by Mel Starr
Sir Geoffrey and Amabil did not depart the hall for their chambers. Rather, they left the palace through the doors to the porch, and disappeared into the night. I decided to follow. I did not think the two of them off for some romantic tryst. Not with faces so doleful. Perhaps I might overhear some incriminating conversation.
Arthur saw me walk to the porch doors and made to follow, but I motioned him to remain in the hall. I needed stealth, not strength.
When I opened the great door from hall to porch I knew that light would escape from the hall into the night, so cracked the door only enough to allow me to slip through and hoped the departing couple would not notice. I waited on the porch for my eyes to become accustomed to the darkness, and listened for Amabil and Sir Geoffrey.
Moments after I had closed the door behind me I heard a soft squeal, as of rusted hinges. I knew the sound. My quarry had walked the length of the palace and entered Lady Joan’s privy garden through the gate between garden and palace yard. I followed.
But when I arrived at the gate I did not open it. It would surely announce my presence as it had Sir Geoffrey and Amabil’s. I am not so youthful and agile as in years past, yet nimble enough to vault over a gate little more than waist high.
When my feet touched the path inside the gate I crouched low and listened for the couple. Their voices were muted and I could not discern what they said, but I could follow the sound and draw near.
I approached the pair from the opposite side of a yew hedge. They had not moved, but stood in one place while they argued. And argument was what I heard, even though their exchange was hushed.
“We have no choice,” Sir Geoffrey said.
“He has his five pounds,” Amabil said. “I’ll not pay five more.”
Was it Richard Rowell they spoke of? Five pounds? Sir Giles had owed the mercer much more than that. I listened intently. No words from Sir Geoffrey, but his betrothed had more to say.
“What can he do if we refuse? If he speaks of what he knows to Prince Edward or that nosy bailiff, he will confess his own part in the matter. You should have hired a man more competent than Roger to slay that bailiff,” Amabil hissed. “Had you done so we would not be here in this place, in the night, having this conversation.”
“Sir Thomas would still demand five pounds more, whether Roger de Clare had succeeded in his mission or not,” Sir Geoffrey now replied.
“But you would not have had to slay him and Sir John and Lady Ardith. This business has become expensive. I’ll not send your cousin another five pounds.”
“Then we must devise some strategy to avoid discovery,” Sir Geoffrey said. “Sir Thomas will surely have some scheme in mind to deflect Prince Edward’s wrath if he chooses to make known what we have done. We must do so as well.”
“If I pay him five pounds more, he will demand another five or ten before Candlemas. And more yet by Whitsuntide. We will never be free of his claims.”
“You should have paid Roger his fee, even though he failed,” Sir Geoffrey said. “He would not then have threatened to go to Sir John, and we would not have been required to slay them.”
“I’ll not suffer extortion by any man. And ’twas less dear to do away with Sir John and Lady Ardith than to grant Roger his demand.”
Silence followed. When next Sir Geoffrey spoke he was some distance away. The pair had walked on before resuming their conversation. I could barely hear Amabil’s next words.
“Send that oafish squire to persuade Sir Thomas to keep silence, since you were unable to do so.”
“Thomas Poer?”
“Whatever his name. Make clear to him that he is implicated in this matter, and tell him he must do as you require else he will find himself upon a scaffold, or at a block.”
“As may we,” Sir Geoffrey whispered.
They walked on, but I did not follow. I had heard all that was needed. Amabil and Sir Geoffrey had indeed seen Sir John and Lady Ardith murdered. And Roger de Clare also. But not for the reason I had thought. I crept away, careful in setting down my feet lest I snap a twig or stumble upon a stone.
My mind traveled back to the first time I had walked in the garden, with Randall Patchett. All became clear. Sir Giles had been about to wed a fecund young widow. She would likely bear him children, perhaps a son. A lad would displace Amabil. To remain Sir Giles’s only heir her father must not wed Lady Juliana Pultney. He did not.
I left Lady Joan’s garden as I had entered it, over the gate, then returned to the porch and hall. I now had the truth, or at least most of it, but how to gain proof of it? If I went to Prince Edward with what I now knew, surely Sir Geoffrey and Amabil would dispute my accusation. Would the prince and his knights believe me, a mere bailiff?
Arthur saw me re-enter the hall, and was quick to leave his place along the wall with other grooms and approach when I motioned to him. I wished to have him near when I spoke to Thomas Poer.
The squire was a competent dancer, for all his bulk. I watched until the galliard was done, then approached Thomas and asked him to follow. He did, and Arthur walked behind him.
I led the squire to the chamber he shared with others of his rank. The place was dark and empty, lit only by a pair of smoldering cressets. I bid the lad sit upon his bed and stood over him.
“When I dealt with Sir William Vache’s scrofula, you swooned. When you regained your senses you spoke. ‘A terrible end,’ you said. I thought then that you spoke of the blood of Sir William’s surgery. But not so. ’Twas of other blood you spoke.”
The lad said nothing.
“Did you help slay Sir John and Lady Ardith, or only Roger de Clare?” I asked.
Thomas spluttered a denial and began to rise. Arthur put a firm hand upon the squire’s shoulder and pushed him down.
“’Tis of no use to protest your innocence,” I said. “Sir Geoffrey has named you.”
“Sir Geoffrey? But ’twas he…”
“He what? Finish what you began. Truth may save you from a gallows.”
“Sir Geoffrey said ’twas an evil thing, the way Roger put me to shame. Said he’d help me end it. I didn’t know he meant to slay him.”
“You struck Roger a blow to his head, then tipped him into the herring barrel.”
“’Twas Sir Geoffrey who smote him. I thought that was all he intended. But then he told me to carry Roger to the larder. Didn’t want to put him with the herrings, but Sir Geoffrey said that when Roger awoke he’d be more wicked to me than ever before.”
“Did you also aid Sir Geoffrey in slaying Sir John and Lady Ardith?”
“Sir Geoffrey did those murders?”
“Aye, likely with help.”
“Nay. He never bid me do so, and I’d not have. Sir John never troubled me as Roger did.”
“Tomorrow, or soon, you will be required to travel to Hornsey. Do you know the place?”
“Aye. Why must I go there?”
“Sir Geoffrey will send you there. He will tell you to threaten violence against the lord of the manor and his wife, Sir Thomas Jocelyn and Lady Beatrice.”
“But why must I make such a threat? And will Sir Geoffrey demand I travel alone?”
“Aye, likely. But you will not do so. Arthur and I will accompany you. We will meet you at the Aldersgate. Wait there for us on the morrow, or next day, or when Sir Geoffrey sends you. As we travel to the village I will tell you why we do so, and why you are to threaten Sir Thomas Jocelyn. Meanwhile, tell no man of this conversation if you value your life.”
I left the despondent squire sitting upon his bed and returned to the hall. Whether or not to tell Prince Edward of discoveries this evening perplexed me. He had always required of me that I inform him of any progress I made, however slight, in finding Sir Giles’s slayer, yet I hesitated to do so ’til I could prove all and not be challenged. I decided I would tell the prince what I had learned, as he would wish, and beg of him not to act upon the knowledge until I had accumulated more proof.
The hall had become
heated, with candles and cressets, the hearth and dancers all adding to the warmth. Prince Edward and Lady Joan were rosy of cheek when a pavane ended, and rather than join the next dance they took seats upon the dais. Some time passed before I caught the prince’s eye, made a slight bow, and nodded to the stairs leading to Kennington’s upper story and his privy chamber. I then crossed the hall toward the stairs and glanced over my shoulder to learn if my message had been received.
It had. I saw Prince Edward lean toward his wife, speak to her behind an upraised hand, then rise and stride across the hall. All eyes followed.
I awaited the prince at the base of the stairs. He nodded slightly, then ascended. I followed. Prince Edward gave no sign of toppling backward upon the stairs. I heard behind me the musicians begin another tune.
The valets at the privy chamber door heard our approach and swung open the doors when we came near. A fire burned low upon the hearth, providing the only light. The prince commanded candles to be lit, and when a valet had done so and departed he turned to me.
“What news?” he said.
I told him.
“So the lass and her swain have slain four in this place to save her inheritance?” Prince Edward concluded when I had completed the tale. “And blackened Kennington Palace and my name also.”
“So I believe. But they will declare it not so. My word against theirs before the king’s judges.”
“A judge will accept your testimony if I tell him to do so,” the prince replied. “But I take your point. It must be clear to all men that Sir Giles’s daughter did this evil, else men will gossip that she was unjustly punished. You travel to Hornsey tomorrow, you say, with the doltish squire – what was his name?”
“Thomas Poer.”
“Ah, yes. Sir William’s squire. The one who dropped to the cobbles when you put a blade to Sir William’s scrofula.”
“Aye, the same.”
“And he is to threaten the lord of Hornsey? For what?”
“Arnaud Tonge was told to flee Kennington and London after he poisoned Sir Giles. He was instructed to travel to Hornsey and there await payment for his foul deed.”
“Ah,” Prince Edward said. “But he received a dagger rather than a purse full of coins.”
“Just so. Sir Thomas is wed to Sir Geoffrey Paget’s cousin, the Lady Beatrice. I know not the wealth Arnaud was promised to place hemlock into Sir Giles’s wine, but Amabil and Sir Geoffrey found it less costly to pay a relative to slay the valet than to keep their bargain with Arnaud.”
“Five pounds then to slay Arnaud. And now Sir Thomas requires five pounds more to hold his tongue.”
“Aye.”
“And will likely ask more in the future,” Prince Edward concluded. “So Thomas Poer is to somehow persuade the lord of Hornsey that his demands must end?”
“Aye.”
“How would he do so?”
“You’ve seen the lad. He could wring a man’s neck with his bare hands.”
“Likely. But would he?”
“Mayhap, if he was persuaded ’twas needful to do. And the squire is dull and easily led.”
“I have a thought,” Prince Edward said. “I will dress as a commoner tomorrow and accompany you and the squire to Hornsey. I will hear with my own ears what Sir Thomas has to say of his cousin.”
“But m’lord, the roads may be dangerous. And you are not well.”
“’Tis true enough,” he sighed. “I am not well. But,” he brightened, “I am better now that I consume your herbs each day. Well enough to ride to the hunt is well enough to ride to Hornsey.”
“We will not know if Thomas Poer is sent to Hornsey until he seeks his horse at the marshalsea. Arthur and I then intend to have our palfreys made ready, follow, and meet Thomas at Aldersgate.”
“Simple enough. I will tell Sir Harold to accompany us, also garbed as a commoner. A simple brown cotehardie, I think, and chauces of wool, not linen. What say you? I will wear a hood against the cold. Even folk in London will mistake me for a minor burgher. Few will have seen my face, and no man in Hornsey will recognize me. Not even Sir Thomas. I’ve never met the fellow.”
“Your scheme troubles me,” I admitted. “I would think better of it if we had also with our party half a dozen grooms, armed.”
“Very well. Speak to Sir Harold.” Prince Edward rubbed his hands together and grinned. “We shall soon have the truth of the evils which have befallen Kennington.”
Chapter 18
I awoke next morn well rested, for as I lay my head upon the pillow I thought it sure that I would soon return to Bampton and my Kate.
At dawn I sought the marshal and learned that he had already been told of Prince Edward’s scheme. If Thomas Poer sought his horse this day Sir Harold would be told immediately, would send a message to me and Prince Edward, and we would follow the squire to Aldersgate. I worried about whether Thomas Poer could be trusted to keep the bargain.
He could.
Prince Edward’s nondescript cotehardie hid his royal person well. The garment was even a little threadbare and I wondered which of his grooms he had acquired it from. No man gave us a second glance as we rode through the city, even though several of us wore the prince’s badge. Such men are common enough on London streets as to raise little curiosity. The most difficult part of escaping London had been leaving the palace, and even there, with the hood drawn low, Prince Edward was able to pass undetected.
Poer recognized Sir Harold, but until the prince threw back his hood a mile and more beyond the Aldersgate he did not know he was in the company of Prince Edward. The knowledge caused the squire to shrink in his saddle.
When we came to Hornsey I stopped our party and explained a scheme to trap Sir Thomas into disclosing the truth. We who wore the prince’s badge would hold back from entering the village. Thomas Poer, the prince, and the marshal would approach the manor house and demand to speak to Sir Thomas. Prince Edward would again don his hood, to be more certain that Sir Thomas would not know him.
It would be Thomas Poer’s duty, I said, to threaten the lord of Hornsey as Sir Geoffrey had planned. Prince Edward had a different scheme. He did not, I believe, think the squire capable of believable dissimulation.
“Nay, Master Hugh. This Sir Thomas does not know me. We’ve never met. I will tell him that Sir Geoffrey and Amabil refuse to pay another five pounds. When he hears this he will likely reply in some way which will incriminate both him and them. If he does not, I will then play ignorant and ask why he believes Sir Geoffrey and Amabil owe him the five pounds they refuse to pay. A messenger only – that is what I will be. And Thomas behind me will add emphasis to my words.”
The scheme seemed likely to succeed. The lord of Hornsey would perhaps assume that these “messengers” knew some of what had transpired between him and Sir Geoffrey and Amabil, and would see little reason to keep his part in the business a secret.
So I tied my palfrey to a sapling at the south edge of Hornsey and with Arthur – Sir Thomas might recognize him – sat at the base of a tree while Prince Edward, Sir Harold, and Thomas Poer entered the village and approached the manor house. What next transpired I learned from the prince.
When Prince Edward came to the manor house he had no need to smite the door. Sir Thomas was in the yard, saw the three visitors approach, and walked to meet them. His greeting, the prince said, was curt.
“I give you good day,” Prince Edward replied. To this greeting the lord of Hornsey made no comment, but stood with arms akimbo, waiting to be told by his unwanted callers their reason for appearing before his house. The prince did not disappoint him. Not immediately.
“We come from Sir Geoffrey Paget and Amabil Cheyne,” Prince Edward said. “We bear a message for Sir Thomas Jocelyn. Are you the man?”
“I am. What message do you carry from my cousin? If ’tis a message only, you may as well turn your beasts and be away. You might return to London in time for your supper.”
“What is it we might br
ing you in addition to a message?” said the prince. “Never mind, I believe I know.”
“Then you may return with a message for Sir Geoffrey. Prince Edward will be told why Amabil paid five pounds to a man of this manor.”
“A man? Amabil did not pay you this sum?”
“Oh, aye, as you likely know. She did. But I will say ‘nay,’ and ’twill be but her word against mine. She wished the prince’s valet dead, and dead he is. Caught at hamsoken. He can tell no tales, nor can he seek more coin from Amabil. But I live, and can tell tales, and will have five pounds more of her to remain silent.”
“Five pounds now, and likely five more before St. Stephen’s Day,” Prince Edward said.
“Aye,” Sir Thomas laughed. “Mayhap.”
Prince Edward turned to his marshal and spoke. “We have heard enough, think you?”
Sir Harold nodded. “Aye.”
“Enough for what?” Sir Thomas said.
“To hang you and Sir Geoffrey and Amabil Cheyne.”
“You serve Sir Geoffrey and Amabil,” Sir Thomas exclaimed. “Will you betray them?”
“I serve no man but my father, the king.”
“Y-your father? The king?” Sir Thomas stammered.
“You speak to Edward, Duke of Cornwall,” Sir Harold said, “and I am his marshal. You will return with us to London.”
“Bah,” the lord of Hornsey replied. “How do I know you speak true?”
Sir Harold drew off his modest cotehardie to reveal under it a black tunic with Prince Edward’s badge embroidered upon it.
Sir Thomas was silenced.
Before the sun was overhead I saw four mounted men approach. Sir Thomas Jocelyn rode in the midst, his features downcast. Well might they be.
I enjoyed my supper that evening, for I knew I would soon depart Kennington Palace and be once more at peace in Bampton with my Kate and our babes. Sir Geoffrey and Amabil were not at their usual places for the meal, and those who knew why soon informed others, so that before the second remove was brought to table all knew of how Sir Giles Cheyne had been slain so that Amabil could keep her inheritance.