by Ann Swinfen
‘Do you tell me!’ I said, opening my eyes wide.
She looked at me sternly, jutting her lower lip.
‘You knew!’
‘Well,’ I said mildly, ‘I grew up here. I too have picked and salted beans.’
‘See how many I have picked,’ Rafe said, holding out his baskets, one in each hand. Some of the pods were a little torn, but he had done well for a little lad of four years.
‘I do not think the harvest could have been completed without your help,’ I said.
‘There is one more picking to be had,’ Alysoun said, not quite relinquishing her pedagogical role. ‘Then the haulms will be cut off level with the ground, to make bedding for the beasts, but the roots are left in the ground, to feed it.’
‘Quite right,’ I said.
‘I wonder who discovered that.’ She was thoughtful. ‘Was it very long ago?’
‘I do not know, my pet. I think some farmer – perhaps a lazy fellow – did not bother to dig up the roots and all when the crop was finished, then his idleness was rewarded when his land produced a better crop the following year than his neighbour’s, who was a good, hard-working man.’
‘You made that up!’ she said, half cross, half laughing.
‘I did, but I expect it went something like that.’ Soon she would know all my secret inventions. She had a sharp mind, and an enquiring one.
After supper that evening I walked down again to the village, and Edmond came with me. My long years away from the farm meant I was no longer as well known to everyone in the village as he was, who had stayed here all his life long. Questioned by us, most of the villagers who had attended the hunt were prepared to admit that Alan Wodville had been in sight of themselves or their friends – or at least they were prepared to do so once we had pointed out the moral danger of lying while under oath.
It had occurred to me to take the opportunity – while we visited the cottages – to examine the arrows of those who had taken part in the hunt, although I agreed with Sir Henry’s conviction that the angle of the fatal shot meant that it must have come from someone on horseback. The village hunters were mystified at my request to see their arrows, but showed them readily enough. There was nothing remarkable about any of them except the variation in their quality. Like my boyhood quills, they were mostly fletched with chicken feathers.
Earlier, when I had returned to the farm at midday, I had passed on Alan’s message to Beth, and now, when we reached her end of the village, we found her just returned from the manor.
‘Were you able to see him?’ I asked.
‘Aye.’ She smiled quite genuinely. ‘Master Hodgate took me to the cellar where he is held, and very ill clad he looked! But he will shave tomorrow morning before the coroner arrives, and don his clean clothes before he is summoned to the inquest. He is not too uncomfortably held,’ she added bravely.
‘You may thank Sir Henry for that,’ I said. ‘He has kept a stern eye on Lady Edith and her friends, and warned them of the danger of overstepping their rights.’
I felt that our visit to the village had not accomplished a great deal, but we were at least certain of substantial numbers to swear to Alan Wodville’s innocence.
‘Tomorrow,’ I said to Edmond, as we walked back to the farm, ‘I fear we will be much occupied with the inquest, that is if the coroner proceeds at once to work. We cannot know when he will arrive, or when he will call the inquest. I suppose we must simply wait upon his will.’
‘At least all the grain is now cut,’ he said. ‘I shall turn the cattle to graze on the stubble tomorrow. Hilda tells me the young ones did well today. It needs another few days before the rest of the beans and peas will be ready for picking.’
‘Then perhaps we should give the children a holiday while we await our summons to the inquest.’ I smiled. ‘I promised them a fishing trip. Where is it best to take them nowadays?’
He slanted a sideways look at me. ‘While you were away at the manor this morning, James and Thomas went to investigate our mill stream and how Mordon diverted or blocked it.’ He laughed. ‘No better time than now to set matters straight again.’
‘And?’
‘And they had no difficulty restoring the flow down our leat. James saw trout in the stream and in our mill pond as it was filling. Glad to swim home to their own breeding grounds!’
‘Then let us take the children there. On our own land.’
Before the children were sent off to their beds, I announced the fishing trip.
‘Is it very difficult, Master Elyot? Catching fish?’ Stephen looked worried.
‘Nothing could be simpler,’ I said. ‘A flexible thin branch, about the width of my finger. Willow will suit very well, and there are plenty growing near the mill pond. A length of twine tied to it. And a juicy grub or worm or insect fixed to a hook at the other end of the twine. Your fish comes swimming up, bites the worm, is caught by the hook – and you have him!’
James laughed. ‘I wish they might always be so obliging! But we have some rods left over from when we last fished. Thomas, you stored away the hooks, did you not?’
‘I know where I put them,’ Thomas said.
‘That is settled then,’ I said. ‘Anyone who wants to come fishing must away to bed now and rise early, for once the sun is well up your fish is not so ready to come to the bait.’
As I had hoped, this sent all the children hurrying away without further ado.
It was a good morning for fishing, the sun not too bright, the air still a little damp with the dew fall. We made a considerable party, not only the children. As well as Alysoun, Stephen, and Rafe, the two students decided to come, and Edmond’s two boys. At the last minute, Jordain and Philip joined us. Hilda felt such a pastime beneath her womanly dignity, and the two small girls, who had seemed eager at first, soon lost their enthusiasm when they saw the bucket of wriggling bait Thomas had dug up from around Susanna’s cabbages.
Alysoun wavered at first.
‘Must we put those things on the hooks?’ she wrinkled her nose. ‘And then the poor fish will stab his mouth on that!’
She pointed an accusing finger at the sharp barb at the end of the fishing hook, one of those Bertred Godsmith supplied to the farm.
‘You need not fish if you do not want to, my pet,’ I said. I knew she would ache with sympathy for any living creature, even a fish, though that did not prevent her eating it, when it was placed in front of her on the table.
‘Do not worry, cousin,’ Thomas said. ‘They are only fish. They will not feel it as you and I would. And we throw the little ones back.’
I am not sure how much she was reassured by this, but when we had found a good spot where the restored stream ran into the mill pond, she watched closely as James, Thomas, and the two students baited their hooks. James had found some smaller rods for Rafe and Stephen who, boy like, had no qualms about the feelings of either worms or fish, and were soon trailing their bait in the water and watching keenly for any sign of fish. Philip sat on the bank, leaning back against the bole of willow, with his hands clasped behind his head. He had chosen not to fish, but watched his son’s earnest efforts with a smile.
There had not been enough rods already made for all of us, so Jordain and I set to and cut ourselves whippy lengths of willow, and tied on twine and hooks. Before we were even ready to cast our hooks into the stream, Stephen had a bite.
‘Do not hurry,’ Thomas warned, ‘or he will slip away from you. Bring him gently to the edge of the water, then flip him out on to the bank.’
Stephen, pale with excitement, did as he was told, and landed the trout at his feet.
‘I caught a fish!’ he cried. ‘I truly caught a fish!’
‘Aye,’ Thomas said, ‘and he is big enough to eat.’
Stephen’s success seemed to change Alysoun’s mind, for now she demanded a rod, but would not bait the hook herself. It was a good while before any more fish showed an interest in our lines, then Giles, Jordain, and Rafe all ca
ught fish so small they had to be thrown back.
‘But why?’ Rafe demanded. ‘I want to keep my fish.’
‘We cannot keep the little ones,’ James explained. ‘Not worth eating, more bone than fish. Besides, if we kept all the little ones, none would ever grow into the fine big fish like Stephen’s. It would be like slaughtering a week old lamb, instead of letting him grow into a fine haunch of mutton. Keep trying. Perhaps next time you will catch a big fish.’
Rafe sadly watched his fish thrown back, but pointed excitedly as it swam away, seemingly none the worse for its brief visit to dry land.
I caught nothing, but was happy to sit on the grassy back and put out of my mind, for as long as I might, any thoughts of the coming inquest.
We must have been at our sport about two hours, and a few more trout of reasonable size were lying in the shade under the nearest willow. Fortunately Alysoun had caught one, so she need not be jealous of Stephen any longer, and Rafe was gripping his rod as the twine stretched tight out into the stream, tugged by a large fish, when I saw Sir Henry hurrying toward us from the direction of the farm. I lifted my hook from the water – the bait was gone – and laid my rod on the grass before getting to my feet and going to meet him.
‘Is the coroner come?’ I said. ‘Are we sent for already to the inquest? I had not thought it would be this early.’
Sir Henry was red in the face, and somewhat breathless. He shook his head.
‘Nay, the man is not here yet. It is something else. Something serious.’
I took him by the elbow and led him out of earshot of the children. Jordain threw us one curious glance, but must have decided that it was wiser to make no stir about Sir Henry’s evident agitation.
‘What is it?’ I lowered my voice, even though we were now some distance from the group on the bank.
‘It is the king’s man,’ he said. ‘Reginald Le Soten. He has just been found in the orchard, where we spoke to him yesterday. He had been strangled.’
Chapter Ten
For a moment or two, Sir Henry’s words seemed to make no sense. Le Soten strangled? He had seemed to me like a man well able to take care of himself. My next thought was that Alan Wodville could not be held to blame for this killing. Of all men, secured as he was in a locked cellar, he was certainly innocent.
‘Had Le Soten been long dead?’ I asked.
‘’Tis thought it must have occurred sometime during the night. He was seen for the last time at supper. His bed had not been slept in.’
‘I suppose,’ I said slowly, ‘there might be any number of people at the manor who might fear him. We know what he told us of Mordon’s affairs, but who can say what secrets he might possess about others in that party?’
‘Very true.’ Sir Henry grimaced. ‘And to tell you the truth, Nicholas, I am very far from comfortable living in that household. Who knows but it may be my throat next? I shall be glad to make my way home.’
‘I do not suppose the coroner has arrived yet? Now there will be two inquests to hold. At least we shall have no role in the second.’
‘Unless we are questioned as having had converse with the man. Remember, we were seen with him by Lawyer Baverstoke.’
‘But that was much earlier in the day.’
He shrugged. ‘Mayhap. But we are outsiders to that household. You may be sure they will close up their ranks against anyone not of their party. Although . . .’ he paused. ‘I will not say there may not be certain hostilities between them. I sensed a good deal of unease amongst them, even before this new death was discovered.’
‘I wonder which of the Lady Edith’s waiting women is in the king’s service. She might know who could have killed Le Soten. Or at least suspect who might have cause to want his death. Did he ever mention her name to you?’
He shook his head.
Before we could say more, Philip had risen from his seat beneath the willow and joined us.
‘Trouble?’ he said. ‘Is the coroner come?’
‘One of his servants arrived just as I left the manor,’ Sir Henry said. ‘His master would not be more than an hour behind. His horse had cast a shoe and he was obliged to stop at a blacksmith’s. But, aye, there is trouble.’
Briefly he recounted to Philip what Le Soten had told us the previous day, and how he had been found dead this morning.
‘I suppose someone might have wished to stop Le Soten’s mouth,’ Philip said, ‘from what you say he told you.’
‘Perhaps in a moment of panic,’ I said, ‘but what would be the use? Surely he would have already told the king all he knew about the fraud. Perhaps even about the two wills, since it might have a bearing on the pursuit of the fraud at law. The king has but to send another man to look into the matters Le Soten was investigating.’
‘If it was exposure of the fraud his killer feared.’ Sir Henry rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘There is also the matter of the second will and who would inherit.’
‘If this later will is still unsigned,’ Philip pointed out, ‘then it is not valid. Nothing done against Le Soten could change that. Although the killing of Mordon could well have been intended to stop the signing.’
‘To the advantage of the Lady Edith,’ I said.
‘Or possibly Dunstable, if he is the father of the child.’
‘I cannot see the Lady Edith strangling Le Soten,’ I said.
‘Unlikely,’ Sir Henry said. ‘Strangling is not a woman’s crime. Poison, perhaps, but no woman would have the strength to strangle a man like Le Soten. He was slight of build, but I would guess he was strong.’
‘Baverstoke did not like that Le Soten had been speaking with us,’ I said. ‘I wonder–’
They both looked at me enquiringly.
‘It might mean that you and I are in some danger. If it is thought he confided in us. I think, Sir Henry, you were better not to remain at the manor. For such time as you must remain here, why do you not come to the farm? It will not be such lodging as you are accustomed to, but it might be safer.’
He smiled grimly. ‘I did not serve in the French wars without learning a few soldier’s tricks of my own, Nicholas. I shall be safe enough for the day or two remaining. I had rather stay there and keep my eyes open, but I shall not relax my guard. And now, I think we should make our way to the manor, for I would prefer to be there when the coroner arrives. The sooner the inquest is held, the sooner we are all free to leave.’
The fish had not been biting for some time, so it was not difficult to gather up our gear and the sizeable trout which had been caught, together with one good sized bream. On the way back to the farm, we spoke cheerfully of nothing but the morning’s sport, and left the children, contented enough, with Margaret and the other women, while those of us who would be needed at the inquest set off for the manor.
The coroner, William Facherel, had the look about him of a man who dined on beef twice a day. A big man, in every direction, he would have made two of Le Soten. Apart from his rich clothes, he looked more like a swineherd than a gentleman, though his small eyes, sunk deep in a fleshy face, had a certain alert cunning about them.
He had reached the manor before us, and when we entered the Great Hall, where the inquest was to take place, he was deep in conversation with the Lady Edith, Dunstable, and Baverstoke. I saw him nod and smile complacently. I did not care for the appearance of conspiracy about that group. However, I knew that the lady’s accusation against Alan must founder on the evidence we could produce. And if the murder of Le Soten was connected with that of Mordon – as surely it must be – then that must strengthen the case for Alan’s innocence. As yet, however, I could not see how the two deaths were related. Moreover, the methods of killing were very different. On the one hand, an arrow shot by stealth into a man’s back by a horseman, on the other, strangling, face to face with the victim. At least . . . had it been face to face? It is possible to strangle a man from behind, using an assassin’s cord, what the French call a garrotte.
As soon as al
l the hunters and the party at the manor were gathered in the hall, one of Facherel’s officers called the inquest on Gilbert Mordon to order, and those nominated as jurors were sworn in. They included ten from the manor, two of whom were, like Sir Henry, visiting lords from Oxfordshire, and ten from the yeomanry of the neighbouring villages. We three finders of Mordon’s body, together with the jurors, were conducted with the coroner to view the corpse, laid in an open coffin in the manor chapel. Already the stench of death filled the place, making us gag, and it was clear to see why Facherel had decided not to hold the inquest super visum corporis, in the sight of the body.
Edmond, Sir Henry, and I all affirmed that this was the body we had found in Wychwood, in the late afternoon of the previous Friday. The jurors agreed that the man appeared to have been shot from behind, after Sir Henry gave his opinion that the fatal wound had been inflicted by an arrow, which was subsequently withdrawn. Master Facherel accepted this assessment of the wound. With considerable relief, we made our way back to the Great Hall.
The coroner turned to Lawyer Baverstoke. ‘You may now give orders for the coffin to be sealed. The funeral can take place this afternoon.’
There was an audible sigh of relief throughout the room.
‘We come now,’ the coroner said, ‘to the accusation against the huntsman Alan Wodville, that he did maliciously and intentionally slay Gilbert Mordon, his lord, thus committing the crime of petty treason.’
I heard a gasp of dismay from amongst the villagers standing at the back of the hall, behind the benches provided for their betters. For a man to murder his lord, or a wife to murder her lord and husband, counts in law as the crime of petty treason, and as such incurs the full horrors of execution for high treason.
‘Yet Mordon was no longer Alan’s lord,’ Edmond murmured in my ear, ‘for he had dismissed him.’