by Mel Starr
“So you folded his clothes and hid them in the church, in the Easter Sepulcher,” I concluded her tale, “where you thought they’d not soon be discovered.”
“Not for many weeks,” she said. “When battles was done an’ Father Enguerrand returned.”
It should have occurred to me, when I found Sir Simon’s clothes, that a woman had placed them in the Easter Sepulcher. A man would have cast them into the enclosure and left them as they fell. A woman would not likely do so, but would fold the garments tidily.
I returned the sack to the lass and looked through the porch entrance, past Arthur, to see if any other soul was about Couzeix. None was. I sent Heloise on her way, believing that I had learned all from her that I was likely to discover. If I thought of other questions for her, I knew where she could be found – behind the decrepit tithe barn pilfering more peas and grain to keep herself and her family alive.
“Sir Simon knew who it was who did for him,” Arthur said as we watched Heloise scurry from the village.
“Aye. But we do not. Nor do we know why some man he knew would put a blade through his ribs.”
“Wonder if he knew,” Arthur mused. “Felt the prick of the dagger an’ knew why ’twas used against ’im.”
“Mayhap. A man who dies at the hand of another will likely know what he has done, or what he has, which has brought death to him. What we have learned this day may lead us to Sir Simon’s murderer. If not, at least the lass will be able to tell Lord Gilbert and Prince Edward that I am innocent of Sir Simon’s blood.”
“If we can find ’er again when we might need her.”
“She’ll return to the tithe barn when she is hungry enough.”
Arthur and I returned to camp in time for a dinner of pease pottage. What else? Most of the English army made a meal of the same stuff but for the dukes and earls and barons amongst us. I prayed for the speedy success of the Cornish miners.
Lord Gilbert does not like to be kept in the dark about matters in my bailiwick, so after the meal I sought him. I found him entertaining the Earl of Pembroke. They had not dined that day upon pottage.
“Then ’tis sure that Sir Simon was murdered,” Lord Gilbert said, when I told him of what I had learned that morning in Couzeix. “Unless the lass spoke false. What of the lass? Is she fair?”
“Some would say so,” I replied.
“Not the first time a pert maid caused a man’s downfall. But why? Had Sir Simon a rival for the lass’s attention?”
“He said, ‘You – why are you come here?’ moments before he was slain, so ’tis sure he knew his assailant, but possible he did not know why the man was there in the barn.”
“There are multiple possibilities,” the earl said, “whenever soldiers and a lass are entangled.”
“Aye,” Lord Gilbert laughed. “Master Hugh will sort them out.”
I did not have the same confidence as my employer. Sir Simon knew his slayer, but what of that? He knew many men of the camp. Perhaps a hundred or more. Was I to consider all of these suspect?
Heloise said ’twas nearly dark when Sir Simon was slain, but Sir John said he was told that Sir Simon was seen after nightfall that same evening in company with two others. Someone was not speaking truth. What reason would the lass have to deceive? Why would Sir John’s witness lie? I resolved to seek the man and ask him.
I gathered Arthur, Uctred, and Alfred, and set out for Sir John’s tents. I found him sitting upon a log, staring glumly into the remaining coals of a dying fire. I remembered then that Sir Simon was to have been buried that morning. I might also be morose had I just left a child in a churchyard.
I provided Sir John only a brief summary of what I had learned in Couzeix that morning. If Sir Simon knew his assailant, it seemed likely that Sir John would know the man also. Perhaps the fellow was close to both father and son, and would hear gossip of my search for him. I was not close to finding a murderer, but I preferred that the felon not know that.
“Hah,” Sir John said when I concluded the summary. “Not surprised a lass is entangled in this business.”
If he had thought so at the first, would he have charged me with Sir Simon’s death? I reminded Sir John of this.
“Bah … did you fancy the lass also? ’Twas a lass between you and my son, was it not? And you wed her. What was her name?”
“Kate,” I said.
“Ah, father a shopkeeper,” he said with distaste.
“The man who saw Sir Simon with two others you assumed to be me and my man … I must speak to him.”
“Of what? To bring Lord Gilbert’s influence upon him to change his witness?”
“If his testimony is true, then the lass speaks false. If the lass speaks true, the man who claimed to see Sir Simon in the night speaks false.”
“I see what you are about,” Sir John said. “To absolve yourself of murder you will find some innocent friend of my son and charge him.”
While inspecting Sir Simon’s corpse at the chapel I had thought that Sir John’s belief in my guilt was fading. But now it seemed revived, and even the new evidence I had presented to him that day made no difference. Sir John would prefer to believe me the felon who slew his son, and what he preferred, that he would believe. Truth would be inexpedient.
Sir John would not willingly introduce me to the man who claimed to see Sir Simon and two others together in the night. But perhaps he might do so unwillingly. I decided to seek audience with Prince Edward.
I found the prince upon a hill overlooking the river and the walls of Limoges. He was deep in conversation with his brother, John of Gaunt, and occasionally Prince John would point in the direction of the stout wooden shelter which protected the Cornish miners. The roof of the structure was charred black, where the French had dumped burning coals upon it to see if they could ruin it with fire. They had failed, for the heavy planks were green and would not burn. Near to the river was a pile of rocks and dirt which had been excavated from under the wall, and closer to the shelter, yet beyond the range of French crossbowmen, was a pile of beams used to support the excavation till all was ready and the lumber would be set ablaze. This heap of timbers was much smaller than when I last viewed the place. Evidently the miners’ work was nearly done.
A third man joined the princes as I watched, and entered the discussion. I learned later that this was that great warrior the Captal de Buch. I had no intention of imposing myself into a debate over military strategy. And debate it seemed to be, for as the three lords spoke, their gestures became animated and Prince John’s foot came down upon the earth to assist him in making a point. I and others nearby kept our distance.
Eventually the Captal and Prince John fell silent. Prince Edward looked to each man, said something quietly, and with these words of his the discussion seemed ended. What these warriors disagreed about I never learned. Great lords do not share their differences with bailiffs.
Prince Edward turned and spoke to a valet behind him, and the fellow immediately produced a chair. The prince sat heavily, as if his recent conversation had been debilitating. ’Twas then he glanced up and saw me standing upon the fringe of those who attended him.
The prince motioned me to draw near, and all eyes turned to see who it was Prince Edward had called to his presence.
I bowed and the prince said, “Master Hugh, your herbs have served me well.”
“I am pleased, m’lord.”
“I am weak, but since Dr. Blackwater made the paste you advised and mixed it with wine, I have relief. Folk no longer despair of having to be in the same chamber with me, and the bloody flux is less vexatious than before.”
“This is good to hear,” I said. “There is another matter I would discuss with you, have you the time.”
“A matter involving your service to Lord Gilbert as surgeon, or as bailiff?”
“Bailiff, m’lord.”
“Thought so. I’ve no advice for a surgeon. What is it you need of me?”
“Sir John Trillowe i
s uncooperative in a matter involving his son’s death.”
“Oh? How so?”
“I have questions for a man who claims to have seen Sir Simon on the night he was slain, but Sir John will not permit me to learn who the fellow is.”
“Ah, that would be the man who said ’twas you and one of Lord Gilbert’s grooms he saw with Sir Simon?”
“Aye, the same.”
“Hmm. Wonder why he doesn’t wish for you to speak to the fellow. Perhaps he doesn’t exist.”
“I admit to the same thoughts,” I said.
“So you want me to demand of Sir John that he produce the man?”
“If I cannot question the man, I fear I can go no farther in the investigation of Sir Simon’s murder.”
“And then it may be your neck stretched. What do you hope to learn?”
“There are discrepancies between the accusation Sir John has made against me and events of which I have learned in the past day.”
“Discrepancies? Someone’s lying, eh?”
“Perhaps.”
“Have you supped?”
I am uncertain what Prince Edward thought I might consume for my supper. Did he know that his army subsisted upon pottage? When I did not immediately respond he said, “Nay, of course not. Come, you will take bread and meat with me and I will hear more of this matter … what you have learned this day.”
Roasted boar and wheaten loaves for dinner. More roasted boar and wheaten loaves for supper. The same the next day and the day after, with an occasional fish from the river on fast days to break the monotony. The great lords before Limoges ate as tedious a diet as we their underlings, although we would gladly have changed places with the barons, whereas they would surely not.
I thought of Arthur and Uctred and Alfred and William consuming cold pottage for their supper whilst I ate roasted pork and wheaten loaves and licked greasy fingers, and nearly felt guilty for my good fortune. Nearly. What would my father say if he had known that his youngest son had dined with royalty? What will my Kate say when I tell her of this meal? The poor Oxford student studying at Balliol College has come far.
Prince Edward plied me with questions about Couzeix, the well and the church, and Heloise. He could consume roasted pork and wheaten loaves whenever he wished, so a slab of roasted flesh cooled upon his trencher as he asked me one question after another. I, on the other hand, was more interested in the meal than relieving the prince’s curiosity, so found myself required to speak with my mouth full of pork or go hungry. I was taught better than to speak at table with a mouth full of food. I hope Prince Edward does not think me ill bred.
The prince’s curiosity and my hunger were sated at nearly the same time. Edward promised to send a valet to Sir John forthwith to require cooperation of him in the matter of Sir Simon’s death. I returned to Lord Gilbert’s tents, there to wait, digest my supper, and allow Sir John time to reflect upon Prince Edward’s demand.
’Twas but an hour till dark when I roused myself to seek Sir John. The prince had required him to aid my investigation, but I prefer caution to foolish valor. Especially after having been wounded several times in Lord Gilbert’s service. I took Arthur, Alfred, and Uctred with me.
Sir John was not pleased to see me. Nothing new or unusual about that. He sat upon a bench before his tent, scowled at my approach, and refused to stand or to greet me. I decided to be blunt.
“You have received Prince Edward’s command?” I said.
“Aye,” he growled.
Six men of his band stood about. He called to one, and the fellow approached.
“Here is the man you seek,” Sir John said. “Ask what you will. He will tell you what he has already told me.”
A youth of perhaps eighteen years stepped before me and tugged a forelock which dangled below the cap which he wore tilted over one ear in Sir Simon’s fashion.
“What is your name?” I asked.
“Alan.”
“Come with me. Prince Edward has assigned me the task of discovering a felon, and Sir John believes that you may have seen the man. Or men.”
I led Alan to Lord Gilbert’s tents and bade him sit upon a bench. “You saw Sir Simon in the evening before he was slain, in company with two others. So Sir John has said. Is this so?”
“Aye. You an’ that great fellow,” he said, pointing toward Arthur.
“What of the clock was this?”
“Uh … third hour of the night.”
“There was no moon yet risen, and ’twas clouded. How could you see who accompanied Sir Simon, or even know ’twas Sir Simon that you saw?”
“Wore ’is yellow cap, didn’t ’e?” Alan said. “Easy enough to see, even in the dark.”
“Other men wear yellow caps. Show me where it was you saw these three men.”
Alan stood, glanced about as if seeking his bearings, then said, “’Twas this way,” and led me toward the river. Couzeix lay in the opposite direction.
Nearly two hundred paces beyond my tent the youth stopped, cast about as if seeking some landmark, then said, “Here.”
We were near to the ridge from which could be seen, in the day, the walls of Limoges and the work to undermine the fortress.
“Why would Sir Simon, or any man, come here in the dark?” I asked. “There is little enough to draw a man to this place in the day.”
“Dunno,” Alan shrugged.
“Why were you here to see him? Did you follow him?”
“Why would I do so?”
“I cannot imagine, which is why I asked. You saw Sir Simon and two others here, you say. Where did they then go?”
“Dunno. Dark, wasn’t it?”
“Light enough that you could identify Sir Simon and Arthur and me, yet so dark that you could not see where three men went from this place?”
In past investigations I have found it helpful to invoke Lord Gilbert’s name when I think a man might attempt to deceive me. This is often effective in persuading folk to speak the truth when they would rather not. Prince Edward has greater authority than Lord Gilbert. Mention of his name could do no harm, I decided.
“Prince Edward has charged me with discovering the truth of this matter. He will not be pleased if I tell him that you have been unhelpful.”
“But I speak true,” Alan protested.
“Nay, you do not. Do you know where Sir Simon’s corpse was found?”
“Some village nearby, where you cast ’im into the well.”
“The place is called Couzeix. It lies nearly a mile that way.” I pointed past the English army’s tents, now nearly invisible in the dusk. “Why would Sir Simon have come here, when he was found in the opposite direction?”
“You took ’im there.”
“What? I did murder here, then Arthur and I carried Sir Simon around the camp, unseen by any other? Or do you claim that he walked willingly with me from here to Couzeix? Why would he do so? He hated me.”
“And you hated him, so you slew him.”
“Nay. I did not hate Sir Simon. I disliked him, as did many others, I have learned, but I did not hate him. There is a difference. Had I slain him here I could have carried him to yon river and dropped him in. ’Tis but a few hundred paces beyond that hill. Why bear him a mile in the other direction? And if he hated me so, why would he accompany me and Arthur to Couzeix, or here for that matter, in the dark of night? Much that you have said makes no sense. Tomorrow I will inform Prince Edward of your deceit. He has men skilled at drawing truth from those who would hide it.”
I did not need to say how such men extract truth from those who try to withhold it. The lad became white.
“What, if anything, did you see here? You did not see me. Did you see Sir Simon – here, or anywhere?”
Alan was silent, perhaps considering the rack and similar devices.
“Sir John said I was to tell you I was witness to you an’ Sir Simon together.”
“When did he demand this of you? Yesterday?”
“Nay. Jus
t before you came to camp, not an hour past.”
“Sir John claimed that I was seen in company with Sir Simon two days past. Why has he demanded of you that you say so just now?”
The youth was again silent for some time, then finally said, “Old Ranulf would not be believed.”
“Some man named Ranulf is he who claimed to see me with Sir Simon? Why would you be believed and he not?”
“Old, is Ranulf, an’ don’t see well.”
“So if he said that he saw me with Sir Simon he’d not be believed, but you would?”
“Aye.”
“Return to Sir John. Tell him I will speak to Ranulf tomorrow at the third hour.”
“Sir John will be displeased.”
“With you? Aye, he will. Would you rather that Prince Edward be displeased with you?”
Alan said no more, but stumbled away upon the darkening path.
“Wonder why Sir John is so determined to prove us guilty of Sir Simon’s death,” Arthur said. “You suppose he knows who the felon is, an’ don’t want the man known?”
“Perhaps, but I doubt it so. I bested Sir Simon, and a father does not like to see a son foiled. If the man who slew Sir Simon cannot be discovered, Sir John will accept punishment of the man who prevailed twice over his son.”
Chapter 11
Next morn I broke my fast with cold pottage and watered ale, then with Arthur, Uctred, and Alfred again accompanying me, set out for Sir John’s tents. Perhaps the cause was the tasteless pottage and stale ale, but I was in a foul mood.
Sir John’s hair and beard were unkempt. ’Twas not yet the third hour and he had just risen from his pallet. So his mood was as baleful as mine, and he tilted his head strangely to one side, as if a great weight was hung from his ear.
“Where is Ranulf?” I said.
Sir John cleared his throat and spat upon the ground near to my feet. Here was a message delivered and received.
“Ranulf is old, and does not rise early from his bed,” Sir John growled.
“Alan saw no man with Sir Simon. ’Twas Ranulf who did so, he said.”
This was apparently a revelation to Sir John. I suspect that Alan went straight to his bed the night before rather than present his lord with the infelicitous news that I did not believe him and had learned of Ranulf from him.