by Maureen Ash
Estrid agreed, and the monk fell silent as Ugg, at Estrid’s command, ushered the potter, Redwald, into the hall and brought him to stand in front of the dais.
The potter’s long limbs were loose and powerful and, Estrid thought, he would be a handsome man were it not for his sombre expression. His penetrating grey eyes regarded Estrid steadily as he stood quietly and waited for her to speak.
First she asked if he had been informed that Alfreda might have been poisoned earlier than was thought and he replied that, although he had not been told directly, he had heard the others that had been summoned speak of it while they were all waiting outside.
“Then I will ask you to tell me your whereabouts during the eve of the wedding and the morning of the marriage,” she said.
“During the day before, I was working in my pottery outside the village until it got dark and then went to bed. The next morning I came into Maidstone to see Alfreda arrive at the church porch to make her vows. Afterwards I followed everyone back to the hall and stood outside for awhile trying to decide whether or not I would come in and join the feasting, but finally decided to go home. I did not know she had been murdered until the next day.”
His answer had come readily enough, and he had not omitted to say he had been near the hall, which he could very easily have done if he believed he had not been seen.
“Do you have any witness to your presence at home on the eve of the wedding?”
“My children were there—I have a son of nine and a daughter a year younger. I was with them all evening and throughout the night.”
Estrid changed the direction of her questions. “Were you angry when Siward refused your offer to wed Alfreda?”
“Not at the refusal—it was his right as her father to do so—but I did not like the manner of his rejection.”
“What was your acquaintance with Alfreda—did she ever give you any encouragement to ask for her hand in marriage?”
“A few months ago, she came to my cot to bring me a commission from her father for some pots for his household and we got to talking. She was bright and pretty and very affectionate with my children and later stayed to eat a meal with us.” Here his eyes grew slightly misty at the memory and remained so as he continued. “She used to come often after that, always bringing the children a little gift—honey cakes, or a toy of some sort—and would usually stay for a couple of hours. I thought she would make them a good mother and…and she seemed to like my company. When I heard that Siward had denied Sweyn’s suit, I asked her if she would have accepted him if her father had given permission.”
Now there was true pain in his eyes as he told of Alfreda’s response. “She said that she would never have married Sweyn, even if Siward had been willing for her to do so, for he was too much in love with himself to give any of his heart to a woman. She also told me that when she took a husband, she wanted a man who cared for her without restraint.”
His voice broke a little as he went on. “By her manner, I believed she was referring to me, but I was wrong. After Siward declined my offer, she came to the pottery and said she was sorry if I had misunderstood her friendship to be more than it appeared. She enjoyed my company, she said, and was very fond of my children, but that was all.”
“Did that anger you?” Estrid asked.
Redwald looked at her in astonishment. “Why should it? A maid’s heart is her own to keep or to give, and cannot be forced into caring, no matter how much a man may desire it.”
Again, he seemed sincere and, notwithstanding Tilde’s comment that a deep hurt can rouse more anger in a quiet man than in those who are bold, Estrid believed he had told the truth so far.
“Do you have any suspicion as to who might have poisoned her?” she asked.
“I do not,” he declared, “but if I did you would not need to search for him for I would have already killed him.”
**************
“He is a man who would be the truest of friends, but relentless to any he considered an enemy,” Humbert opined as Leofwine led the potter out of the hall.
“Just so,” Estrid replied. “And we must take that into consideration, and be careful that he is not apprised of any we deem a possible suspect lest another murder is committed.”
Osric was interviewed next, and then Gifel. Neither could add anything to what Siward had already told of their visit to his mill on the eve of the wedding and both professed, most vociferously, not to bear any enmity towards either the miller or his daughter.
Their testimony could be encapsulated in Osric’s protestation, “What reason would I have for umbrage towards either of them? Until Alfreda’s death, there has never been an argument between myself and Siward or any other kind of discord, and most certainly none with his daughter.”
Estrid told Ugg to bring Rowena in next, and she entered the hall with her mother, who was promptly sent outside to wait with her husband while their daughter was questioned.
The girl was nervous, but remained sullen throughout the interview, obstinately denying she had any reason to wish Alfreda harm.
“Were you not jealous of her good fortune in finding a husband of such high status?” Estrid asked.
“I would have been if he hadn’t been a Norman,” Rowena answered disdainfully. “If she thought herself too good to wed an Englishman, she asked for whatever ill befell her.”
Estrid then asked about her movements on the eve of the wedding when she had taken the flowers for the wain to Siward’s compound.
“Did you go into the house, or anywhere else in the yard?”
“Nelda and I went into the shed where the cart was, and put the flowers we had brought inside it, ready for the morning, but that is all.”
“And did you bring anything to eat or drink?”
“No. My father and Gifel had a cup of ale with Siward, but the miller provided it.”
After dismissing her, Nelda was brought in and her mother, a small statured woman with a weary expression, accompanied her as had Rowena’s dam. She, too, was sent outside.
Nelda’s attitude was entirely different to that of Rowena. Her already pasty complexion was such an unnatural white that the few blemishes on her skin stood out like angry red insect bites.
She answered Estrid’s questions in a hesitant manner, twisting her hands together in front of her all the while. Her recounting of her visit to Siward’s home was the same as Rowena’s except she said that both of them had used the privy before they left.
“And where was Rowena while you went to the latrine?”
Nelda’s lip began to tremble as she gave a halting answer. “I suppose...I suppose she was in the shed. When I left she was filling a bucket with water from a barrel in the yard to hold the flowers we had brought. When I returned, she was back inside the shed.”
After she was dismissed, Estrid took a moment to ask Judith, who was much of the same age as the two girls, if she thought both of them had been telling the truth.
“Rowena would tell a lie without conscience if it suited her purpose,” Judith proclaimed. “But of Nelda I am not so sure—it all depends on whether she is more frightened of betraying Rowena than she is of being thought guilty by you.”
Estrid laughed. “I think that is an accurate observation of both of them. Well, let us now speak to Maud. I felt sure she had more she could tell about Alfreda’s death on the day we visited her mother’s house. If so, let us hope she is ready to reveal it now.”
CHAPTER 21
When Maud was brought in she was accompanied by both parents. Kendra was filled with indignation at her daughter’s summoning and her husband, a quiet-mannered man with hands gnarled and scarred from his trade, stood silent before the dais with his arm around Maud’s shoulders as his wife made her objection.
“Surely you do not believe my Maud had anything to do with Alfreda’s death,” she said scathingly to Estrid. “She was her intimate friend and loved her, as you well saw on the occasion you came to my home—why would she want
her dead?”
“I do not suspect Maud of anything, as yet,” Estrid responded quietly. “I am, at the moment, gathering facts about Alfreda and since your daughter, as you say, was her close friend, she may be able to assist me with details that others might not know.”
Kendra drew herself up to protest further, but her husband laid his hand on her shoulder. “Estrid Thunorsdohtor’s explanation is a reasonable one, wife. Be still, and let Maud speak.”
Reluctantly Kendra did as she was bidden, but when Estrid explained to her that she and her husband would have to wait outside while their daughter gave evidence, she would again have complained but for her husband taking her by the arm and almost dragging her through the door.
Throughout all of her mother’s remonstrance, Maud had stood silent, her expression full of embarrassment and anxiety, as she waited for Estrid to address her.
“What I have just said to your mother is true,” Estrid told her. “I merely want you to tell me everything you know about Alfreda—what enemies she may have had and who might have been jealous of her. In addition, and since you have already been told, I am sure, that she most likely ingested the poison some hours before she died, I also want to know if you saw her drink or eat anything that neither you nor her family partook of when you went to help her dress on the morning of her wedding.”
Maud answered the last question first. “I took some honey cakes with me that my mother had our servant make,” she said, her mouth trembling slightly, “but there could not have been any poison in them because not only Alfreda ate one, but so did I and the rest of her family.”
“I accept that,” Estrid assured her. “I have already been told about the honey cakes, and do not believe they were tainted. Did you see her eat or drink anything else—something not shared by the others in Siward’s household that morning?”
Maud calmed slightly and paused for a moment as she searched her memory. “I do not think so. Everyone had broken their fast before I arrived, and I cannot remember anything else being served, especially to Alfreda alone.”
“Good—now, on the day that I visited your mother, you seemed to intimate that either Rowena or Nelda may have wished Alfreda harm. Am I correct in that assumption?”
Maud hung her head and nodded. “But I did not know then that she might have been given the poison earlier. I thought it had been put in her cup at the feast, and as both Rowena and Nelda were sitting near them…I thought one of them had placed it there because of Rowena’s jealousy for Alfreda.”
“And what made you think she was jealous?” Estrid asked
The words of Maud’s answer spilled out in a rush. “Because on the day when fitzRanulf first came to the village and saw Alfreda, I was there and so was Rowena. Rowena went to great lengths to attract his attention—smiling and trying to engage him in conversation—but he paid her no heed. He had eyes only for Alfreda. After that, Rowena took herself off in a fit of temper and I overheard her say to Nelda later on, after fitzRanulf had asked for Alfreda’s hand in marriage, that she hated her and hoped the Norman would throw her over.”
After a short pause while she caught her breath, she added in contrite tones, “But since it is probable that Alfreda was poisoned earlier, I now know that I am likely wrong in my accusation and am sorry for it.”
“Your error is understandable,” Estrid told her. “Was anyone else with you while Alfreda was preparing for her marriage?”
“Valerie came in to see Alfreda in her gown, but didn’t stay long.”
“Anyone else?”
“Only Penda’s wife, Helga. She brought some daisies for me to braid into Alfreda’s hair and then went away.”
“And you never left Alfreda’s company for the whole morning before she arrived at the church?” Estrid asked.
“No, I didn’t…oh, wait…except for a few minutes after she was ready and wanted to be left alone to say a prayer asking God to look with favour on her marriage and aid her to bear strong sons for fitzRanulf. But her prayer went unanswered, didn’t it, for she did not even get the chance to conceive…”
As she said this last, Maud broke into tears and Judith came down from the dais, putting her arm around the girl to comfort her. Finally Maud calmed, and Estrid gave her permission to go and join her parents outside the hall.
************
After she was gone, Humbert leaned back in his chair. “The testimony about Rowena’s jealousy might indicate she is culpable. She was in Siward’s compound the night before when she and Nelda went with their fathers to take flowers for the wain and, by her friend’s admission, was alone for a space—while Nelda was in the latrine Rowena could easily have slipped into the other shed where Valerie left the milk and adulterated it without detection. Will you send for her again?”
“Not yet, for I am still not confident she had the opportunity to place the poison in the milk,” Estrid replied. “Or even that it was the milk that was contaminated.”
At the monk’s questioning look, she explained. “Both Rowena’s father and Gifel were standing outside drinking ale with Siward at the time Nelda went to the privy, and I am sure the miller, when I asked him if he had seen anyone near the shed where the milk was standing, would have remembered Rowena doing so while Nelda was absent, for the entrance to the shed would have been in his view.”
“I had forgotten that,” Humbert admitted. “Still, she could have done it if she was stealthy enough.”
“Possibly,” Estrid admitted, “but we cannot be certain. Just as we cannot be sure that Alfreda did not eat or drink something else that had been tainted and was simply not witnessed doing so. And, so, for now, we will wait.”
CHAPTER 22
The hour was now past noon and Estrid and her companions were all hungry and thirsty so, after Humbert had bundled up his scribing tools, they left the hall and went back to the miller’s home in Bearsted for the midday meal.
As they ate, Estrid told Godser and Tilde what had passed during the interviews that had been conducted that morning for she knew they would both honour her promise of confidence and share none of the details with anyone. When she was finished, she asked all of those seated around the table for any observations or opinions they might have formed after hearing what had been said by all of those she had interviewed.
Judith and Humbert both felt Rowena might be the guilty one; the miller and his wife, both reluctant to believe in the culpability of one of their countrywomen, thought that more investigation should be made about the Norman knight that was reputedly enamoured of Alfreda, and Leofwine just shook his head in bemusement, saying he had never had any talent for solving riddles.
When Ugg was asked if he had any conclusions to share, he grunted and said that he believed the mother of the last girl that gave witness was the guilty one.
“Kendra?” Estrid said in surprise, as the others all looked at him astonishment.
“I don’t remember her name,” he said, “but she is a scold, just like my brother’s wife, who could kill a man at twenty paces with the sharp edge of her tongue. A young innocent girl would be easy prey for such as she.”
Even though the subject was a serious one, his answer brought smiles to all of their faces and lifted the gloom that had descended on the small company. As Judith began to help Tilde clear the table, Estrid rose and went outside and Leofwine followed her.
“I do not need any protection out here,” she protested, “and would have you leave me on my own for a space.”
“I was ordered to watch over you,” Leofwine said with a grin, “and would be remiss in my duty if I allowed you to wander about unaccompanied.”
Amused by the mischievousness of his answer, Estrid gave him permission to accompany her, but added a caution. “You may come with me to the mote place,” she said, “but, I warn you, I wish to ponder in silence all that we have learned so, unlike the wife of Ugg’s brother, you will keep your tongue still.”
She softened the stipulation with a smile of h
er own and they walked in silence the short distance to the mote place. It was a large open space in the middle of a circle of trees, in the centre of which was a small hillock on which the official or officials presiding over the meeting would take their place, sometimes under a leather canopy if the weather was foul. The spot was still used for the purpose of an assembly, but not so often as it had been before the Normans had conquered the land, and these meetings were now usually comprised of only local inhabitants, come there to air grievances or a difference of opinion on property rights. A brisk walk farther on would have brought them to Penenden, the punishing place, a stretch of open heathland where trials had been held, and still were, the most famous in recent memory that of the trying of Duke William’s half-brother, Odo, four years after the battle of Senlac, for defrauding the church.
As Estrid seated herself on one of the large boulders at the base of the hillock, Leofwine hunkered down beneath the shade of an oak tree, scanning the area to ensure it was empty of threat. Apart from a dozen or more crows roosting in a nearby tree and a small brown rabbit popping its head up for an instant before disappearing into the long grass, there was nothing else in sight and so he turned his gaze in Estrid’s direction.
She was sitting very still, hands together in front of her, the breeze ruffling the end of her head rail and revealing the dark flaxen braids of her hair, one on each side of her face and a third one at the nape of her neck that dangled to her waist.
How he loved her, Leofwine thought, and always had, from the early days of their youth when his older cousin, Leif, had won her heart and her hand in marriage, and down throughout all the years of their separation—she a widow with a young son living in Rochester, and he engaging in the resistance that so many Englishmen had waged against the Norman conquerors. During all of that time he had never forgotten her, wondering where she was and if she still lived and thrived, her face often before him in his mind’s eye. His love for her had been like a small ember smouldering quietly in his heart since their youth and, when they had suddenly chanced to meet again, it had flamed once more into a bright burning blaze.