by Maureen Ash
His words quieted them and calling to one of the young lads who was standing in the crowd, the reeve gave him the bottle and charged him with the responsibility of going to the outlying houses of all the villagers that did not dwell inside the walls of Maidstone to ensure that none had escaped hearing the call to attend. After that was done, he would himself, he said, visit all of those who lived in the village, but might not now be present in the marketplace, with the bottle for the same purpose.
It was not until late in the evening before Osric was finally able to return to his own house and, when he reached it, he said to his wife that he hoped his efforts would prove worth it.
*************
For Estrid the day passed slowly. She had spent the evening pacing the riverbank alongside the mill, going over and over the details of the plan in her mind to ensure she had not missed some vital step.
After that, she had again not slept well and, by the time morning came, was irritable and restless, wishing she could find a way to distract her mind during the whole day and night that lay before her until the folkmote took place.
Well aware of her mistress’ discomfort, Judith suggested that she give Tilde some instruction in the stitching of orphrey to refresh her memory of the skill she had learned so many years ago, and so be more able to carry out any work Estrid might give her. The miller’s wife, guessing Judith’s intention, added her plea to the young girl’s and together they convinced Estrid to do as they asked.
With Tilde at her side, and Judith looking on, Estrid plied a needle in the complicated stitchery of orphrey on a square of scrap linen, explaining as she did so the most efficient manner in which to hold and twist the thread so it would not fray, especially necessary when it was made of gold instead of wool. As her nimble fingers worked, she felt the calm she always experienced in her workshop descend on her, banishing all of her worries about the possible failure of her plan. She gave Judith a smile of thanks as they all worked, Tilde and Judith attempting to copy Estrid’s deft movements on separate scraps of linen until it was time for the midday meal.
As the miller’s wife went to prepare the victuals, Estrid verbally thanked Judith for devising a way to divert her thoughts. “I will be glad to back in the workshop,” she declared, “and with no more onerous duty facing me than stitching the border on a priest’s maniple.”
*************
At Siward’s mill, Edith was feeling confident that her guilt would not be revealed at tomorrow’s assembly. Estrid Thunorsdohter had said that the potter could not remember all of the customers to whom he had sold those particular bottles. If he did recall that she had bought two, she would simply say she had broken the one she had bought last year, and had purchased the other one a short time ago to replace it. Even if she was not believed, how could it be proved she was lying?
If only that foolish bitch Alfreda had not taken the poison early, instead of waiting, as Edith had instructed her, until she was at Ashford, the days of endless questioning and this recently arranged meeting of the villagers would not have been necessary. But now the danger of her exposure was almost past and soon her fear of discovery would be completely eradicated.
The days since Alfreda’s death had been a precarious time both for herself and Abetot. Their aim had been for Alfreda to die at Ashford so that no one would suspect herself or, in turn, that she was complicit with the knight, who would have ensured he was absent from the manor house at the time of her death. Neither of them would have been deemed of playing a part in killing her, and this inquisition would never have taken place.
She though back over the last few weeks to the first time she had met the Norman knight. She had been at Siward’s mill when fitzRanulf had come to ask for Alfreda’s hand in marriage and Abetot had been with him. Even then, she had recognized the resentment in his face for the man who, although he claimed to be a friend was, in truth, Abetot’s lord and master. It had not been long before she was aware that he was as fully cognizant of her own discontent, and had learned the reason for it through Alfreda telling him and fitzRanulf that her brother, Beorn, had been cast out of Harold’s household.
On a day that Alfreda was at the mill her brother oversaw for their father, fitzRanulf and come to spend some time with her and Abetot had been in his company. While the pair of lovers went for a walk through the village, and Harold was busy in the mill, the grim-faced knight had approached her. His words had been few, but direct.
“I have been told you need money for your brother,” he had said bluntly. “Is that true?”
“It is,” she had replied.
“And what would you do to get it?” he had asked.
“Anything,” she told him.
“Even murder?”
His challenge took her breath away, but she had kept herself steady and looked directly in his eyes as she nodded.
After that it had been simple to arrange. He had said he wished Alfreda dead, but not until after she had gone to Ashford. “Poisoning would be the simplest way,” he had added. “Do you know where to procure a toxin?”
“I do,” she had said. “I can make it myself.”
“And how will it be administered?”
She had only needed to consider her response for one moment. “It can be easily done, for I know of a ruse that will convince her to take it herself, and willingly.”
She had never asked the knight why he wanted Alfreda dead and, in truth, she did not care. He had given her the money she needed without hesitation for he knew she was aware that if she failed him, her life would be forfeit.
And, if Alfreda had obeyed the directions that Edith had given her to take the mixture just before she bedded her husband at Ashford, all should have worked as planned. The girl had leapt at the suggestion of a potion that Edith told her she could obtain from a witch that lived in the woods beyond Bearsted. “I know of at least two other women who thought they were barren, or could only produce female children, that it has helped,” Edith had lied. “After taking the potion, they immediately became gravid and each now has a fine son.”
Alfreda had immediately asked her to get some and had even given her the two shillings Edith told her it would cost. Her only reservation had been, when Edith gave it to her, had been how she would drink it without fitzRanulf finding out she had done so.
“Turstin is very eager for our bedding,” she had confided blushingly when the bottle was handed to her. “I hope, once we get to Ashford, there will be an opportunity to take it, for I think he would be very angry if he learned that I had consulted a witch, so I must do it in secret.”
“You will find a way,” Edith assured her. “It only takes a moment to pour it in a cup of ale or wine when he is turned away, or has gone to the privy.”
And Edith had thought no more of it until Alfreda collapsed at the wedding feast. Too late, she realised the girl had taken the potion early to avoid the difficulty of doing so at Ashford without her husband’s knowledge.
Also, she had never dreamed that the girl would have kept in her possession the bottle with some dregs of poison still inside. If she had believed that to be so, she would have made sure to find and dispose of it, but since she had assumed that Alfreda had thrown it away, probably in the midden, she had never thought of the possibility it would be discovered. The damaging consequences of her failure to consider that possibility had almost brought about her downfall.
Well, all that was in the past now. The fear that she would be suspected had never come to fruition, and Estrid had said herself that it was very unlikely that the poisoner would ever be identified.
With a light heart she went to serve the pottage they would all eat for the evening meal; tomorrow would see her produce the bottle she had bought for Harold the year before and all danger would be past.
*************
At Ashford, Abetot was feeling just as sanguine as Edith. The previous day, after receiving a message from the English sempstress, FitzHaimo had told them that the news it
contained had not been encouraging.
“She fears she has failed in discovering who killed your wife, fitzRanulf,” he had said in Abetot’s presence, “and has asked that I advise the king and request his permission for her to return to Rochester, which I will do immediately. I have sent back to her a directive that she wait two days to give enough time to receive Rufus’ answer and then I will go to Maidstone and make his wishes known to her, as well as all of the villagers, who I have instructed that she order the reeve to assemble on that day and await my coming.”
“I knew she would not succeed,” fitzRanulf declared. “As I said, Rufus should have imposed the fine instead. That might have gained more information, and certainly more quickly, than an investigation led by a woman.”
“You may be right, Turstin,” fitzHaimo admitted, this time without any word of reproach for the hot words the knight had used in speaking of the king’s decision. “And it is possible Rufus will now impose the levy. We will have to wait for his reply to learn if that is to be done.”
Abetot lifted his wine cup and drank in secret celebration of the arrangements. Now he had only two more days to wait before he could go to Dover and take ship with Evrecy to sail to Normandy. He glanced at fitzRanulf. What a simpleton, he thought. Brave in battle he might be, but he had also proved himself a fool, and it would be a cause for rejoicing to see the last of him.
CHAPTER 34
The next morning dawned with an overcast sky and the threat of a thunderstorm. The atmosphere was stifling and uncomfortable as the villagers trudged out from Maidstone to walk to Bearsted, and there were many who cursed under their breath at the need for the journey. Osric had gone ahead and was the first to arrive at the place of assembly, taking up a stance beside the hillock in the middle of the open space to ensure that all of the villagers were in attendance. By the time it neared midday, everyone was there, including Redwald the potter, and Siward and his family.
As the sun—barely perceptible above the hazy clouds—reached its zenith, Estrid mounted her horse and rode out from Godser’s mill towards the mote place, having first told Judith that she was not to accompany her, but to follow on foot with Godser and Tilde and stay with them amongst the Maidstone villagers. The girl made an attempt to protest, but Estrid forestalled her.
“I will hear no argument from you, Judith. Abetot will not be taken easily and I do not want you anywhere close to him. In this you will obey me or wait here at the mill until it is all over.”
Reluctantly the young girl submitted and Estrid was relieved. She had no illusions about the danger to her own safety, and was grateful for the scramseax at her belt that Gytha had insisted she bring, but she was not prepared to risk Judith’s wellbeing. After she had surreptitiously loosened the string at the top of her pouch so the dagger could be more easily grasped, she urged her horse forward with Humbert beside her and Leofwine and Ugg following behind. Although her destination was but a short distance away, she had decided they would all go on horseback so as to give cognisance of their authority.
When she rode into the area, she went straight to the hillock and, after dismounting, gave the reins of her horse to Leofwine and strode to the top of the shallow rise. Humbert stayed at the base of the mound and, on top of the very stone on which Estrid had sat a short time before when she and Leofwine had come there alone, laid the box that contained his scribing tools. After taking out his writing implements, he then placed the box on the ground and sat on it, laid some pieces of parchment on the flat top of the stone alongside a pot of ink and a quill, and stowed his extra quills and the little sharp knife with which he pared them in an open-necked leather pouch on his belt. The two English soldiers, after securing the horses at the edge of the clearing, stood one on each side of the monk, closely surveying the disgruntled crowd in front of them.
Estrid held up her hand for silence and, once it had fallen, addressed the villagers, keeping a watchful eye on the track that led into the mote place and from where, if they had not been delayed, fitzHaimo and his companions would soon arrive.
“As Osric has informed you, I am come here today to make one final effort to apprehend the person that murdered Siward’s daughter. The poison that she was given was contained in a bottle which was found in her home, and of which a duplicate has been shown to you by the reeve. It was one of many purchased from Redwald. If anyone that bought such a bottle from the potter cannot now produce it, that person will be deemed suspect of using it to hold the poison unless he or she can provide witness to the reason for their lack.”
Although she was merely confirming the information Osric had already given to the villagers, she let her voice ring out slowly and clearly to fix their attention on the next pronouncement she would make so they would be aware that fitzHaimo would soon arrive.
“The king has been informed of this assembly and has sent his representative, Lord Robert fitzHaimo, to attend and, if the outcome is not successful, to apprise you of what steps will next be taken in the matter.”
Murmurs of surprise at this fresh news immediately broke out among the villagers, but quickly stilled as Estrid raised her hand for silence and then ordered any who had lost or broken the bottle they had brought from Redwald to step forward and bring any witness they may have to the act.
Although the bottles had all been used by men, they had mainly been bought by women on behalf of a husband, son or brother and, at Estrid’s command, three females stepped forward, two in the company of a man, and one with another, and older, woman.
At a gesture from Estrid for them to proceed, they spoke in turn; the first proclaimed that the man beside her was her husband and he had lost the one she bought for him when it fell into the river in the winter of last year and that she herself had been witness to the loss; the second said that the man with her was her brother and that he had accidentally dropped the one she had purchased the previous year onto the blade of his plough and it had shattered. She then added that, if required, he could bring two men from the village that saw the breakage occur. Estrid accepted their explanations and turned to the last pair, the younger woman accompanied by an older female.
“I broke the bottle myself,” the young one explained, “only at the neck, but it could no longer be stoppered and was not usable, so I discarded it. My husband died last winter from a fever and cannot come forward to give witness, but his mother is with me and was there when I damaged the bottle by knocking it the against the handle of a pail I was carrying and has come in his stead.”
Estrid thanked them all and then, after asking them to step aside, instructed all of the other villagers who had bought bottles to form a queue and, one by one, show them to Redwald, who was standing a few paces in front, and to one side of Humbert, at the base of the hillock.
Slowly the villagers all took their places and quickly Estrid counted them up. She now had to consider the number of both batches, for some of the villagers would bring those they had bought from Redwald last year. That made a total of forty bottles—twenty in each batch—one of this number he told her he had kept for his own use and one had been given to Estrid for her to hand over to Osric to display as an example, two remained unsold on the shelf at his pottery and three had claimed to have been either broken or lost by those who had stepped forward. That left thirty-three and out of those, the one that had contained the poison was in her scrip, so she hoped there would be thirty-two villagers in the queue, including Edith. She held her breath as she counted—and let it out again as she came to the number she hoped for, thirty-two.
Edith was about two-thirds of the way along the line of villagers, her husband standing at Siward’s side at the front of the crowd of villagers, the rest of the family grouped behind them. The miller was watching the proceedings with a scornful scowl on his face, legs apart and arms akimbo, with Harold adopting a similar stance beside him.
As Redwald began to examine the bottles, and Humbert was writing down the names of each person who presented theirs as t
he potter called them out, there was the sound of hoof-beats along the track and fitzHaimo came into view, accompanied by fitzRanulf and Abetot. Behind them were four men-at-arms with king’s badges on their leather tunics. These latter were as Estrid had expected, for fitzHaimo had told her in his last message that he would ask the king to send soldiers to accompany him under the guise of needing them to keep order if the villagers should prove unruly during the folkmote, but in reality to take Abetot into custody when, it was hoped, Edith was proved guilty and denounced him.
With relief, Estrid held up her hand for the queue of villagers to come to a halt while she gave fitzHaimo a respectful greeting. When he reached the hillock he dismounted and directed all of those with him, including the men-at-arms, to do the same and leave their horses at the edge of the clearing with those that Estrid and her companions had ridden. Then he strode up the hillock to where she was standing and looked out over the assembly.
“As you see, lord, I am making one last attempt to try and determine who it was that murdered Alfreda Siwardsdohter before you impart to us the king’s directive as to what will now be done with regard to the crime,” she said to him. “Will it please you to wait until it is finished?”
“Of course,” fitzHaimo replied, taking up a position beside her, then gesturing for fitzRanulf and Abetot to stand on one side at the base of the hillock and the soldiers to spread out behind them. This the men-at-arms did, being careful to stand where they could all keep Abetot in close view, for they had been apprised of the true reason they were there by Rufus. Two stood behind fitzRanulf and Abetot on the left-hand side of the hillock and the other pair took up a stance on the right so as to prevent access to the horses tethered a few yards away.