by Mel Starr
“Master Hugh. Lord Gilbert requires some service? Come in… come in.” He drew the door wide. “How may I serve Lord Gilbert?”
I caught a glimpse of unhappy scowls upon the faces of those who had awaited Sir Roger’s pleasure from before I entered the anteroom. My request would not take long, and when I entered his chamber I saw no other man there. Sir Roger was engaged in some business which prevented him hearing the pleas of his petitioners. It was not my request which restrained him from attending to their needs. I felt less guilty.
“Good to see you again, Master Hugh. Are you well?” Sir Roger clapped a meaty hand across my back as he pointed me to a chair. “Be seated… be seated. Is all well in Bampton? No, of course not. Foolish question. You would not seek me was it so.” The sheriff dropped his brick-like body into another chair, then continued. “How may I serve Lord Gilbert?”
I explained the cause of my visit, relating the death of Thomas atte Bridge, the destruction of Galen House, and my suspicion as to the felon who worked these evil deeds.
“Geoffrey Homersly, you say? Squire to Sir Simon? Don’t know of the lad, but I see Sir Simon about often enough, and a youth accompanying him. Must be this Homersly. Sir John departed Oxford when I replaced him and now resides on his lands near Abingdon, so it is said. Thought Sir Simon might accompany his father… wish it was so. The man is naught but trouble.”
I was eager to learn what difficulties Sir Simon might have created for the sheriff, but Sir Roger did not explain. “Has one ear lower than the other now, has Sir Simon,” Sir Roger grinned. “That’d be your doing, I suspect.”
“He should thank me he has two ears. Odo Grindecobbe nearly sliced the one from his skull. ’Tis not simple work to sew an ear back upon a man’s head. I received no instruction on the technique in Paris.”
“When he is not strutting about the town with his cronies Sir Simon resides at the Fox’s Lair. The squire probably takes a room there as well. You know the place?”
“Aye.”
“If the squire is guilty of the evils you suspect of him,” Sir Roger continued, “he may resist being taken. And Sir Simon may assist the lad. He’ll have no wish to make your life easy. Have you men with you to arrest the fellow?”
“Two grooms from Bampton Castle. Robust fellows. Arthur was with me here in Oxford last autumn.”
“I remember the man. Would make a good sergeant. The three of you could surely take one man, and him a youth, but if Sir Simon resists you, and has companions with him, the task might be beyond you. I’ll assign two sergeants to accompany you. Come,” he said as he arose from his chair, “I’ll see to it.”
Those in the clerk’s anteroom who sought audience with Sir Roger looked up in dismay as he strode through the chamber. Before he could reach the door, Arthur and Uctred burst through it, saw me and the sheriff, and Arthur said, “Found ’im. Takes a room at an inn called ‘The Fox’s Lair’.” Arthur, Uctred and I followed Sir Roger through a narrow passage, then down a stairway. A short way from the base of these steps Sir Roger pushed open another door. In this room several men sat alertly, in repose, but seemingly ready to be thrust into motion abruptly. Two of them were.
“John, Humphrey,” Sir Roger addressed two of the sergeants. “Here is Master Hugh de Singleton, bailiff for Lord Gilbert Talbot at Bampton. He seeks a felon in Oxford. You will accompany him and his men, and arrest the miscreant should he attempt to flee.”
John and Humphrey sprang to their feet as the sheriff spoke. They were men of considerable size, although should Geoffrey Homersly attempt to flee they seemed unlikely to overtake the youth in a foot-race. Such an eventuality would leave me to deal with the squire alone, for neither Arthur nor Uctred was likely to show a turn of speed either, and Homersly, was it him who burned Galen House, had already escaped Arthur. When the two sergeants approached I saw in their faces the marks of men accustomed to combat. One man wore a scar, long healed, across a cheek. The other owned a nose which had, at some time past, been broken and clumsily set, or not set at all. This beak turned down and to the left as it departed his brow. That both men seemed acquainted with conflict and were willing to see more reassured me.
“When you find this Homersly, bring him to the castle. Being nigh the dungeon has a way of loosening a man’s tongue,” Sir Roger laughed.
The Fox’s Lair is beyond the river from the castle, near to Rewley Abbey. I did take lodging there once, after Lord Gilbert made me bailiff. The bill convinced me that I must seek other lodging when in Oxford. To my good fortune Master Wyclif has offered a guest chamber at Canterbury Hall when such need arises.
The inn is larger than most, new-built but a few years past, on land outside the city walls, where other, more ancient structures would not cramp its bulk. It is constructed of timbers, the spaces between on the ground floor filled with brick, in the new fashion, the upper story of whitewashed wattle and daub. Four chimneys vent the many fireplaces. Glass closes all the windows. Sir Simon and his squire occupied a pleasant inn.
The entrance to the Fox’s Lair is centered in the ground floor. The first story covers this entry, and gates there may be closed at night to bar entrance to the courtyard. The yard is bounded upon three sides by the inn, and the stables close it in the rear.
The porter peered out at us as we passed his closet. He stood, but a better look at the size and determined expressions of my companions apparently convinced him we should be permitted to pass unchallenged. I told one of the sergeants to wait at the gate, then entered the courtyard.
We were nearly across the enclosed yard of the inn when I saw a youth appear from a stall. He carried a bucket, which he took to the well, and when he had filled it, retraced his steps. I motioned to my escort and together we followed the youth into a darkened stable.
The lad had just finished pouring water into a trough when he glanced up and saw four shadows blocking the light at the entrance to the stall. Because our faces were in shadow he mistook who approached.
“Do you require your beast, Sir Simon? You did not say… I would have had him readied but you spoke no word.”
The youth spoke nervously, as if he feared displeasing Sir Simon. This, I knew, was not a difficult thing. I had done so easily. And Sir Simon’s wrath was to be feared, especially so by a stable boy who had no great lord to protect him from the irascible Sir Simon, as had I.
“Oh,” the lad said abruptly. He had stepped closer to the stall entry and saw it was not Sir Simon who stood before him. “Do you seek a horse, sir?” he said. “This beast belongs to Sir Simon Trillowe. The inn owns others you may employ be you lodging here.”
The youth seemed slightly less fearful since he saw it was not Sir Simon who stood before him, but, although my slender form is not likely to cause unease in others, the three beefy men who stood behind me surely would.
“Sir Simon has a squire,” I said. “Does the fellow also keep a horse in this stable?”
“Uh… aye.”
“Two nights past,” I asked, holding out a silver penny to the lad, “did Geoffrey Homersly require his horse?”
The stable boy peered over my shoulder into the yard, as if he sought assurance that no other man observed our conversation. When he was satisfied none took note of the interview, his hand grasped the coin, quick as a cat on a mouse.
“Aye,” he whispered. “Gone all night.”
“Did he say where it was he traveled?”
“Nay. Went off with Sir Simon an’ come back at dawn.”
With Sir Simon? I was dumbstruck. Would Sir Simon have aided the destruction of Galen House? Why not? He had no love for me.
The stable boy suddenly glanced over my shoulder, said, “I must be about my tasks,” and picked up his bucket for another journey to the well.
As he set off a voice came from the yard. “Stephen, Sir Simon wishes his horse made ready at the twelfth hour.”
I turned and saw a well-made young man of about twenty years striding across the yard.
It was clear he spoke to the stable boy, now hurrying to the well with his bucket. So this, I decided, is Geoffrey Homersly.
The squire was not so tall as me, but well formed. He had pale hair, like his mother. I recognized him, for six months past I had cleansed his wounds and soothed his bruises when he, along with Sir Simon, was attacked near the Oxford Northgate by men who thought they assaulted me and Arthur.
Homersly turned from the stable boy to observe me and my companions. I thought I saw a spark of recognition flash across his face, but perhaps not. He had seen me only once, so far as I knew, at the Augustinian Friars’ infirmary, and was not in good health at the time.
“Geoffrey Homersly?” I asked, and strode toward the young man. My burley companions followed.
Sir Simon’s squire looked to me with narrowed eyes. No doubt he wondered what I was about, emerging from the stall which housed Sir Simon’s beast. “Aye. Do I know you?”
“In a manner of speaking. I patched you and Sir Simon last autumn, when men set upon you in the Canditch.”
“You… you are Hugh de Singleton?” he said incredulously.
“Aye. Does my presence here surprise you?” I guessed my presence anywhere but St Beornwald’s Churchyard would surprise him. “We must speak. There are unresolved matters…”
Before I could complete the words the squire bolted toward the gate. I set out in pursuit, but he had a head start and was fleet of foot. Arthur and the others lumbered after. A horse and cart appeared in the gate, the cart loaded with sacks of oats for the beasts of the stable. This vehicle so blocked the passage that the squire was forced to slow his pace and attempt to squeeze between cart and wall. A moment later the sergeant I had left at the gate, who saw our thundering approach, had Homersly by the arm.
I thought Sir Roger’s advice wise. Castle walls are intimidating, especially so to those who fear they might be introduced to the gaoler do their answers to certain questions not satisfy.
I required of the sergeants that they keep Homersly in close restraint, and with me walking before and Arthur and Uctred behind we crossed Castle Mill Stream Bridge and entered the castle. I took the wide-eyed squire to the sheriff’s anteroom, now cleared of all who sought audience with Sir Roger, and told the clerk to announce my return to the sheriff.
If there is a thing more intimidating than the cold stone walls of Oxford Castle, it is Sir Roger’s brows when they unite in a frown. Such was his expression when he flung open the door to his chamber in response to his clerk’s words. Geoffrey Homersly seemed to shrink from squire to the size of a page before my eyes.
“Is this the fellow?” Sir Roger barked. Without waiting for an answer he spoke to his sergeants. “Wait here.” Then, to Homersly, “Master Hugh and I need answers from you… enter.”
The sergeants released the squire with a shove which propelled him toward the door to Sir Roger’s chamber. He staggered and would have fallen had not the door-frame been close for him to grasp and steady himself. When the sergeants released him they stood with folded arms. Homersly glanced from his place, gripping the door-post, then entered the chamber, seemingly pleased to be released from the grip of the sergeants. They were men unaccustomed to treating miscreants gently.
I followed Homersly into the sheriff’s chamber and Sir Roger slammed the door behind us. Still scowling, the sheriff pointed to a bench and with a nod of his head indicated that Homersly should sit. The youth seemed grateful to be able to do so.
“Where did you and Sir Simon go two nights past that you required your horses?” I began.
“Uh… two nights?”
“Aye. Why would you need horses past curfew?”
“You must be mistaken.”
“Not so. I have good information that you and Sir Simon were gone the night, and did not return ’til dawn.”
“Who says so?”
“No matter who, so long as his word is true.”
“Mayhap it is not,” the squire countered.
“Mayhap. But he who says so has no reason to deceive. You do.”
“Why would I do so?” Homersly protested.
“Because you thought to do murder, and burned my house to perform the deed.”
“Not so,” he said with some heat.
“Was it not you who two nights past rode with Sir Simon to Bampton and threw a torch to the roof of my house?”
“Nay.”
“Then tell Master Hugh where it was you went,” Sir Roger growled.
“I did not enter Bampton,” the squire insisted.
“I did not ask where you did not go,” the sheriff replied with some menace. Homersly surely noted the tone. His face grew pale.
“I will send the sergeants to bring Sir Simon,” Sir Roger announced. “It seems reasonable that since you left the inn together, and returned together, that you traveled through the night together as well. Perhaps Sir Simon will wish to tell us what you do not. No doubt, wherever you journeyed, Sir Simon will place blame for destroying Master Hugh’s house upon you. Who is to be believed: a mere squire, or a knight?”
This introduced a new and unwelcome thought to Homersly. I saw his eyes flicker about the chamber, as if seeking some previously hidden means of escape. But there could be no flight from either the chamber or Sir Roger’s suggestion.
“’Twas Sir Simon,” the squire blurted.
“What?” I asked. “Sir Simon accompanied you?”
“Nay. ’Twas not that way. I accompanied Sir Simon.”
“To Bampton?”
“Aye. Near so. Sir Simon stopped near a small chapel to the east of the town and bade me remain there with the horses. He went on afoot.”
“How many journeys to Bampton in the night did you and Sir Simon make?” I asked.
“Three.”
“What transpired on these nights?”
“The first two times Sir Simon ran back to my place and urged me to mount quickly, as did he, and we galloped away.”
“Did he tell you what he intended?”
“Nay. Not ’til the third night.”
“Two nights past?” Sir Roger asked.
“Aye. Sir Simon was in no hurry the third time when he returned to the chapel. When I asked if we were to be off he said, ‘Nay,’ and watched the sky over the town. Soon flames lit up the sky. This seemed to satisfy Sir Simon. He then instructed me to mount my horse and together we rode through the night back to Oxford.”
“Did you ask Sir Simon what meant this glow in the night sky?”
“Aye, I did so. When we were well on our way from the town.”
“What was his reply?”
“He laughed and said a lass who made sport of him would regret it, did she live.”
“A lass?”
“Aye.”
“So it was Sir Simon’s plan to burn my house? Not yours?”
“Why would I wish to burn your house? I knew you only as the surgeon who bathed my wounds and stitched Sir Simon’s cuts.”
“Sir Simon did not tell you whose house he intended to set alight?”
“Nay.”
“Do you remember Thomas atte Bridge?”
“Thomas who?”
“Atte Bridge.”
Homersly was silent, thinking. “Nay,” he finally replied. “Should I?”
“Your father hired him and a brother to plow some years past.”
The squire shook his head. “I remember my father speaking of finding workers. Don’t remember that he named ’em.”
“Did he speak of their theft?”
“Ah… were they the thieves who made off with the calf?”
“Your father believes so.”
“If he spoke their names, I do not remember.”
“And you say ’twas Sir Simon’s plan to set my home ablaze?”
“Aye.”
“Why, again, would he do so?”
“His friends made sport of him, mocked him because a maid chose another, a bailiff, Sir Jocelin said, over him.”
; “So he wished to kill the lass?”
“I did not know his intent,” Homersly pleaded. “I would not have accompanied him had he told me his plan.”
“For a third visit? You did not ask what he was about the first two attempts?”
Homersly did not immediately respond. “Sir Simon does not appreciate questions from his inferiors,” he finally said. “He says, ‘Come,’ and I come.”
“We will see how he likes questions from his betters,” Sir Roger said, then arose from his chair and approached the chamber door.
He opened it and called to the two sergeants who remained with Arthur and Uctred in the anteroom. “Return to the Fox’s Lair and find Sir Simon Trillowe. Place him under arrest and bring him to me.”
“He required the stable boy to have his horse ready at the twelfth hour,” I added. “It is nearly that hour. If you make haste you will have him before he may depart the city.”
“Take Master Hugh’s men with you,” the sheriff advised. Arthur and Uctred sprang to their feet and followed the sergeants from the room.
Sir Roger then spoke to his clerk. “Bring the warder.”
To me he said, “We’ll allow this squire to spend a few hours in the dungeon. Might serve to aid his memory and loosen his tongue, do we need more from him.”
The warder must have been close by. He appeared nearly as soon as Sir Roger finished his explanation, and a moment later he dragged Homersly from the chamber. As the squire disappeared into the passageway he continued to object that the destruction of Galen House was none of his doing. I began to believe him, as did Sir Roger, I think, but there might be more knowledge to be prized from the fellow and some hours of contemplation in the stink of the dungeon might help bring it forth.
A castle valet appeared in the anteroom just then, and announced to Sir Roger that his supper awaited.
“Excellent. Master Hugh, you will join me. Perhaps when we are fed Sir Simon will have been found and will be awaiting examination.”
Sir Roger’s cook prepared an excellent meal. The sheriff’s stout frame gave evidence that this was not uncommon. I was so sated after two removes that I could consume little of the third, and ignored the subtlety. Sir Roger noted, and asked if I was ill. It was nearly so, but this was not the cause of my failed appetite but the result of my eager consumption of the first two removes. I hoped the coming confrontation with Sir Simon would not add to my indigestion.