by Maureen Ash
Dismounting, they tied their horses to one of the rails set along both sides of the street for the purpose, and went up to the house. Still feeling slightly guilty about her subterfuge and fervently hoping it would remain undisclosed, Estrid knocked on the door. The summons was soon answered by the maidservant that Tilde had mentioned as being employed in Kendra’s household. With a nervous smile, the young girl ushered them into the chamber where her mistress was waiting.
CHAPTER 6
In the middle of the room was a stone hearth, unlit in the heat of summer, and overlaid with a stout wooden cover. The furniture around it proclaimed a moderate affluence. There were a variety of settles laid with thick cushions, along with a few plain stools and, on the far side was a large oak table surrounded by benches. Behind it, on the shelves of an open-fronted cupboard, cups of pewter and pottery bowls were stacked.
Kendra was just as Tilde had described her, a woman of an age just over fifty, of ample proportions, with a round fat face and glittering blue eyes. Alongside her on one of the larger settles was a young woman who Estrid took to be her daughter, Maud. She looked to be about seventeen years, pretty in a plump way, but with a sad and strained expression on her face that was most likely due, Estrid thought, to grief for the recent death of her friend. On adjacent settles, much smaller in proportion than the one on which Kendra and Maud were seated, were two other women of matronly years, one thin and soft-faced, with a diffident manner, the other stocky in build, broad-browed and with large capable hands who, although at least a decade younger that Gytha, nonetheless reminded Estrid of her companion. All were dressed in what appeared to be their best finery, Kendra most richly of all, in a gown of fine dark blue wool with a girdle of tooled red leather spanning her ample waist, and a square silver pendant inlaid with garnets hanging from a chain around her neck. The other two women wore kirtles of much plainer stuff and simple braided girdles. Neither was wearing any jewellery.
As Estrid came in, Kendra gave her an effusive greeting. “You are well come,” she said with an ingratiating smile. “I have looked forward to meeting you. Please be seated and my servant will bring us refreshments.”
Estrid nodded and, after introducing Judith, took up a place on the other side of the hearth to her hostess. Tilde sat down beside her and Judith unobtrusively chose a stool alongside the settle on which Kendra’s daughter was seated.
As the maidservant laid out a platter of honey cakes and flagons of ale and mead on top of the hearth cover, Kendra again addressed Estrid. “I am honoured to meet Thegn Thorson’s daughter,” she said. “I recall your father well. He was a fine man and my own father, who was reeve of Maidstone at the time, held him in high opinion.”
Estrid acknowledged the compliment with a slight incline of her head and took a sip from the mead in the cup she had been handed by the servant. Kendra then introduced her daughter, Maud, and the other two women in the company.
“This is Alarice,” she said of the thin one. “She is wife to one of our village blacksmiths. When Tilde told me you were looking for accomplished sempstresses, I thought immediately of her, and, since she has a rare talent for stitchery, invited her here to meet you.”
She then motioned to the woman sitting beside Alarice. “And this is Velda. She is married to a thatcher, and also has a good skill. I asked them both to bring samples of their work for you to examine.”
“I shall be pleased to look at them,” Estrid replied and, as the two women rose and went over to the table to fetch two linen wrapped parcels lying there, Estrid spoke to Maud, remarking on the girdle she was wearing. It was tablet woven—made by passing thread through holes in flat bone squares – and very pretty.
“That is a lovely girdle you have on,” she said. “Did you make it yourself?”
Maud shook her head. “No, I did not; it was a gift from a friend.”
“Tablet work is not easy to construct,” Estrid replied. “She must have clever fingers.”
“Yes, she did,” Maud said, and then her face crumpled and she began to weep. “But she will not make any more,” she added with a sob, “for now she is dead.”
There was no doubt the girl was speaking of Alfreda and although Estrid had wanted to question Maud about her friend’s death, she had not intended to introduce the subject in such an upsetting manner.
“I am sorry to hear that,” Estrid said with sincerity, “and beg your forgiveness for unknowingly asking about a gift she had made for you.”
“You have no need to apologise, maistresse,” Kendra said. “My daughter is allowing sentiment to overtake good manners. It is she who should ask pardon, not you.”
Under her mother’s glare, Maud stemmed her tears, and wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand, but before she could obey her mother’s harsh order to apologise, Estrid held up her hand, knowing she had been the unwitting cause of the reprimand and wanting to ease the girl’s distress.
“On the contrary, Kendra,” she said, in a placatory manner, “your daughter is to be complimented on her devotion to her friend’s memory. ‘Tis not often we are fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of a true companion, one that is akin in both heart and mind, and such a loss can be devastating.”
Kendra was grudgingly mollified by this praise of her daughter and so Estrid went on. “Perhaps Maud would like to retire from our company for awhile,” she suggested, knowing now was not the time to press the young girl for information about Alfreda. “She has no part to play in these proceedings and it might be as well if she took a few moments alone to restore her composure.”
Maud gave Estrid a bashful smile of gratitude and said to Kendra, “Yes, I should like to do that moder, if you will allow it.”
Kendra nodded her head in acquiescence and, as Maud rose, Judith, ever compassionate towards anyone in distress, grasped her hand and pressed it comfortingly for a moment. The distraught girl gave her a small smile and then turned and left the room.
Once she was gone, Estrid turned her attention to the samples the two women Kendra had invited had brought with them. But before she picked up the first one to examine it, she referred to Alfreda’s death in a general way to her hostess, hoping to learn more about the incident.
“Tilde told me that a bride had recently been murdered by poison,” she said, “an English girl who had earlier that morning been married to a Norman knight. I assume she is the friend of whom your daughter was speaking?”
“That is correct,” Kendra confirmed.
“Is anyone suspected of committing the crime?” Estrid asked.
It was Velda who answered. “Many think it was done at the instigation of another Norman.”
Estrid raised her eyebrows. “But surely that is impossible. Tilde said the king himself was at the wedding and approved of the union; why would any of his liegemen wish to murder her?”
It was now Kendra who spoke. “It is rumoured there was another knight enamoured of Alfreda, and it was he who arranged her death so fitzRanulf should not have her.”
CHAPTER 7
“Another knight?” Estrid repeated in surprise. “Tilde told me there were two who came to the wedding with fitzRanulf—is he one of them?”
Kendra shook her head. “No, he was not there.”
“Then how could he have poisoned Alfreda?” was Estrid’s immediate question.
“He could have paid someone in the village to do it for him,” Kendra replied. “Although I do not like to say it,” she added darkly, “there are some amongst us who would do anything for enough silver.”
“But what reason do you have for suspecting him?” Estrid asked, wondering if this was just a convenient rumour that had been started to avoid the village having to pay the murdrum fine.
“He was seen one day in the company of fitzRanulf and Alfreda before their marriage and, later that day, when he and fitzRanulf were leaving the village, they were heard arguing by passersby and it sounded as though Alfreda was the cause of their dispute.”
“Was he ever seen alone with Alfreda on any other occasion?” Estrid asked.
“Not that was witnessed by anyone, but that does not mean he did not meet with her, only that he was not seen.”
“If you know his name, it might be worthwhile to have your suspicions reported to the king,” Estrid suggested.
“We do not know his identity, only that fitzRanulf called him Gui but, even if we did know who he was, we have no proof of his involvement. Without such evidence, I do not believe Rufus would entertain having the finger of guilt pointed at one of his knights.”
Estrid had to agree. The king would be furious with them all, and most likely harsh in retaliation.
“Has anything been done to try and learn if there is another person beside this knight that might be guilty of the crime?” she asked.
“Rufus charged our village reeve, Osric, to question everyone that attended the feast and ask if anyone was seen meddling with the cup,” Kendra told her, repeating the information Leofwine had already passed on to Estrid. “And although he was scrupulous in obeying the king’s command, it was to no avail. Alfreda’s cup, along with her husband’s, was set apart for some time, and all of the guests, and servitors, passed to and fro near where they were standing,” Kendra told her. “It could have been any of those present, but although many went up to look at them—the cups were costly and of very fine craftsmanship—no one was seen to have touched them or tampered with them at all.”
Estrid turned to Velda, hoping she had more to tell. “You said that many thought this other Norman knight was responsible. Are there others who believe it might have been someone else, a person who lives in the village and had enmity for the bride, perhaps?”
The sturdy matron shrugged her ample shoulders. “There were two others who sought her for a wife beside fitzRanulf. One is Sweyn, the son of a farmer who holds much land outside the village. He was very angry when Siward refused to consider his offer of marriage with her; and the other is Redwald, who is about twenty years older than Alfreda and a widower. He is a potter, and Siward laughed at him when he asked for her hand and told him she didn’t need another father as a husband.”
“And both were angry at Siward’s rejection?”
“They were,” Kendra said firmly, her expression betraying her enjoyment in recounting the details of the gossip. “But neither of them was at the feast, so it could not have been one of them who put the poison in the cup because they would not have had the opportunity.”
“Sweyn may not have been there,” Alarice said quietly, “but Redwald was—not in the hall, but outside. I saw him myself when I left the feast for a moment. It was stuffy inside and I needed some fresh air.”
Kendra rounded on her. “You never told of this before,” she accused. “What was he doing there?”
“I do not know,” Alarice said, cringing at the reproof. “I never spoke to him. He was alone, standing in the shadows of the trees at the edge of the place where the spits had been put up to roast the oxen, and seemed to be watching the door. I only just caught a glimpse of him, for as I looked towards him, he turned and left.”
“Has Osric been told of this?” Kendra demanded.
“I told my husband,” Alarice mumbled, “and he told Osric, but the reeve said that since Redwald did not come into the hall, it would have been impossible for him to have placed the poison in the cup.”
“Poison seems an improbable weapon for any of these suspects—who are all male—to use,” Estrid opined into the silence that followed Alarice’s admission. “It is much more in keeping with the means by which a female would rid herself of an enemy. Is it possible that might be so?”
There was no response from Kendra or either of her companions. All of them remained silent and glanced uneasily at one another.
“Why do you not answer Maistresse Estrid’s question, moder?” a shrill voice demanded, and they all turned to look at the door that gave entrance into the chamber. It was Maud who had spoken, her former woeful manner completely absent and replaced by blazing fury. Her pale blue eyes were on fire, her skin blotchy and her mouth twisted with repugnance.
“Maud, contain yourself…” Kendra began.
“No, I will not,” Maud cut her off abruptly. “You know as well as I do that Alfreda inspired great envy amongst the girls in the village, and how it was said by their mothers that she did not deserve the good fortune that would come her way—and her father’s—once she wed the Norman. And also, unlike the male suspects you have mentioned, it would have been very easy for any of those girls to add the toxin. All of them were there, and you know as well as I that two of them were seated alongside the very place where the cups were standing.”
“Maud, you must stop this nonsense,” Kendra expostulated. “These allegations you keep on making will cause you to be hated by your friends…”
“Neither Rowena or Nelda are friends of mine,” Maud spat, “nor are their mothers. And it does not impress me that Rowena’s father is an important village official, moder, as it does you.”
Now Kendra lost her temper. “That is enough, Maud. I will not tolerate such disrespect. Go to your bedchamber, now!”
Maud’s shoulder’s slumped, her rage expended. Obeying her mother’s command, she turned unsteadily in the doorway, and disappeared.
Kendra turned to Estrid. “I must apologise for my daughter; she is overwrought by what happened to Alfreda and has lost control of her senses. Her accusations are meaningless and unfounded.”
“No apology is necessary,” Estrid replied. “As I said before, to lose a good friend can be devastating, and to search for someone to blame, even if misguided, is understandable. Perhaps it would be best if we cease discussion of this unfortunate girl’s death and return to the purpose for which I came, and that is to examine Alarice’s and Velda’s stitchery.”
As she held out her hand to receive the samples the women had brought, she stole a glance at Judith and Tilde and saw by the look on their faces that they, like herself, were shocked at Maud’s revelation of the malevolence which had seemingly been directed towards the murdered girl.
CHAPTER 8
Estrid left Kendra’s house with Judith and Tilde about an hour later. She had examined the samples of work brought by Velda and Alarice before departing and expressed her appreciation of their skill. Velda had brought a cushion cover she had made for an affluent neighbour who had paid for the materials and her time. It was handsome work, one side covered with a depiction of the wild flowers of spring and the other with the burnished leaves of autumn greenery. The stitches were neat and carefully made, but Estrid privately thought Velda might have used more imagination in the arrangements, for the images of both flowers and leaves were set apart and it would have been much more attractive if they had been intertwined. Nonetheless, it was well done and she accordingly told Velda that her skill was worth consideration.
The piece that Alarice had brought was a tapestry depicting the image of Bertha, who had been queen of Kent five centuries in the past. She had been instrumental in bringing Christianity to England and was considered a saint, her identity proclaimed on the tapestry by the cross worked in golden-coloured thread she held in her hand. The stitchery was not as neat as that done by Velda but the figure possessed an ethereal quality that made her seem to come alive and showed Estrid that Alarice, although quiet and shy, put more passion into her work than her neighbour.
The tapestry was edged with a narrow border that was tablet woven, similar to the girdle Maud had been wearing. The frame around the picture, however, was brocaded, having been enhanced by including a silver thread in the weave, surrounding the figure in an air of richness.
“The border is very fine,” Estrid said to Alarice. “There are not many women who have the talent to weave it.”
“It was not I who made it,” Alarice said quickly, “but Alfreda, the girl who just died. The tapestry is intended as a present for my daughter, who was christened Bertha after the saintly q
ueen, and when I mentioned to Alfreda—who was my daughter’s friend—that I was making it, she insisted on assembling the edging. She even provided the materials herself from the allowance her father gave her to purchase her own supplies, as it was beyond my means to pay for them.”
“It sounds as though she was a very kind girl,” Estrid remarked.
“She was,” Kendra confirmed and Velda and Alarice nodded in agreement, “and, despite my daughter’s fanciful claim, was liked by all who knew her. That is why it is so hard to believe that anyone would wish her dead.”
After asking if either of them were capable of doing orphrey work, and receiving a negative reply, Estrid ascertained that both Velda and Alarice would be willing, and able, to complete any work she might give them in a reasonable span of time and then took her leave, saying she would contact them soon to let them know if she wished to hire them. She thought she might be able to afford to give them both a small commission, even if there was no actual need for their services. Both women were desperate to earn money; Velda’s husband, a thatcher, had fallen from a roof some months before and hurt his back, and had, since then, been unable to work and so their household coffers were all but empty. With Alarice, it was for a different reason. Her husband was not the only blacksmith in Maidstone and competition was fierce. The bellows he was using were very old and in need of replacement, but they were costly and any extra money she could earn would be very welcome to make up the purchase price. Estrid felt sorry for both women and, within her means, would do as much as she could to aid their plight.
After she, Judith and Tilde arrived back at Godser’s mill, they sat down at the table with cups of small ale in front of them to discuss all they had learned. Leofwine was invited to join them so he could be made privy to the conversation that had taken place at Kendra’s house.