The King's Riddle

by Maureen Ash

  Leofwine grinned. “Do you remember last year when Rufus complimented you on your skill in solving the riddle of who committed the slayings that Godric was blamed for, and his promise that if he was ever in need of a riddle-solver he would send for you?”

  Hesitantly Estrid nodded.

  “Well, now that time has come,” Leofwine declared. “Rufus’ temper is in a boil; he sees the poisoning as retaliation against his intention to foster amity between our two peoples by linking them together in marriage. And he is further enraged that fitzRanulf—who he holds in high esteem—has been rendered inconsolable. The king questioned all of the servitors himself as to who had the opportunity to put poison in the cup, but every one of them denied any knowledge of such a person, even though he threatened to tear the tongue out of any that later proved to be lying. He had no other option but to leave the matter with the reeve of Maidstone, ordering him not only to question the servitors again, but also all of the guests, and see if he could discover who might be responsible.

  “He received the reeve’s report yesterday,” Leofwine went on, “and, to his disgust, the investigation was a complete failure. It contained no mention of even one person who might be suspect, or of any who should be placed under further scrutiny. Rufus is determined the guilty party will pay and, after the reeve’s lack of success, has decided to launch a separate enquiry of his own.”

  Here he hesitated for a moment, and then said, “And that is the reason for my presence here, Estrid. It is difficult for any Norman inquisitor he might appoint to interrogate the English folk in Maidstone and have any hope of receiving an unbiased answer, whereas you, who are also English, would find it a much easier task. He wants you to go to Maidstone and try to untangle this coil.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Estrid did not know whether to be angry at the peremptoriness of the demand or complimented by the king’s confidence in her abilities. And there was another side to this matter that made her uneasy.

  “And what if the murderer is a Norman?” she asked. “Has the king even considered that possibility?”

  “He has,” Leofwine assured her. “But there were only two other knights besides fitzRanulf at the feast, so Rufus thinks it more likely the culprit is English. Someone who resented the marriage, perhaps, or was envious of the bride’s good fortune. If you prove to him, however, that is not the case, he will look for a Norman suspect himself.”

  Mollified only a little, Estrid made another objection. “And how does the king believe I can afford to spend time away from my workshop?” she demanded. “I have a living to earn and cannot put by my work with indifference.”

  “Judith and I can manage without you,” Gytha interjected. “There is not much on hand now, and complying with the king’s request should not take very long. Indeed, there is so little work waiting to be done that I could easily cope with it on my own.”

  Estrid cast an angry glance at Gytha. They had been together for a very long time, and the sturdy older woman, now well past her fiftieth summer, had been her attendant, and ofttimes her protector, since Estrid’s early childhood when her mother had died. Because of this, Estrid allowed her great leeway, but this time she had almost gone too far. She knew that Gytha had a devious reason for her suggestion and was hoping that if her mistress and Leofwine were thrown together on this venture, it might encourage Estrid to reconsider his suitability as a husband.

  “Even so,” Estrid said tartly, “how can I make sense of this murder? I have not been to Maidstone since I was a child and most of the folk I knew then are dead, so how can I pose the questions that need to be asked? I will be seen as an intruder and resented.”

  “Not so,” Leofwine assured her. “The king has devised a plan to account for your presence that will make it unnecessary for anyone to know you are there on his behalf.”

  Estrid drew herself up and Judith, her merry little face anxious at the imminence of a quarrel, and Ugg, who had been mainly interested in consuming the pickled herrings Cuthbert had laid on the table, now both looked at her with wariness.

  “And what plan is that?” Estrid demanded.

  Leofwine gave her another grin, which further enraged her. “You will recall that my parents, before their deaths many years ago, often visited kinfolk in Bearsted village, which is very near Maidstone. The couple they lived with—the husband is a distant cousin of my mother—still reside there and his wife has a talent for stitchery. When I told Rufus about them, he suggested you go and stay with them, letting it be known abroad that the reason for your visit is to spend a few days with her to see if she is a suitable candidate for commissions from your workshop. He also suggests that, in order to engage in conversation with others who were known to the murdered woman, you interview women in the neighbourhood under guise of the same purpose.”

  “Are you telling me that the king would have me spy on my own people?” Estrid expostulated. “I will not do such a thing. Never! And you can tell him so.”

  Leofwine shrugged. He had expected such a response from her and was ready for it. “That is a shame, for if you do not, he will have no choice but to impose a murdrum fine on the whole village of Maidstone as recompense for the bride’s death. He would much rather unearth the murderer and see him punished, but if he does not, then he has no other option but to make the village pay for the killing.”

  “He cannot do that!” Estrid exclaimed. “A murdrum fine is only imposed on the English if a Norman is killed, not one of their own.”

  “But the bride, Alfreda, had just wed a Norman knight,” Leofwine reminded her, “and that, according to the law, makes her just as much a Norman as her husband. And since fitzRanulf is of high rank, the fine will not be modest, and may amount to as high a sum as eight hundred shillings.”

  “That is outrageous,” Estrid declared.

  Again Leofwine shrugged. “Perhaps so, but that is what will happen if you refuse the king’s request.”

  Estrid rose and paced. The king had cleverly set her in a corner from which there was no escape. Either she aided him in bringing the miscreant to justice, or she would be responsible for a very high levy being imposed on many innocent souls.

  She turned once more to Leofwine. “Even if I should agree to this scheme, the reason I am to give for being in the village will quickly be known as false. At the moment there is barely enough work to keep myself, Gytha and Judith busy in the workshop. I do not need to hire anyone.”

  “Ah, but that fact is not known in Maidstone,” Leofwine said cagily, “so no one will suspect that you are, in reality, secretly gathering information about the murder.”

  “So now the king is encouraging me in yet another lie,” Estrid said angrily. “But what else can be expected of a Norman?”

  “Come, Estrid,” Leofwine said cajolingly, “surely you do not insist that every Englishman is the soul of integrity. Our history, even before the Normans invaded, gives ample evidence there were many who were just as deceitful, and it is not unreasonable to suppose that just as large a number still are.”

  Even as he tried to rationalise with the woman he so admired, Leofwine felt his argument slipping and looked to Gytha for assistance.

  “Your reason for going to the village may not be considered as completely false, frea,” Gytha said, using, as she had always done, the English word to address her mistress instead of the more common Norman word maistresse. “Our lack of work at the moment is only for a short time; we both know that in a few weeks, as the season of Christ’s Mass approaches, Bishop Gundulf will be bringing us requests for new altar cloths or to make repairs to decorations on some of the older vestments that are needed for the celebration. When that time comes, we shall barely be able to complete them all and wish each of us had another pair of hands. And it will be the same before Eastertide. On those occasions it would be very worthwhile to hire one or two skilled sempstresses for a short period.

  “And,” she added emphatically, “some of the pieces the bishop will want d
one, as you well know, will include orphrey work, which neither I or Judith can do. How many times have I heard you say when you are sitting up late at night until your eyes ache trying to complete a piece of orphrey that you wished you could find another sempstress skilled in the work? Although you have tried, you have been unable to find anyone with enough competence in Rochester; it may just be there is someone in Maidstone who has the talent.”

  Bands of the delicate embroidery called orphrey were often used to decorate ecclesiastical vestments and usually worked in costly gold thread, and constituted a fair portion of the assignments Estrid received from Bishop Gundulf. It was difficult work and only those with an unusual gift for stitchery were able to master it. Estrid had been taught by her long-dead aunt, Lady Emma; Gytha had never been able to learn and Judith, at only fifteen years old was, as yet, too young and inexperienced to accomplish it.

  Estrid glared at Gytha; the argument was a reasonable one, and she knew it. She continued to pace as she thought the whole scheme through. She disliked being manipulated, and this was exactly what Rufus and, to a lesser degree, Leofwine and Gytha, were doing. And she was especially loath to spy on her fellow countrymen and women. Still, there was always the chance that she would, in fact, find an embroiderer in Maidstone that might suit for the busy times, and also be able to undertake some of the orphrey work. More importantly, her skill at solving riddles might aid in exposing the guilty person and bringing him or her to justice and, thereby, also save the villagers from payment of the heavy fine.

  Despite her misgivings, Estrid capitulated. “Very well, I suppose I must go,” and here she threw a defiant glance at Gytha as well as Leofwine, “but be warned that I will not be led like a donkey as to how I carry out this distasteful task, either by the king’s hand or that of any other.”

  *************

  Since Gytha claimed she could manage the workshop on her own, it was decided that Judith would accompany Estrid to Maidstone in the capacity of companion. After the young girl had made a quick visit to her home to gather a few clothes and tell her parents where she was going, they set out, leaving Gytha to tell Estrid’s son Godric the reason for her absence at the end of the day when he returned home from his work at a blacksmith’s forge.

  The journey was not a long one, for the distance was only about eight miles and could be comfortably ridden at an easy pace in just over an hour. They rode on horses the king had given Leofwine sanction to provide for the trip, a fine white mare for Estrid and a gentle grey palfrey for Judith. The weather was fine, the countryside beautiful as they travelled in the late morning down the old Roman road that led to Maidstone. The trees in the greenwood on either side of them were in full leaf and, underneath their canopies, wildflowers bloomed in profusion.

  As they rode, Estrid asked Leofwine to tell her all he knew about the bride and her family, and any enemies she, or one of her kinfolk, might have.

  “Her mother has been dead for quite a few years and she was raised by her father, Siward. He is a miller and a prosperous one, holding two of the four mills in the Maidstone area in fee from the church in Canterbury. He also has two sons, older than Alfreda, and they assist him in running his mills. He is said to be ambitious and greedy.”

  “So he would welcome an alliance with a Norman knight, who presumably, holds land from the king?”

  Leofwine nodded. “The handgeld he received for his daughter was of a generous amount, I am told, and so would her morgengifu have been if she had lived long enough to receive it.”

  “How did the betrothal come about?” Estrid asked.

  “It would seem that fitzRanulf happened to pass through Maidstone village one day last autumn and saw Alfreda on the street. He was struck by her beauty—and she was very lovely, apparently—and made an effort to find out her name and where she lived. After that, the story is a common one; he met her, wooed her, and finally asked her father for her hand in marriage.”

  “And Rufus made no objection to the union?”

  “None at all. He has been heard to say that his own grandmother was the daughter of a lowly tanner, so there is no reason why he should oppose the union of his knights with women of inferior status. Of course, FitzRanulf secured Rufus’ permission before he approached Siward and, since the bride was of a respectable family, the king gladly gave it. He is unhappy at the remnants of dissent that still exist between our two peoples and hopes that marriage between his Norman followers and English subjects will help to dispel it.”

  “A worthy ambition, I suppose,” Estrid conceded. “But it would seem that it came to naught this time.”

  “That is why the king is so angry. Last year he finally freed the country of the Norman rebels who threatened his right to hold the crown and now, when he makes an attempt to bring his Norman and English subjects together in amity, it has been foiled. He sees it as another means of rebellion.”

  “It sounds as though you have a liking for Rufus, even though he is a Norman,” Estrid remarked.

  Leofwine shrugged. “Too many years have passed for us to win back the right to have an English monarch and, if we are forced to have a Norman on the throne, we could do worse than him.”

  Estrid made no further comment and he continued with what he knew of the dead girl and her relations.

  “She has, or had, a widowed aunt, I am told, her father’s sister, who helped the miller to rear the girl and is, it is said, well-liked by those who live in the village. The miller’s two sons are married and have children and both they and their wives seem to have been fond of Alfreda, so if there was any conflict there, or jealousy for her good fortune in securing a Norman knight for a husband, it is not immediately apparent. As for her friends, I am not aware of their names or if any might be culpable; my information is limited to what was told to the king by fitzRanulf, which Rufus repeated to me.”

  He paused in thought for a moment, and then continued. “As for enemies, Alfreda’s father might conceivably have some, as there was apparently some muttering amongst the villagers when his intent to allow his daughter to marry the Norman first became known.”

  “Were you in the king’s retinue at Maidstone when the poisoning happened?”

  “No, he sent for me after he received the reeve’s report and decided you might be able to help him. When I arrived, he asked me if there was anyone in the village with whom you could stay and would also be discreet. That was when I told him about another miller who was related to my father, and he saw a way, through him and his wife, that you could go to Maidstone and investigate the murder. Yesterday I visited them to confirm their willingness to take part in the ruse.”

  “And they were content to do so?”

  Leofwine nodded. “Godser, the husband is, as I said, also a miller just like the dead girl’s father, but his mill is much smaller than either of those Siward operates, and it is in Bearsted, not Maidstone. He has no love for Siward—who he sees as overly prideful—and the feeling is mutual between them, so Godser and his wife were not asked to the wedding feast. But despite the bad feeling between them and Siward, both Godser and his wife, Tilde, were fond of Alfreda and very sorry for the fate that befell her, so they made no objection to taking part in the king’s plan.”

  “And have they been made aware of the deception in which the king is involving them?”

  “They have,” Leofwine answered. “And though they do not like it any more than you do, they can see the necessity for it. They told me that if you were willing to obey him, then they would be also.”

  Estrid smiled grimly. This new king of England was truly named Rufus; he had the colouring of a fox and also the animal’s cunning nature. She now changed the direction of her questions. “Even though I have not been instructed to delve into whether or not a Norman is guilty, it might be helpful if I knew more about the groom,” she said. “What do you know of Turstin fitzRanulf?”

  Leofwine shrugged. “Not much, I fear. I have been told he is the bastard-born son of some rel
ative of Hugh of Montfort, who was a liegeman of the king’s and one for whom Rufus had great respect. FitzRanulf came to England from Normandy two or three years ago, and was at the siege the king waged on Tonbridge castle during the conflict with his traitorous uncle. Rufus was impressed with the knight’s courage on that occasion and when Montfort died last year, and left fitzRanulf a small demesne near Ashford in his will, was only too pleased to give his sanction to the bequest. About his nature, I know nothing.”

  At her look of disappointment, he added in apology, “But I can say I have heard nothing untoward about him. As far as I know, he is an upright knight, loyal to Rufus, with no obvious faults to discommend him.”

  “And what about the two knights who were with him at the marriage feast?”

  “I know more about fitzHaimo than the other one, for it was he who captured Odo’s chief henchmen, Belleme, at the siege in Rochester, and he is much talked about, even among the English men-at-arms. He is the son of Haimo, the sheriff of Kent, and is one of the few knights that Rufus keeps close about him. His father was beyond reproach in his faithfulness to Duke William all throughout his reign, and his son shows every indication of giving the same loyalty to Rufus.”

  He paused for a moment, and then added, “All I know of the other knight is that he is called Ralf of Abetot and is distantly related to the sheriff of Worcestershire. The king told me he has been a friend of fitzRanulf for a long time, both in Normandy and here in England, and that was the reason for his attendance at the wedding.”

  “A motley crew amongst which to find a murderer,” Estrid remarked as the fields stretching out beyond the cots and buildings on the eastern edge of Maidstone village came into view. “I will do my best to learn the truth about the English villagers, Leofwine, but if none of them prove likely as a suspect, I hope the king’s temper will not rage anew when I tell him so.”