by Mel Starr
“No…but next have the acrobats’ tents searched.”
The sun was low over the bare west woods when the grooms finished their work in the marshalsea. Lord Gilbert set them off to the tents and but three or four minutes later a cry of success rose from the jugglers’ tent. I was relieved. I had in the preceding hour suffered visions of some other felon discovering the casket and making off with it.
We approached the tent and peered through the flap. A groom held the casket aloft, bedclothes strewn about at his feet.
“You found it there?” Lord Gilbert asked, pointing to the disarray.
“Aye, m’lord. The very place, under that lot, hidden-like, it was.”
“What say you, Master Hugh?” Lord Gilbert turned to me.
“Send two…no, three men to bring Hamo Tanner here.”
“It might take three to compel him,” Lord Gilbert smiled, “should he wish not to come.”
The wrestler came readily enough, his face marked with a combination of anger, fear, and curiosity. A groom pulled back the tent flap, and bade him enter. The light was failing, but there was yet enough to see the casket at our feet.
“We have found that which was stolen,” Lord Gilbert thundered. I have said before, thundering was a thing Lord Gilbert did well. Hamo blanched and started as if a groom had struck him from behind with a timber. “Is this how your company repays my favor?”
“N…n…no, m’lord…not me…my tent is next…”
“Then whose is this?”
“The jugglers, m’lord. Roger and John and Robert.”
“And whose place is that…whose bedclothes be those?” He pointed sternly at the place where the casket lay.
“Roger’s, m’lord, I think.”
Lord Gilbert turned to the grooms. “Take this man back to the hall. Bring Roger the juggler.”
When Hamo and the grooms were out of earshot Lord Gilbert turned to me. “What now, Master Hugh? I am in the dark. What say we to this juggler?”
“I will question him. You stand by and fix him with an angry eye. Follow my lead when you see my way.”
The juggler appeared a few minutes later, quivering so I thought his legs might fail. A groom walked on either arm, ready to steady him should he totter, and another walked behind, should he turn to run. This I thought unlikely as he seemed barely able to place one foot before the other. What I was about to do troubled me some, and has since, for although I did not lie to the juggler, I certainly intended him to believe a thing which was not true.
“You are called Roger?” Lord Gilbert asked the fellow, quietly this time, but with undisguised wrath lurking in his voice. He folded his arms across his chest and scowled so that his brows nearly met above his nose.
“Aye, m’lord,” Roger quivered. He looked at the casket. “I did not do this.”
“Why,” I asked, “was it then discovered here?”
“Some other has placed it here.”
“And why would another do such a thing?” Lord Gilbert glowered. “Have you enemies who wish to see you hang?”
At that word Roger blanched and seemed to stagger, as if struck at the knees with an oaken staff.
“A man might hang for such a theft,” I reminded him. “It will go hard for you if you will not give us the truth.”
“I…I speak truth, m’lord. I have not before seen this box. I know not how it came here.”
“Hmm,” Lord Gilbert grunted, his face and voice projecting disbelief.
“We must have truth from you, Roger,” I pressed. “No guile; your life may depend on it.”
“I speak truth…I…”
I interrupted the man’s stuttering: “We must have truth about this, and other matters. Shall we have it, or shall Lord Gilbert convene a court for the morrow and send a groom for rope?”
The juggler’s shoulders sagged, and his head fell. “I will speak truth…as I have already,” he turned to protest to Lord Gilbert.
“We shall see,” Lord Gilbert rumbled, then glanced at me with that raised eyebrow, as if to say, “Well, where do you go from here?”
“I would have answers to another matter, before we learn how this casket came to be in your possessions,” I said. “Hamo’s daughter, Eleanor…she did not run off with a lad, did she? She is dead, is that not so?”
Roger cast about him as if seeking a means of escape. I thought it wise to remind him of the threat he thought hanging over him. “We will have truth, remember, or you may see the consequences.” Roger wilted again; I thought I should permit him to sit before he collapsed. I drew up a stool and motioned him to it. This proved a useful ploy, for it forced him to look up to us, while Lord Gilbert and I stood in authority above him.
“We have found her, you should know, so lying will gain you nothing.”
He looked up quizzically from his seat. Then silently he nodded his head, as if he could not bear to speak the words.
“Speak up, man,” Lord Gilbert demanded.
“Aye…she is dead,” Roger admitted.
“And the lad she was to have gone off with? He, I think, is alive. Is this not so?” I asked.
To speak truth seemed to come easier for Roger now that we had forced the first confession from him. “Aye, he is…so far as I know. We left him stabbed, in the care of his grandmother at Abingdon. I know not if he yet lives.”
“Pierced by Sir Robert Mallory or his squire, I think,” I asserted. “Is this not so?”
“Aye, ’tis so,” Roger agreed.
Now it was Lord Gilbert’s turn to stammer in surprise. “What…why should he do so?” he demanded.
“The lad saw Sir Robert with Eleanor. She was not seen again,” Roger sighed.
“How is this known to you?” Lord Gilbert demanded, having regained his poise.
“The truth, remember,” I reminded him.
“Hamo could not find the two when we were to leave Bampton. None could credit they’d run off together. But what other account could answer?” Roger explained.
“I remember him seeking them,” Lord Gilbert remarked, tugging now on his chin.
“We were but two miles from town, speaking loudly of our loss, when Walter heard a weak cry from near t’road. He went to the sound and found Ralph pierced near the heart, but no sign of Eleanor.
“Ralph was near to food for worms, but yet able to speak if one came close to his lips. And all bloody-like they were, too. Told Hamo that Sir Robert had killed him, an’ Eleanor as well. Sir Robert, he said, took him from the castle bundled on his pack-horse an’ dumped him in a thicket when he thought himself safely away from town.”
“And this happened only a few minutes before you came…is this not so?” I asked.
“Aye. Ralph played dead, like, as was near to bein’ so, for fear they’d run ’im through again an’ they knew he yet lived.”
“As Sir Robert surely would have,” I agreed. “I will finish your tale. A few of your party unhitched the horses from cart and wagon and rode ahead to accost Sir Robert – Hamo, Walter, surely and as many others as could fit on the backs of three horses?”
“Aye,” he agreed. “We were six.”
“You caught them a few miles on, near a coppiced woods. Hamo demanded of Sir Robert the whereabouts of his daughter. Sir Robert, I think, would not answer.”
“Oh, he answered,” Roger replied. “Laughed at Hamo, he did, an’ said as how he wouldn’t know where to find such a trollop…had they searched the beds of villeins hereabouts?”
“Words became heated, and led to a brawl?” I asked.
“Aye. Somethin’ like that,” Roger agreed.
I continued the tale for him. “When Hamo pressed close Sir Robert drew his sword, I think. Walter, seeing his father about to be struck down, drew a dagger from his saddle-bag and threw it at Sir Robert. Is this how it happened?’
“Aye,” Roger sighed.
“Then,” I continued, “the squire drew, and made for Walter, so Walter delivered a blade at him, also?”
Roge
r nodded his head, barely visible now in the gloom. Another sigh.
“Sir Robert and the squire made to ride off,” I resumed the tale, “but soon fell from their horses, being struck at the heart. Is this not so?”
Roger sat in silence for a moment, then replied. “They’d murdered Eleanor…least Sir Robert did so, an’ the squire was his man an’ helped murder poor Ralph.”
“How did Ralph know Eleanor was dead?” I asked. “Where did he see her with Sir Robert, and when?”
“’Twas near dawn, like. Ralph was sleepin’ in t’stable, as was his work to care for t’horses, an’ rose to relieve himself. He saw Eleanor wi’ Sir Robert creepin’ ’long the castle wall. ’Twas full moon, an’ before he thought to hide in t’shadows Sir Robert saw ’im. In t’mornin’, afore dawn, before we was about, Ralph said Sir Robert an’ t’squire come to marshalsea like to make an early start. Squire caught Ralph from behind an’ Sir Robert put his dagger to his heart.”
“And this was done while all others slept?” Lord Gilbert exclaimed incredulously.
“Aye. Ralph was only one who slept in t’marshalsea. An’ he feared to cry out lest Sir Robert see he yet lived and wound him again.”
“And they thought to strike him down because they knew he had seen Sir Robert with Eleanor?”
“Aye. Squire said as he’d put Ralph in t’same place, but Sir Robert said there was no time – folks would be stirring. Best to take him with ’em and leave his body in t’forest.”
“What then?” I asked.
“They threw Ralph on t’pack-horse, covered him, an’ set off while light was dim an’ t’porter could not see the shape of a man laid across the horse. ’At way they got poor Ralph out of t’marshalsea with no one t’wiser,” Roger explained.
“Ralph heard ’em speak of Eleanor dead,” he continued, “they thinkin’ he was, so didn’t mind their tongues.”
“What did they say of her?” I asked. “How she was killed? Where they hid the corpse?”
“Ralph did not say,” Roger continued, twisting his hands before him as he sat on the stool. “Hamo put his ear to Ralph’s lips to hear aught. Ralph said as t’squire was fearful, like, but Sir Robert told ’im not to vex himself wi’ worry; none would find her.”
“Well…we did,” I told him. But I did not say where.
“Then Sir Robert says, ‘Foolish wench. Had she not cried out she would yet live,’” Roger added.
“Why did she cry out?” I wondered aloud.
“Sir Robert promised to provide for ’er as his mistress. Ralph ’eard Sir Robert laugh ’bout it. When he’d had ’is way with her he made to send her off. She was not a lass to be put off so. Made such noise about it that Sir Robert slew her to silence her. So Ralph heard Sir Robert say.”
Roger, Lord Gilbert, and I were silent for a moment. What Roger said made sense, for Sir Robert had used a similar ploy with another. And with a third and more, I guessed.
“You took Sir Robert and the squire to the coppiced woods to bury them,” I said, “but stripped the bodies of valuables first. Is this not so?”
“Aye. But when we had done, we cast away some we’d taken.”
“Sir Robert’s blue cotehardie,” I completed his story, “and the squire’s dagger. You thought them too obvious for a troupe of jugglers and such.”
“Aye. An’ Sir Robert’s sword an’ dagger as well we abandoned in the forest.”
Lord Gilbert looked at me through the gloom. “The foresters?” he questioned.
“Them, or those weapons lay yet under the leaves,” I agreed.
“We have found the missing casket,” I concluded, “but as you have told us truthfully of this other matter, I recommend to Lord Gilbert that you be released. I believe you say honestly that you did not rob Lady Petronilla of her jewels. You would not, I think, be so foolish to hide the chest here had you done so.”
I looked to Lord Gilbert, whose face was now nearly invisible in the shadows. “I consent,” he agreed. Then, to the grooms, who had stood by the tent-flap and heard all, Lord Gilbert said, “You will speak of this to no one, until I release you of your oath. Take this fellow back, but hold him outside the hall. Do not permit him to speak to any of his fellows.”
“They will tell this tale before the morrow,” I advised Lord Gilbert when they had gone.
“Aye, they will…that I know. But they may yet hold their peace an hour or two, ’til we decide what must be done.”
“We, m’lord?”
“Aye. You have found a murderer. No…you have found out two murderers. And you are my bailiff. This business is now become your bailiwick as well as mine.”
“Hamo and Walter must be charged with Sir Robert’s death, and that of the squire,” I advised.
“Aye. You think the charge just?” he replied.
“A jury might say ’twas self-defense,” I answered, “and but justice done for Eleanor and the lad, but the charge must be made, I think.”
“What is your opinion of this business, Hugh? Will a jury release them? Do you wish that may be so?”
My mind had turned this very question for several minutes, so I could answer without hesitation. “I do, m’lord. I see no malice in Hamo or Walter, and I found nothing virtuous in Sir Robert.”
“Yet I would have welcomed him as brother-in-law,” Lord Gilbert mused. “My sister had better sense of the man than I.” He was silent briefly, then continued, “I hope her judgment of Sir Charles de Burgh is as valid, for she seems agreeable to his suit.
“I wish,” Lord Gilbert confided, “that when Hamo found his man left to die along the way he had returned and asked justice of me. This matter might have been resolved with less disorder and perplexity.”
“That is so. But you must understand that Hamo would fear miscarriage of justice.”
“How so?” Lord Gilbert frowned.
“You are a gentleman, as was Sir Robert. Hamo would fear a coroner’s jury – your men, all – might bend to your will and vindicate Sir Robert, heedless of the proofs against him.”
“He would mistrust me so?” Lord Gilbert muttered incredulously.
“He would mistrust any gentleman to find against another of his rank in favor of the commons.”
“Well, not so. But ’tis too late to persuade him of that. We must return to the hall and Sir John. I will place him in charge of the arrest.”
We did so. Sir John assembled a company of Lord Gilbert’s grooms and footmen, and together we entered the hall. Hamo, from a bench along the east wall, stood to his feet as we assembled. I think he suspected then that his deed was uncovered.
Had Hamo chosen to contest his arrest, I think the dozen men Sir John collected would have barely sufficed. But he did not resist, and so was seized there in the hall, with his son. Lord Gilbert approached from the high table and told him why. To this Hamo replied only, “He slew my daughter, and I repaid him in like coin.” Sir John took him and Walter to the keep. They offered no struggle, but neither did they leave the hall with bowed head or back bent in shame.
“I will release the others of Hamo’s company,” Lord Gilbert advised when the hall was finally cleared. “But not ’til you and Sir John have had time to return to Bampton with the prisoners. ’Tis an ill thing to travel in winter, but I would have you leave tomorrow. The weather remains clement, but who can judge when ’twill turn?
“Seek Hubert Shillside so soon as you reach Bampton. He must convene his jury. Roger the juggler must accompany you and the prisoners. Require of him that he tell the jurymen what he has told us. Should he resist, remind him of where the casket was found, and imply that I am of changeable passions.
“If the coroner’s jury charge Hamo and Walter, Sir John will conduct them and Roger to Oxford and put them in the hands of the sheriff.”
“And my work,” I sighed, “will be done.”
“Well…as regards this mystery you have revealed, aye. But my steward, Geoffrey Thirwall, will visit Bampton after Twelth Night
to hold hallmote. You and John Holcutt must have the manor accounts ready for his inspection.”
Lord Gilbert wished to be certain that Hamo Tanner would not flee justice. His thick wrists were bound securely, as were those of his son. Roger was permitted to travel unencumbered. Six grooms accompanied Sir John and me as we made ready to depart Goodrich Castle so soon as there was light enough to travel.
“Ah…Master Hugh,” Lord Gilbert called as we made ready at the marshalsea to set off. “I forget me, with all that’s passed since Christmas. Wait a moment.”
He turned to speak to a valet, who immediately scurried across the muddy yard to the castle gatehouse and disappeared within. While the valet was off on his errand I remembered the business which brought me to Goodrich Castle.
“Lady Joan’s arm; she must seek the surgeon in Gloucester to remove the plaster.”
“When?” Lord Gilbert asked.
“Not before St Valentine’s Day. Even a week after if she does not chafe over the inconvenience.”
“St Valentine’s Day! Hah! Sir Charles will be pleased, I think.”
To this remark I made no reply. How could I?
At that moment the valet returned, a large, dark object I could not identify in the dim morning twilight slung over his shoulder.
“’Twas not ready ’til yesterday. The tailor would not be pressed,” Lord Gilbert explained.
I was confused and stood before him with empty expression. This he observed.
“Your cloak, man. I promised you a fur cloak as part of your wages. Here ’tis.”
I took the garment from the panting valet, who seemed for the briefest moment unwilling to give it up. It was soft and luxuriant and I understood his reluctance.
“Put it on…don’t just stand there,” Lord Gilbert demanded. I did so.
“I thank you, m’lord. ’Tis true you promised such a garment. I had forgot. But I did not expect such as this. ’Tis worthy of a duke.”
“Well, if you see one and he would have it, do not give it up to him,” Lord Gilbert jested.
I mounted my horse, last of the party to put foot to stirrup, wrapped in my new cloak. As we passed through the outer yard to the barbican I turned to look back at the castle and saw, through the gathering light, Lady Joan and a maid watching our departure from atop the gatehouse. She saw me turn, and waved her uninjured hand, then lifted it to her lips and blew a kiss. I turned in my saddle to wave farewell, but as I did so she was gone. I wondered if I would ever see Lady Joan again.