Rest Not in Peace (14 page)

“You believe two deaths may be followed by a third?” I said. “Why do you say so?”

I wondered if the Lord Christ had given my Kate some insight which He withheld from me, or if she saw matters in Bampton Castle more clearly from watching from a distance.

Kate shrugged and pursed her lips. “No reason,” she said. “But my father says misfortunes always come in threes.”

I had no wish to contradict my father-in-law, and as he had the wisdom of years, considered that he might speak true. I made no reply, but thought on this new and unappealing notion. Was there another man, or perhaps a woman, lodged in Bampton Castle, whose life was in danger? So far death had come only to Sir Henry and a
knight in his household. Did danger lurk within the castle walls for Lord Gilbert and Lady Petronilla and their retainers also?

I had thought that Sir Henry’s death involved some dark matter within his household; his debts, perhaps, or his unhappy wife and daughter foremost in my considerations. But what if none of these were so? Perhaps some other wickedness was hidden in Sir Henry’s retinue.

While I considered this new and unwelcome notion Kate set a footed pan upon the coals of the hearth and began preparing hanoney for our supper. She continued her part of the conversation but I confess to inattention, being lost in apprehension of more deaths at Bampton Castle. Her words finally penetrated my musing, and I asked her to repeat what she had said.

Kate frowned in exasperation. “Something is at the eggs. I found three this morning broken and eaten.”

“Nothing has taken a hen?” I asked.

“Nay, they are all accounted for.”

“Then ’tis no fox or badger that has been in the henhouse, or a hen or two would be gone. I will see to the coop after supper. Perhaps a board has come loose and a rat has got in. A rat was seen in the castle not long past.”

“There will be more eggs in your hanoney if you can stop the thief.”

“S
ir Geoffrey wishes to bury Sir John this day,” Lord Gilbert said when I greeted him next morn. “What say you? Have you any objection?”

I had none. John Chamberlain was in attendance upon Lord Gilbert when I arrived at the solar, and he was sent to tell Sir Geoffrey that there were no objections to burying his companion this day.

When the chamberlain had departed the solar Lord Gilbert turned to me. His face was unreadable, but his silence spoke as well as words might. He was not pleased.

Few nobles can contain their ire for long, being accustomed to seeing retainers act to satisfy them when they are vexed. We did not face each other mute for more than a few heartbeats. “How many more men will die in Bampton Castle before you seize the felon?” he said.

I dared not tell Lord Gilbert that the same question had filled me with dread since last evening. Perhaps a calamity feared may be more likely to occur. On the other hand, to ignore an approaching evil will not deflect it. I was much torn.

“Sir Roger would have had Squire William off to Oxford Castle dungeon by now,” I said. “But that would not have prevented Sir John’s death.”

“Oh? Did not Sir John and the squire quarrel? And did that not lead to Sir John being weak and abed when he was slain?”

“Aye, it did. But whoso wished to do away with Sir John would have found opportunity even had he not lain
wounded in his bed. A man who seeks to do harm to another will find his chance sooner or later. And Sir Roger’s rash arrest of William would have served only to do an injustice.”

“William had nothing to do, then, with either death?”

“I do not know. I think not. I have an aversion to seeing an innocent man sent to Oxford Castle dungeon.”

“Ah, no wonder, as you were sent there yourself. But do you think I wish to see an innocent man do the sheriff’s dance? Not so.”

“Then yield me time to do justice. If you demand haste you may compel me to error.”

Lord Gilbert chewed upon his lip, then spoke. “My wits are clouded. I wish Lady Margery and her household away, which cannot be if you are to find a murderer. I want two things, but can have but one.”

“One at a time,” I said. “I will be diligent. Discovering a felon, or two, must come first, and then Lady Margery may be away. She wishes it as much as you, I believe.”

“We agree on few other things,” Lord Gilbert muttered.

John Chamberlain reappeared at the door to the solar and announced that all was ready for Sir John’s funeral, and would Lord Gilbert and Lady Petronilla be pleased to walk with Lady Margery and Lady Anne in the procession to St Beornwald’s Church?

Lord Gilbert turned to me. “That was swift.” To John he said, “Lady Petronilla is with the nurse and our children in the nursery. If she is at leisure, tell her to join me here.”

She was, and appeared a few moments later. Together Lord Gilbert and Lady Petronilla descended the stairs to the hall and I followed. I had no obligation to Sir John, to mourn at his funeral, but thought attending the burial could do no harm and might be an occasion for learning something which might resolve the puzzles cast upon me.

No one spent even a farthing to hire mourners for Sir John, so only the Lady Margery’s household, Lord Gilbert, Lady Petronilla, and I would follow the bier to the churchyard. Sir John lay upon two planks, shrouded in black linen. Lady Margery did not even rent a coffin to see him to his grave.

Walter and three of Sir Henry’s grooms lifted Sir John, and the small procession set off for St Beornwald’s churchyard. Lady Margery set up a wail, which lady Anne copied, but ’twas plain their hearts were not in it. By the time we passed Galen House their lament had faded to a whimper.

When the funeral mass was done, I was no closer to discovering the guilty than when the day had dawned. No man showed any indication of pleasure or satisfaction when Sir John was lowered into his grave, there to await the Lord Christ’s return beside Sir Henry. No man gave much evidence of grief, either. Not even Sir Geoffrey.

I took my dinner at Galen House, having grown weary of dining in Bampton Castle hall, watching others to see if I could detect some guilt in their eyes or actions. This exercise came near to ruining my appetite, which, as Kate would tell you, is not easily done.

Kate had not known whether or not to expect me at our table for dinner, so had prepared but a simple repast for herself and Bessie. But I did not regret my absence from the castle hall. The pottage I consumed that day was improved by the companionship of my wife and child, which was much to be preferred over that of a shrewish woman, a haughty knight, and a covetous maid.

But I would discover no felons at Galen House, so when I had eaten my fill I kissed Bessie and my Kate and set off for the castle. I had in mind to seek Isobel, Lady Margery’s lady-in-waiting, to gather more knowledge of Sir Henry’s family and retinue.

Lady Petronilla, Lady Margery, Lady Anne, and their ladies and servants were all together in Lady Petronilla’s chamber when I returned to the castle. So John Chamberlain said. He did not appear pleased when I told him to visit the chamber and pluck out the maid Isobel.

I awaited Isobel in my old bachelor chamber off the hall, where I had earlier questioned her before William and Sir John shattered the castle’s peace. Isobel seemed less apprehensive than when she had entered the room on Sunday. Perhaps I did not seem the ogre she had first feared.

I bid her be seated upon the bench. She peered at me with some suspicion as she did so, but I did not see fear in her glance. Whether or not this was a good thing I could not decide. Most bailiffs believe their task of keeping order upon their lord’s estate to be best accomplished if those who live upon the manor have a healthy fear of displeasing them. Some years past, when I was newly come to Bampton, a villein who owed four days’ week work claimed illness and would not do the ditching the reeve required of him. I told the man I might cure his complaint with surgery. It was remarkable how readily he regained his health. But in the case of Isobel I could see no cause for surgery so could but trust her honesty.

“You who serve Lady Margery must speak of the deaths of Sir Henry and Sir John,” I began. “What is said of these felonies?”

Isobel shrugged. “There are as many opinions as there are maids in Lady Margery’s service.”

“Very well. What are these theories?”

“Lady Margery has convinced Hawisa that Sir Henry and Sir John are dead of your incompetence. Judith believes that Sir Geoffrey must have had a hand in one of the murders. Perhaps both. But she does not speak of this
before Lady Margery. Philippa thinks William, mayhap with Robert’s assistance, and Lady Anne’s knowledge, is guilty.”

“What say you? You believe me guilty of malfeasance?”

Had Isobel feared me I would have no straight answer from her. She looked at me for a moment and evidently decided that she had no cause for worry, not being suspected herself, and apparently no longer concerned that she was suspect in the taking of Lord Gilbert’s silver.

“I know nothing of wounds and remedies and such,” she said.

“I may be responsible, then?”

“I think not. I saw Sir John’s blood spattered upon the wall.”

“Which of Lady Margery’s attendants then do you believe closest to the truth?”

Isobel thought on the question for some time, then spoke. “None,” she said softly.

“Then you must suspect some other man… or woman.”

Isobel did not respond. I spoke again. “Who did Sir Henry and Sir John so anger that the angered person would do murder?”

“Many folk,” Isobel finally said.

“How so?”

“Sir Henry served as Commissioner of Laborers.”

I wondered how, insolvent as he was, Sir Henry had found funds to purchase the post from the King. Borrowed, probably.

“Many men serve the King’s justice,” I said. “Few are done to death.”

“Few enforce the Statute of Laborers as did Sir Henry,” she said.

“Ah… he was rigorous in preventing the commons from seeking to better themselves?”

“More than that.”

“More? What do you mean?”

“He was known to extort unjust fines from tenants and laborers, and would send any who would not pay to the stocks or his dungeon.”

“Is this more than rumor?”

“Aye. There were always men jailed in his manor. Some for a few days, others for a fortnight or more, ’til they paid their fines.”

If Sir Henry had indeed borrowed to buy his post, here was another reason, in addition to his poverty, for him to deal harshly with any who might come before him charged with violating the statute. And if few were charged, a reason for extorting fines from laborers who had done no wrong.

“What of Sir John?”

“He and Sir Geoffrey apprehended those who were accused and brought them before Sir Henry.”

“They profited from Sir Henry’s extortions?”

“Aye, so it is said.”

“Do you believe this to be true?”

“Aye. Many times I saw Sir Geoffrey and Sir John bring men to Sir Henry. Some had fled as far as St Albans and Northampton where they thought to find employment at better wages. Others were those who would not or could not pay the fines which Sir Henry demanded.”

“Who, then, of Sir Henry’s retinue with him in Bampton suffered loss because of his extortions?”

“I know not. I heard from Hawisa that Walter’s father was fined for charging too much for his labor, but that was before I came to serve Lady Margery, six years past, or seven.”

“What work does Walter’s father do?”

“A smith, I believe.”

“So you believe Sir Henry’s death due to the abuse of his authority?”

“I know not what to believe. I know only that he made enemies and none with him in Bampton were among them, I think. Rather, they were his aides.”

“William and Robert? Did they assist Sir Geoffrey and Sir John in seizing men who would gain more from their labor than the statute permitted?”

“Aye. Several times I saw all four ride out together.”

“And they returned with men who were imprisoned ’til they could pay their fine?”

“Sometimes.”

“And sometimes they returned with the coin Sir Henry wished taken from those charged with violating the law?”

“Aye. So it was said.”

“But none of these folk would have come with Sir Henry to Bampton?”

“Nay. Who would wish to do so? And he would not prey upon his own retainers.”

“He would not,” I agreed. “But there are surely many men who, did they know of Sir Henry’s murder, would not grieve.”

Isobel nodded agreement.

“Is there talk of who may replace Sir Henry as Commissioner of Laborers?”

“Lady Margery says Sir Geoffrey will have the post.”

“That’s not all of Sir Henry’s possessions he is likely to have, eh?”

Isobel blushed. “Nay,” she replied.

“Will he be as rapacious of the commons as Sir Henry? He is baseborn, I am told.”

“Aye, but few speak of it. Not when he or Lady Margery are close by. And he has little compassion for the commons when their money is at issue.”

“Before Sir John was found dead, did Lady Margery
speak then of Sir Geoffrey replacing Sir Henry as Commissioner of Laborers?”

“I daresay. Don’t remember clearly. All is a muddle. Can’t remember who said what and when.”

“Did Sir John seek the office also, you think? The post is not for Lady Margery to give, nor is it inherited.”

“Why not? ’Twas a source of income he could have no other way.”

“So with Sir Henry dead, and then Sir John, Sir Geoffrey might have two things he wanted – Lady Margery and a position he might use to extort pence and shillings to fatten his thin purse.”

“Aye. And he’d not overlook even a farthing from the meanest sort. Sir Henry didn’t.”

“Yet ’tis said Sir Henry was needy. If he used his position to take unjustly from the commons, why did he lack funds?”

“Don’t know. He had debts, and Lady Margery likes her jewels. She was much angered last year when Sir Henry sold an emerald ring without her knowledge.”

“When you return to Lady Margery she will want to know of our discourse. On no account must you tell her of my questions or of your replies.”

“What am I to say? She will surely ask, and so will her other ladies.”

“Say that we spoke of William. ’Twill be no lie. His name was mentioned. Say I had many questions about the quarrel between William and Sir John. This also is true.”

Isobel arose from the bench, but as she turned to leave the chamber a last question occurred to me.

“Can Sir Geoffrey read and write?”

“Aye. Not well, I think.”

“You have seen examples of his pen?”

“Nay. Just heard Sir Henry speak to him of it once. Sir
Geoffrey was rueful that he lacked knowledge. Didn’t learn to read and write ’til he entered Sir Henry’s service.”

Isobel departed the chamber. I remained, considering what I knew, and what I had just learned. Sir Geoffrey, I decided, had slain Sir Henry to gain a wife and an income, and when he saw these prizes threatened by Sir John, took the opportunity of Sir John’s wound and quarrel with William to do another murder.

Sir Geoffrey would have access to the marshalsea, where he might have hacked a knob from an old, little-used saddle, and he had enough skill with a pen that he could write a message to Sir Roger designed to set askew any investigation.

How the knight got his hands on the pouch of crushed lettuce seeds I did not know, but thought that either Walter or Lady Margery might know something of the business. But if I asked, they would deny it, so there was no point in doing so.

And the portpain was also a puzzle. Did Sir Geoffrey have it from Lady Anne? Why so? Or from Lady Margery? This was more likely. But how would she have got it from the pantry? Was I of Sir Roger’s disposition, I would have suggested that Lord Gilbert rack the knight until he told all.

There were two problems with such a business. Lord Gilbert has no rack at Bampton Castle dungeon, and a man whose arms and legs are being drawn from their sockets will say whatever is needful to end his suffering.

I climbed the stairs to the solar, where I found Lord Gilbert reading his book of hours. He looked expectantly from his devotional. When I had sought him in the past five days it was usually because I had questions or answers. Mostly questions, few answers. He waited to learn which it would be this day.