or stronger fasteners would have been needed.”

Lord Gilbert held the object at arm’s length the better to see it, as he is afflicted, like many of his years, with blurring vision when an object is too close before him. I have told him that in London he might purchase bits of polished glass which are made to perch upon one’s nose, and with which he might see more clearly when he studies accounts, but he will not. He yet fancies himself a young and virile knight, and believes to use such an aid is beneath his dignity.

As Lord Gilbert continued to examine the knob an image of how this perplexing object might first have been used came to mind.

“Come, m’lord,” I said. “Let us visit the marshalsea.”

“Something may be learned there of this thing?”

“I believe so.”

Lady Petronilla fell in behind us as Lord Gilbert and I set out across the castle yard. There was bowing and tugging of forelocks as pages and grooms interrupted their work to acknowledge Lord Gilbert’s presence in their quarter.

We entered the stables. Lord Gilbert swatted away a horsefly, then turned to me. “What do you seek here?”

“Saddles,” I replied, and walked past a row of stalls toward the room where saddles, bridles, and such were stored. Nearly two dozen saddles crowded the storeroom, for all those belonging to Lord Gilbert and his household were there as well as those of Sir Henry’s retainers. The place smelled of leather and stale horse sweat. Bridles and harnesses hung from pegs fixed into the wall of the storeroom, while saddles rested upon saw-horse-like supports. Newer saddles, and those most likely to be called for use, were nearest the entry. Older saddles, less likely to be needed, sat dust-covered in a darkened corner of the room. It was to these older saddles that I walked, holding the knob before me.

Lord Gilbert followed. Lady Petronilla remained at the entry, the space between the saddles being cramped, her nose wrinkled from the fetid smell.

“What do you seek?” Lord Gilbert asked.

“I wonder if this piece of wood might have been hacked from a saddle frame? The small holes might have been made by nails used to hold the leather cover to the frame.”

“Ah, so it might be,” he agreed, and he joined me in examining the little-used saddles at the far corner of the storeroom. ’Twas Lord Gilbert who found the damaged saddle.

“Hugh, look here.”

I did so. The pommel of an old saddle, likely disused for years, was half gone. The brittle leather which had covered the missing wooden support hung loose. When I held the
knob against this dusty leather the tack holes fit perfectly.

“Hmmm, you must question my grooms closely regarding who of Sir Henry’s retainers entered this place last week. The man who pried that wood from my old saddle did murder.”

“Aye, likely so,” I agreed. “Perhaps two murders.”

“’Twould be most convenient if it was so… two birds with one stone and all.”

Lord Gilbert and Lady Petronilla departed the marshalsea and left me to question the grooms and pages who labored around the horses. This I did, and learned that Sir Geoffrey, Sir John, both squires, and even Sir Henry’s valets and grooms were commonly seen about the stables. A knight’s beasts are valuable and their condition is important to him. If one of these had spent time in the storeroom, none noticed or remembered. I had discovered the source of the knob likely used to force a bodkin into Sir Henry’s ear, but there seemed no way to discover who had hacked it free of an old, dusty saddle.

I crossed the castle yard to the hall, where I hoped to find Sir Geoffrey. His chamber was adjacent to Sir John’s, and I thought it likely he might have heard some clamor in the night as Sir John unsuccessfully fought his attacker.

I found the knight in conversation with Lady Margery. My appearance was not welcome. As I approached, the two ceased their talk and glared in such a manner as to bring frost to the hall windows. But a man whose position requires him to sometimes ask unwanted questions becomes immune to hostile scowls.

“Sir Geoffrey,” I said, “I give you good day. You awoke this morning to a sorry business.”

The knight said nothing, nor did his expression change. My view of Sir John’s death seemed agreed upon, so I continued.

“You saw his chamber, and his blood spattered upon the wall. He fought his assailant. Did you hear the struggle? Did Sir John cry out?”

“Nay. Heard nothing. I’m a heavy sleeper. Comes from seizing what slumber I could when marching to battle with Sir Henry, I suppose.”

“Who of Sir Henry’s household disliked Sir John?”

“Bah,” Lady Margery snorted. ’Twas most unbecoming of a lady. “There was no affray in Sir John’s chamber last night. You seek to persuade us there was, so to disguise your incompetence.” And with that indictment she stood and stalked toward the stairs. But before she reached the end of the hall she turned and spoke again.

“Lady Anne saw a rat this morning running from the brew house. You would be more observant of your duty as Lord Gilbert’s bailiff were you to lay traps than to seek murderers where none are so as to hide your unfitness for your position.”

And with that she lifted her nose and walked off toward her chamber. I looked back to Sir Geoffrey. His face remained inscrutable.

“Lady Margery,” I said, attempting to be as tactful as possible, “is not schooled in herbs nor surgery, and so is mistaken about Sir John’s death. He was slain last night. Of that there can be no doubt.”

“Then why, if he fought his murderer, did I not hear? I sleep soundly, the walls are of stone, and the doors to the chambers of oak, yet it seems a man in such circumstance would have shouted loudly in his distress. I believe Lady Margery speaks true. You seek to cover your failure. I will speak to Lord Gilbert about this. Lady Margery wishes to be away from this place, and I agree ’tis past time we were gone… before you slay another of Sir Henry’s household with your incompetence.”

“Sir Roger requires that Lady Margery remain in Bampton until I have found a murderer… or two murderers.”

“Hah. We should then never leave, for there are none. And were there felons to seek in Bampton Castle, you are not such a one as could discover them.”

Sir Geoffrey rose from his bench and stalked off haughtily. For one baseborn he has mastered arrogance. I contemplated telling the fellow that my father had been a knight, but considered that if a man must tell another that he is of high birth, his manner must not reflect it, and so held my tongue.

But about one thing Lady Margery was correct. If rats had invaded Bampton Castle ’twas my duty as much as any man’s to see that they were caught. I left the hall to visit the fewterer. Lord Gilbert’s hounds would be of no use catching rats, but there were terriers in the kennels, useful for such a purpose. I could not spend all of my waking hours seeking murderers when there was other castle business to be done.

A man who seeks felons must find evidence of guilt where he can. But what if the evidence is flawed? I mistrusted Sir Geoffrey’s words. Perhaps he did hear as Sir John was slain; mayhap he even heard the dying man call out a name. Or perhaps he was the felon, although no man, nor woman either, had spoken of bad blood between the two knights, nor had I witnessed any strife between them.

And what of Walter? He said that he had placed only a thimbleful of crushed lettuce seed into Sir Henry’s wine, but what if he lied? How was I to know? And if he did speak falsely, why would he do so? Did he hold some murderous grudge against Sir Henry? If so, no man had spoken of it.

Squire Robert claimed that he sat wakeful all last night, keeping William company in his distress. How could I learn if this was true?

In the matter of Sir Henry’s death all men proclaimed innocence and ignorance, but one, or perhaps more, lied. So it had come to this: that I must trust no man, and assume all were dishonest until I could prove them otherwise. When I had proven the honesty of all but one or two, those must be the felons. But confirming the truthfulness of the innocent may be as difficult as finding out the guilty.

I returned to the solar. Lord Gilbert must know that, with Sir Roger away, his guests were considering departing Bampton.

“Hah,” he said when told. “I’m of two minds. I’d be pleased to see them away, and be rid of the lot. But Sir Henry, for all of his faults, was a valiant knight and ’twould be a disservice to him to allow his murderer to escape justice. Be at ease. I will speak this hour to Lady Margery and whether she likes it or not she will remain my guest until you have found who murdered Sir Henry. How much longer, you think?”

“I cannot say, m’lord.”

“Well, do be quick about it. Lady Margery and I think alike. We would both prefer her gone from here.”

Lord Gilbert’s kennels lay beside the marshalsea. I found Gerald the fewterer brushing matted fur from one of Lord Gilbert’s hounds and told him to put his terriers to work near to the brew house and bake house. He tugged a forelock and promised to do so as soon as he had completed the task at hand.

The gloomy weather was beginning to lift. The sky was yet clouded, but here and there a glimpse of blue sky was visible as the wind from the north broke and tattered the clouds. The breeze would soon dry the roads, and I might enter Galen House this evening with shoes free of mud.

The thought of my home was appealing, and as I
had no plan in mind to advance the search for Sir John’s murderer, I set out for Mill Street.

Shill Brook ran high, its water muddy from the dirt of the fields washed into its flow by the recent rain. Too much water obscured the stream bed. So it was with the murders in Bampton Castle. There was evidence everywhere I looked; so much that it seemed but to obscure the truth of the matter.

Kate was eager to learn of Sir John’s death, and when I told her of the business she cast her eyes down to her hands, which lay folded in her lap, and said, “So much evil is come upon the castle. Who next will die, I wonder?”

Here was a thought that I had not entertained. Resolved as I was to find who had murdered Sir Henry and now Sir John, I had not considered that there might be others in Sir Henry’s household whose lives were at risk. But how could I know who these might be if I did not know why Sir Henry and Sir John had been slain, so as to seek some commonality?