by Jason Vail
“Yet he was found over the body and he had reason. You know that such evidence is more than enough.”
“Yet he says you will help.”
“But he also says there will be a cost.”
“And he says I’m to tell you the truth.” Bromptone rolled up the letter and batted it against his palm. “It is a steep price.”
“Nevertheless, that is it.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking. There are things I cannot speak of, no matter the consequences.”
Stephen shrugged. “It is your choice.”
“They tell a story about William Marshal, the first earl of Pembroke. Perhaps you’ve heard it. His father joined the rebellion against King Stephen, taking a castle with him. The king, who already held William as a hostage, laid siege to the castle. The king brought forth the boy and said he would kill him if William’s father would not surrender. His father replied that the king could do what he liked, for he had the hammer and the anvil to make another son. I have both the hammer and the anvil — and another son.”
“Which, of course, is why you sent Peter to be a draper. I feel sorry for him. He will die at the end of a rope with a thief on one side of him and a pair of robbers on the other. I doubt that will do much good for your family reputation.”
“Let me worry about my family’s reputation. He should have thought of that when he married that girl.”
“Were you going to find him a better marriage? Somehow I doubt it. You cast him away. He knew that. You cannot fault him for acting on it. Besides, he loves her.”
Bromptone’s expression seemed to soften for a moment. “Anyone would love a girl like that. You’ve seen her, haven’t you?”
Stephen nodded. “She’d do even without a dowery.”
“I doubt Peter got much for her, too. Is she a good girl?”
“She’s trustworthy, I think, from what I’ve seen of her. And she loves him.”
“Truly?”
“Yes. I’m afraid so.”
“People who marry for love are fools.”
“People who do not find love in marriage, even if they start without it, are fools.”
“How would you know?”
“My mother told me that. Although how she could have loved my father, I don’t know.”
“You did not get along with him then, your father?”
“About as well as you and Peter.”
“I, also. My father was a hard man.”
“Men have to be hard, but even hard men can have pity. It is not a fault.”
Bromptone looked Stephen in the eye. “I don’t want him to die.”
“Nor I.”
Bromptone raised the letter. “This is his hand, but the words do not sound like him.”
“I dictated the contents. Except the end. Those words are his.”
Baynard nodded, his eyes focused on a distant spot beyond Stephen.
Stephen said, “Did you put him up to it?”
Bromptone looked wounded. “I swear, I didn’t. Why would you suspect that?”
“There’s a grudge between you and Baynard. Your son loves you, and wants to please you. He just isn’t sure how.” Bromptone watched him warily and said nothing. Stephen went on, “You’re of Montfort’s party. Peter followed you. Baynard is for the king. It isn’t an honorable way to buy back a father’s love, but it is one way.”
“Do you really believe he would kill Baynard?”
“No, but I think you would.”
“You shouldn’t pry into such things,” Bromptone said.
“Do you want to save him, or not?”
“Even if the road leads to me?”
“Yes.”
There was a long pause. “He hasn’t been a good son.”
“He’s still your blood and carries your name.”
Bromptone’s face was bleak. “So my wife claims.” Bromptone walked away a pace and stared across the stone fence into the stubbled field beyond. “It’s odd. He was the one I loved best as a child. But as he grew older, he never did as I expected. He wouldn’t fight, he wouldn’t enter the church. When I finally found a place for him after much searching, he ran from his master. He married a common girl of no account without my leave.” Bromptone turned back. “You say you don’t believe he’s guilty?”
Stephen ignored the question. “What more was there between you and Baynard?”
Bromptone sighed. “He was the king’s master spy in this county. It was his task to ferret out all the supporters of the barons and to report them. At first we thought that was all. But then a few of our people started turning up dead, couriers and spies of our own, mostly. They were common people and we put the misfortune off to accident and paid little notice. But then two from the gentry were killed — one in Shrewsbury and a second in Hereford — both knifed in the street at night. It was too much to suspect happenstance.”
“So you ordered him killed.”
“No! We only thought to send him a warning.”
“Is that why you tried to kill me?”
“It wasn’t my doing.”
“Fitzsimmons?”
Bromptone nodded.
“But you concurred.”
Bromptone nodded again.
“Because you thought I was one of Baynard’s spies.”
“Yes.”
“I wasn’t, and am not a king’s spy.”
“Why shouldn’t we think so? You’re Shelburgh’s cousin, Sir Geoffrey’s man and you came from Baynard.”
Stephen smiled humorlessly. His cousin, the earl, was a king’s man. “You failed to kill me, so you went to the source of the trouble.”
Bromptone shook his head.
“If not you and not Peter, you’ll have to tell me what I need to know if you want to save him.”
Bromptone still stood mute.
Stephen said: “If not you, then it must have been Fitzsimmons.”
“I don’t know!” Bromptone gasped as if in pain.
“But you suspect,” Stephen said remorselessly.
“I can’t speak of it!”
“Why not?”
Bromptone’s mouth worked soundlessly. He seemed to come to a decision. He said, “Nigel is . . . rather more than Baynard’s counterpart. I don’t know all he does.”
“Baynard’s counterpart . . . you mean . . .”
“He is the chief spy for Montfort in all of England, not merely this place,” Bromptone said heavily. He added, “There’s one thing you should know.”
Lost in thought, Stephen was a moment responding. “What?”
“Nigel means to see you dead. It’s gone beyond our game with the king’s party. For him the grudge with you has become personal.”
“How have I offended him?” Stephen asked, taken aback.
“One of those you killed on the road was his nephew, a boy he loved and fostered. It’s feud now.”
Stephen took a slow breath. Feud was a weighty and frightening thing. It was more than just a fight between individuals; it was family against family, and Stephen was not sure whether he could call on his for support. But most importantly, it meant Fitzsimmons felt honor-bound to take revenge, no matter the cost, no matter how long it took.
There was only one thing to do. Stephen threw one of his gloves on the ground at Bromptone’s feet. He hated to do it, but it was the only way he could think of to end the game quickly. Stephen said, “Tell him to come for me himself, if he has the courage, rather than send his lackeys in the night.”
Bromptone coolly regarded the glove. Then he picked it up. “When and where?” he asked flatly.
“Friday at terce, before Ludford parish church. It’s a nice spot, good for horses — and he can be planted in the graveyard right after I kill him.”
“It may be the other way around,” Bromptone said softly. “He’s the most formidable fighter I’ve ever seen.”
“Well, then, let him come and prove it.”
Chapter 17
“You’re not g
oing, then?” Edith asked, of Baynard’s funeral mass. St. Laurence’s bell could be heard announcing the start of it.
It was Wednesday, three days after Baynard’s death and getting late for a funeral this time of year. Much more of an interval and the body would be too ripe for anyone to stand. The delay was to allow word to go out to the surrounding country side and friends from some distance to come to pay their respects.
“No,” Stephen said, looking up from the stick he had been pretending to whittle. It seemed an interesting way to while away the time, but he wondered how Harry managed to turn a useless piece of wood into something pretty without cutting off a finger. “I don’t think so. It isn’t fit to mourn the death of a man you did not like.”
“Like has nothing to do with it. He had a soul and it deserves a decent send off regardless of your opinion,” she said. “It’s the least you can do.”
“I’ll come up later, for the wake.”
Edith pouted. “Is all you care about food and drink?” Her foot tapped the floor as her mind searched for other arguments. “Don’t you realize that everyone who is anyone in town will be there?”
“So that’s why you’re going.”
“We go to mourn a death, surely. But everyone who is anyone in town will be there. In a small town such as this, it’s a good idea to see and be seen. Sad as they are, funerals are a place to renew old acquaintances and make new ones. Let people know you’re not the ogre you seem to be.”
“I’m an ogre?”
“Going around with that scowl all the time, people are beginning to think so. And you more than anyone needs to develop your prospects. They are quite low now and sinking.”
“She’s right about that,” Gilbert said from the stairs.
“Right about what?” Stephen asked. “That I’m an ogre?”
“Not an ogre, but ogrish. At any rate, I was speaking of prospects.”
“And I thought you were my friend,” Stephen said. “I like your hat, by the way.” It was in fact a rather ridiculous hat, massive and floppy, and seemed about to slide off Gilbert’s head.
“Why thank you, but I know you don’t mean it.” Gilbert offered Edith his arm. “It’s getting late, dear. We’ll have to stand at the back if we dally much longer.”
Edith took his arm but remained facing Stephen. “I insist you come.”
“Nonetheless, I’ll stay and keep Jennie company. She may need help if a customer gets out of hand.” He saw her standing at the bar, a rag in hand, and winked at her. She blushed in return.
“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” Edith said, tugging his arm. “You’re coming with us.”
With Edith on one arm and Gilbert on the other, Stephen had little choice but to go along unless he wanted a physical struggle.
“You’re as bothersome as my mother,” he said.
“You are badly in need of a mother, if you ask me,” Edith said as they descended into the street. “Since she is not here, I shall have to do.”
Broad Street was full of foot traffic marching up the hill toward the church, its brownstone bell tower visible ahead over the rooftops. Good days were exchanged as they proceeded up Broad Street, for Gilbert and Edith knew everyone and were known by them.
At the entrance to St. Laurence’s, Harry sat on one side of the churchyard gate. His plank leaned against the wall and he had his begging bowl on the ground before him. On the other side of the gate, stood another beggar, whom Stephen recognized as Fray, a broad-shouldered man with a black beard that resembled a ragged banner hanging to belt level.
Edith and Gilbert swept by with a brisk good morning, Harry.
“Yer looking well, Lady Edith!” Harry shouted at their backs. “Nice gown!”
Stephen stopped and bent over Harry’s bowl. He counted three quarter pennies with his finger, enough for three loaves of bread. Not bad for a single morning’s work. But he said, “Slim pickings this morning, Harry?”
“I’d do better if you’d get out of the way,” Harry said.
Stephen stepped back. “Pardon me. I wouldn’t want to interfere.”
“That’s better.” Harry held his hands out to a passing couple who ignored him, except their young son who tried to kick over the bowl. Harry was too quick for that, though, and batted the boy’s leg aside. “Get on, you!” he snapped. The boy danced after his parents.
Stephen leaned against the wall a short distance from Harry. A glance over his shoulder told him that Gilbert and, more importantly, Edith had found someone to talk to just outside the doors of the church, and had forgotten about him. As he watched, they went inside.
“So, Harry,” Stephen said, “am I an ogre?”
“You ain’t been the easiest person to be around these last few days. What’s the matter, Baynard not pay all you’re owed?”
“It’s not that.”
“And it’s damned annoying the way you pound that post in the yard. All that racket, it could make a person’s teeth fall out.”
Stephen had been practicing with a wooden sword against a post in the yard. “Edith complained about that yesterday, too.”
“Then why didn’t you stop?”
“I need the exercise.”
Harry shook his head at the marvel that someone had defied Edith, so far at least, and for such a thin reason. “What are you planning?”
“Me? Nothing.”
“Something’s up. I heard tell that Prince Edward has put out a call for troops. There’s talk of an invasion of Wales next spring. You getting ready for it?”
“Is there?” Stephen said with some interest. “What else have you heard?”
“I’m not free with my talk, like some people in this town.”
“Coming from you, I know it means you’re not talking about keeping confidences.”
Harry rattled the coins in his bowl. “Course it doesn’t.”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s about Baynard.”
Stephen prodded his purse with his fingertips, feeling its lack of weight. He dropped a farthing in Harry’s bowl. “All right.”
“That’s it? This could be important. It could reveal all to you, the one thread you’ve missed that binds the whole.”
“I doubt that.”
Harry held up the farthing. “This looks counterfeit to me.”
Stephen took it from him and gestured as if he planned to toss it across the path. “I’ll let Fray have it then.”
“No, don’t do that. He’ll just spend it on drink.”
“While you won’t.”
“I’ve loftier ambitions than a night of drunken revelry.” He held out the bowl. “Here, put it here, and I’ll part with my secret.”
Stephen returned the fragment of coin to the bowl.
Harry motioned for him to lean closer. “I can’t just shout this out, you know.” As Stephen bent down, he said, “Lucy Wattepas paused to talk with that fat lawyer de Kersey here at the gate as they were going in.” He paused.
“So?” Stephen said.
“She asked him if he knew what was in the will.”
“Did he?”
“He ought to. He wrote it.”
“How do you know?”
“He must have. He’s the only lawyer in town and he knew what was in it.”
“All right then. On with it. Edith will be out here in a moment to drag me in.”
“Can’t have that. You’d defile the place with your presence. Anyway, he said he did. She asked if there was provision for the Palmer’s Guild, and he said there was. He added a few other things about the will that I don’t remember. Then he said one curious thing. He said Baynard had left five pounds to the Hytone woman and another five to her daughter for a dowery. He could not imagine why and he asked her if she knew.” Harry grinned, revealing surprisingly straight and healthy teeth.
“Did she?”
“If she did, she wasn’t letting on. But she’s a canny bitch. I bet she knows. The news made her swell up like a fighting
cock. Only the best gossip makes people react like that.”
“And they said all of this in front of you.”
“Not in front, exactly, but on the other side of yonder wall. As you know, I’m so short that I don’t stick up. Besides, folk like that don’t even notice folk like me.”
Stephen frowned and stood up. “What’s so important about this?”
Harry grinned with a trace of malice. “You don’t know who I’m talking about?”
“Not a clue.”
“Mistress Hytone runs a tavern off the road to Richards Castle, you dolt. You know, some people have questioned your intelligence, but I’ve always defended you. I wonder if I should do so from now on.”
Stephen stood over Harry. Five pounds was about half what some lesser manors earned in a year. He said, “Five pounds each. That’s a lot of money.”
“Yeah. I could retire on five pounds,” Harry said. “But you, you’d waste it on a horse, or something frivolous like that.”
Stephen nodded.“They must have been lovers.”
“Who, Baynard and the girl?” Harry said.
“No, Baynard and Johanna.”
“That’s just a wild guess. Could have easily been the girl.”
“Then he wouldn’t have given anything to the mother. Besides, I saw Pris meeting Patrick Carter’s son, Edgar, the other day.”
“Sheer speculation.” Harry rattled the coins in his bowl. “I’ve another bit of gossip for you, if you’re interested.”
“This one wasn’t worth a farthing.”
“You are a man lacking in imagination.”
Stephen said nothing.
Finally, Harry said, “All right. I saw Edgar and his mum Monday morning at Broad Gate.”
“So?”
“So they were leaving the town at first light, not coming in.”
Stephen tapped his foot, exasperated. “Harry, you try my patience. It’s hardly even interesting, let alone helpful.”
Harry shrugged. “All right then, go about your business, but stop bothering me so I can go about mine.”
Stephen tossed a half penny into the bowl. “For your trouble.”
“You’re too kind, governor, too kind. If only all were generous as you, I’d be able to afford a decent pair of shoes.”