by Mel Starr
’Twas a gamble the sheriff would have lost. I told Sir Geoffrey to allow no man to enter Sir John’s chamber, and moments later we found William, as Robert said we would, restless upon his bed, his face all bloated and discolored from the combined effects of Sir John’s blow and my remedy. The sheriff and I ransacked the squires’ chests, peered under their mattresses, and I examined their fingernails. We found no trace of blood. If one or both plunged a blade into Sir John they had been uncommonly thorough in covering the deed. Sir Roger demanded their daggers, and these also were free of any sign of blood. If they had been wiped clean there was no stained cloth hidden in the fireplace this day to expose a felony.
Sir Roger does not like to be proven wrong. Neither do I, which is why I have learned to avoid appearing assured of my knowledge when I am not. ’Tis better to seem wise later than foolish soonest. Sir Roger would not have appreciated the sentiment, so I held my tongue.
“Who else would have wanted Sir John dead?” Lord Gilbert asked as we returned to the dead man’s chamber. I did not reply. Best to follow my own advice and remain silent.
I saw Sir Geoffrey blocking the entrance to Sir John’s chamber when we returned to the passageway outside the room. The crowd was as we had left it, each pronouncing an opinion about the death. Above the other voices I heard Lady Margery’s irritating soprano assuring Walter that my clumsy surgery was responsible for Sir John’s demise, that no murder was done, and I said ’twas so to avoid blame for my malfeasance. She had begun to claim once again that I was also responsible for her husband’s death, but heard our footsteps approach, turned, and fell silent.
“Send them all away,” I said softly to Lord Gilbert. “I wish to examine Sir John and the chamber in peace and quiet, with no man peering over my shoulder to see what I am about or what I have found.”
“It will be done,” he said, and in a firm voice commanded all to depart. “When we gather for dinner Master Hugh will tell us what he has found. Now we will leave him to his business.”
The groom Arthur had joined the folk outside Sir John’s chamber. I asked him to remain and guard the door so I might be assured of solitude whilst I studied the corpse. What I might learn from a dead man I did not know, but of one thing I was certain: if I did not examine the corpse and chamber they would tell me nothing.
The single window in the chamber faced east, which on another day might have provided good light for my work. But the morning was as dismal as a day in November, so whatever I might learn would be the result of close examination.
The blanket which had covered Sir John whilst he slept was in a rumpled pile about his ankles. If he had indeed fought his assailant he had done so without getting feet and legs free of entanglement in the blanket. This would surely be an impediment to a man struggling for his life.
The cresset in the room was not lit. The man who attacked Sir John had done so with only the light from the window to guide his stroke. The night had been heavy with clouds, but above them the moon was but four days from being full. Would this provide a man with enough light to send his dagger accurately where he would have it go? I cast my mind back to Bessie’s awakening demand to be fed. Although the eastern sky had but a pale grey cast, there was enough light in our chamber that I could see Kate rise and lift Bessie from her cot. Enough light to do murder? I thought so.
I had already examined the open wound, but went to it again to see if I had overlooked some important thing. I had not, or if I did, I overlooked it again, for the only thing the gash told me was that some man had undone my work with his dagger.
The new wound had bled terribly. The thrust of the dagger had gone deep into some essential organ; the liver, perhaps, or mayhap the blade was twisted and penetrated Sir John’s heart. If he fought his assailant the struggle could not have lasted long. I must remember to ask Sir Geoffrey if he had heard a man cry out in the night.
Sir John had not yet begun to stiffen. The stroke which took his life was delivered just before dawn, I thought. Had it come early in the night he would be nearly rigid now in death.
I lifted an arm and examined Sir John’s fingernails. I was uncertain if any matter lay under them, for the light was poor. From my pouch I took my smallest scalpel and scraped debris from beneath the nails of the knight’s left hand.
I found nothing under his thumb, but under all four fingernails I found stuff which might have been another man’s skin, and under Sir John’s middle fingernail the detritus was pink. Somewhere a man had a scratch, I thought. If it was upon his face I would have a murderer.
Two of Sir John’s fingernails on his right hand had also some unidentifiable substance which was possibly another man’s skin, although there was no dark stain which might have been blood.
Sir John’s eyes, unlike Sir Henry’s, were closed in death. Perhaps after the struggle with his slayer, he sank back upon his pillow and, weak from loss of blood, closed his eyes in endless sleep.
I was about to turn my attention to the blood-spattered wall when I caught sight of a small reddish stain upon the knight’s lips. A man’s lips are reddish, and a woman’s also, so in the dim light I nearly missed the indistinct smudge, faint as it was.
Sir John’s lips parted easily enough, rigor mortis only just beginning. I expected to see that he had bitten his tongue in the pain of his wound or in the struggle which had apparently followed. Not so. Sir John’s tongue was whole, but between his clenched teeth I discovered a tiny bit of flesh.
Somewhere within Bampton Castle there was a man missing a bit of an ear or a finger or some other accessible portion of his anatomy. If the tiny wound and the scratch were in a visible place my search for Sir John’s murderer would end soon, although such a discovery might tell me nothing of who murdered Sir Henry. On the other hand, it might.
I covered Sir John with the blanket and then turned my attention to the wall, where I counted eleven spots of blood surely spattered there when murder was done. Upon the planks of the floor I found five more stains. Was this Sir John’s blood, or had he injured his assailant enough that his slayer’s blood mingled with his own? I thought not. The reddish tissue I found under a fingernail would not produce a gash large enough to leave even one drop of blood, nor would the tiny bit of flesh I found between his teeth.
I left the chamber, convinced that I had learned what I could, and found Arthur planted squarely before the door. I thanked the groom for his service, and was a little surprised at his reply.
“You’d a’ had companions was I not ’ere.”
“Oh? Who?”
“Near all the gentlefolk what’s in the castle but for Lord Gilbert an’ Sir Roger.”
“Did any ask of me?”
“Nay. I scowled at ’em, see, so they held their peace and walked on past as like they had some business what took ’em here.”
Arthur’s scowl is more effective than most, as it comes from the face of a burly man with broad shoulders and stump-like thighs under his cotehardie. My frown is not nearly so effective.
“Lady Margery come past twice, once with Lady Anne,” Arthur said.
“’Tis near time for dinner,” I said, “and Lord Gilbert will want to know what I have learned. ’Twould be well if you remained here to see that no man enters until Lord Gilbert and the sheriff approve.”
Arthur tugged at a forelock and I left him and sought the hall. Grooms had erected tables for dinner, and most of the castle inhabitants were present, their conversations a low hum filling the hall. When I was seen this discourse ended and the hall fell silent.
I did not wish all present to hear my words to Lord Gilbert and Sir Roger, so asked if I might speak to them privily in the solar. My employer nodded, motioned to the sheriff to lead, and we three set off for the stairs.
“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.
Lord 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.