by Mel Starr
“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?
“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.”
“Sir 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 bef
ore 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 f
or 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.”