Without a Trace

by Mel Starr

  “If a man holds a dagger to your throat and commands silence,” I said, “most folk will obey.”

  Sir Aymer placed the brooch in his purse, then studied the disturbed leaves at our feet. They were so little upset that had I not seen the brooch I would not have noticed the slight upheaval.

  I turned my eyes to the direction I assumed the lady had been taken. The trees thinned, and through dappled sunlight I saw a field planted to oats some fifty paces distant.

  Our party set off for the oat field. We walked the near edge of the field in both directions but saw no footprints in the earth. Wherever Lady Philippa was taken it did not require that she walk through an oat field.

  The field ended less than a hundred paces to the north. I followed the edge of the plot to where, at a square corner, it turned to the west. Two hundred paces beyond the corner the field ended at a road. The road north to Black Bourton and Alvescot.

  Had Lady Philippa come this way? If so, was she brought here against her will, or of her own volition? Against her will, I felt certain. Would a lady stumble through shrubbery and thorns and a wood of her own choice? If so, why? To escape a husband? Surely there would be less arduous ways to flee a spouse. But perhaps not.

  Alert to the chase now, our party hastened along the edge of the oat field until we came to the road. From the crest of the hill where we had left our beasts we had traveled perhaps half a mile through forest and undergrowth. Lady Philippa’s captors would not lead her to a road except they intended to travel it. And likely not afoot.

  The road was dry, dusty, and well used. The marks of horses’ hooves, men’s feet, both bare and shod, and cart tracks were faint in the dust. There was no way to discern which of the impressions in the road had been made by Lady Philippa and her captors.

  “We must travel the road north to Black Bourton,” I said. “Perhaps some folk there have seen men traveling with a lady.” To Arthur and Uctred I said, “Wait here and keep your eyes open. We will retrace our steps to the horses, then return by the Clanfield road. If any man passes whilst we are away, ask him of his business and whether he has seen two women, a lady and her maidservant, in the company of men.”

  We were not seeking to follow an obscure track, so our return to the Clanfield road and our beasts required less than half the time it had taken us to first traverse the forest and scrubland. Sir Aymer mounted and spurred his palfrey to a trot, we others did likewise to keep up, and shortly Arthur and Uctred came into view.

  No man, Arthur said, had passed while he and Uctred awaited our return. The two grooms mounted their beasts and again Sir Aymer set off at a trot, this time for Black Bourton. ’Twas but a mile to the village.

  As in Bampton, men and their wives and children were at work mowing meadows and spreading the cut hay evenly. No man, or woman, was likely to journey through the village unseen. When strangers pass, inhabitants of such places are likely to lean upon their scythes and rakes and watch until the travelers are out of sight.

  I called our party to a halt before a band of women employed upon turning the new-cut hay. The meadow was quite large, a yardland at least. Large enough that I thought it likely the women had been at the same work the day before. I dismounted and approached the meadow. Sir Aymer and Lord Gilbert followed. The women had stopped their work when they saw us approach on the road. Now they recognized Lord Gilbert and curtsied.

  “Aye,” the women agreed. Two strange men upon a cart had passed through Black Bourton the previous day, shortly after the noon Angelus sounded. No women were seen, but the contents of the cart were covered. A heavy cloth of coarse woven hemp was fastened over the cart bed. A load of wool being taken to market, one woman guessed. To this the others agreed.

  I looked from Sir Aymer to Lord Gilbert. “Easy enough to hide Lady Philippa and her maid in the bed of a cart,” Lord Gilbert said. Then, to the haymakers, “Which road did this cart take from here? To Bampton or to Alvescot or Shilton?”

  “To Shilton,” a woman replied.

  “Of course,” Lord Gilbert muttered. “The rogues would not take their captive past Bampton Castle and pass right under my nose. We shall return to the castle for our dinner, then visit Shilton and follow that cart. Are you yet determined to return to Coleshill this day?” he said to Sir Aymer. “Or will you come with me and Sir Hugh to Shilton?”

  Sir Aymer did not immediately reply. “I still think the scoundrels will demand a ransom of me,” he eventually pronounced. “I must be in Coleshill, where they will surely send their demand. I trust you and your bailiff to see to matters here. I will hold to my original intent and return to Coleshill after dinner.”

  He did so, leaving Giles, Maurice, and Brom. Lord Gilbert, I, Arthur, and Uctred, the squire, and the two grooms rode with Sir Aymer as far as Cowleys Corner. John again rode postilion ahead of the empty wagon. The heavy conveyance would slow their journey. Sir Aymer would be fortunate to reach Coleshill before dark.

  The haymakers had returned to their work from their dinner when we again passed Black Bourton. There and at Shilton, men were busy raising a pile of sticks and logs for the Midsummer’s Eve fire the next day.

  The fellows at work in Shilton tugged forelocks when they recognized Lord Gilbert. Two had seen a cart pass the village the day before, but had been some distance from it and could not remember if it was covered or not, or if two men rode upon it, or one.

  Lord Gilbert thanked these tenants and bade them return to their work. He stood in the road, gazing north toward Burford.

  “Shall we ride on?” I said.

  “To what purpose?” Lord Gilbert replied. “Carts passing through Burford will be as thick as boats passing under London Bridge.”

  He was right. Burford is a town of perhaps near one thousand souls. Carts by the dozen, loaded with Cotswold wool, some of the finest in the realm, will pass through the town this time of year. And most will be covered to protect their valuable cargoes.

  “Perhaps the cart we seek turned aside at Alvescot, or passed through Brize Norton,” I said.

  “Mayhap. But then ’twould likely enter Witney, and there are as many carts and carters upon Witney streets as throng those of Burford. To seek one cart there of many would be a fool’s errand.”

  The afternoon sun warmed me as we made our way back to Bampton. I drew my palfrey beside Giles and asked of Sir Aymer and Lady Philippa. Lord Gilbert heard and also drew alongside the squire. The youth looked to Lord Gilbert and answered my questions in monosyllables. I felt sure that Giles might say more if out of Lord Gilbert’s hearing, although why this might be so, and whether or not his words might illuminate the circumstances around Lady Philippa’s disappearance, I could not guess.

  Kate prepared a supper of stewed herrings with barley loaves. Adela was capable of preparing a meal of stewed herrings but Kate has told me that she is accustomed to being mistress of her own house and finds it now difficult to change. So she will prepare my supper, with only such aid from Adela as is needful. The lass may do the laundry, that Kate is quite willing to forgo, and sweep the flags, change the rushes, and care for the hens.

  Bessie needed no encouragement to consume a wedge of barley loaf, and the herrings seemed to please her. John is beginning to take notice of his parents’ meals and seems enthusiastic about the discovery. I am always pleased to see my children eat heartily. Bessie is now nearly past the age when infants die of fevers and such, but John, only a year old, is yet to pass through the fearful age.

  As we ate I told Kate and her father of what had been learned this day concerning the missing lady. And of what had not been learned. My father-in-law, Robert Caxton, had been a stationer in Oxford until declining custom due to the deaths of so many scholars because of plague, and the theft of some of his books and gatherings of parchment, drove him out of business. His poverty had reduced the man to naught but skin and bones when I persuaded him to remove to Bampton and live with us in Galen House.

  “Is Sir Aymer wealthy?” Caxton asked
.

  “As wealthy as any other knight, I suppose.”

  “So the men who took his wife might expect more than a few pounds for her return?”

  “Probably. And I heard no mention of children. Sir Aymer and his lady were traveling from Coleshill to his manor of Epwell. They would not likely leave their children behind, but none accompanied them.”

  “A knight will surely wish for an heir,” Caxton said. “Without a wife such an acquisition is most difficult.” He chuckled at his wit and nearly choked upon a fragment of barley loaf.

  Chapter 3

  In the past, when required to investigate dark matters, I have learned I am likely to discover the most from those who least wish to speak to me. Giles Stonor seemed reluctant to speak when we rode together from Alvescot, especially when Lord Gilbert rode with us. I resolved to seek the youth.

  I broke my fast with the stale remnant of a barley loaf, consumed a cup of ale, kissed my Kate, and set off for Bampton Castle.

  Giles was at the marshalsea, seeing to his palfrey which, he said, had seemed to favor its foremost right hoof as we neared Bampton the previous day. He and Lord Gilbert’s farrier were examining the suspect hoof when I entered the stable.

  “Sure an’ there’s a stone caught between the shoe and the beast’s hoof,” the farrier said, and went to work at the offending pebble with a trimming knife. Giles stood, stretched, and spoke.

  “I’ve been expecting you.”

  “Oh? Why so?”

  “You asked yesterday of matters of which I did not wish to speak. I still don’t, but I think you are not a man to be put off.”

  “Why will you speak now but not yesterday?”

  “I’d rather Lord Gilbert did not know some things about his friend, Sir Aymer.”

  “What things?”

  “You ask and I’ll reply. If you do not ask I’ll assume you do not consider the unspoken issue of importance.”

  “Very well. Sir Aymer placed John in charge of his wife’s wagon. He knew the man to be frail and nearly deaf and blind. Why would he do so?”

  “Did you not ask Sir Aymer?”

  “He said the man had served his father and grandfather before him and he did not wish to put him away. The old man desired to be of service for his keep, and Sir Aymer’s usual ostler is ill. Do you question this?”

  “Nay. I’ve heard Sir Aymer speak of John in such words. But ’twas Lady Philippa who chose John to guide her wagon. He was devoted to her.”

  “Sir Aymer has no children?”

  “None. He was wed to Lady Alyce nine years, before plague took her. She was barren, and Lady Philippa also.”

  “Does this trouble Sir Aymer?”

  “Trouble? Hah! A stronger word might be fair. He is bitter about his marriages. I heard him tell Lady Philippa that had he known she could not bear he’d not have wed her. Should have bedded her before the marriage, he said. Then, if she was found with child he would have known she was fertile.”

  “Lady Philippa is not a happy wife?”

  “Nay, I think not. But she bears her humiliation well, I think.”

  “Does she bear more than humiliation?” I asked.

  “What is your meaning?”

  “Did Sir Aymer mistreat her in his wrath?”

  “When Sir Aymer has too much wine his words might become deeds.”

  “Have you ever witnessed such deeds?”

  “Aye, once. ’Twas in the hall, after dinner. Sir Aymer had too much hypocras, I believe. I saw him speaking privily to Lady Philippa, and when she replied he seized her and threw her from her chair.”

  “Does he commonly consume too much wine?”

  “No more than most, I suppose.”

  “Does he ill-use Lady Philippa at other times as well?”

  “Not that I’ve seen.”

  “What of things you’ve heard of, but have not seen?”

  “Shortly after Twelfth Night Lady Philippa kept to her chamber for a fortnight. We thought ’twas perhaps because she was with child and felt ill.”

  “Not so?” I asked.

  “Nay. Milicent told me Sir Aymer had blackened her eye.”

  “Who is Milicent?”

  “Her maid.”

  “Does Lady Philippa take pleasure in the company of other men?”

  “Pleasure? She has not been unfaithful to Sir Aymer if that’s your meaning. Not that I know or have ever heard of.”

  “Would you have known? Does the lady confide in any of Coleshill’s residents?”

  “Milicent.”

  “Would Milicent relate what Lady Philippa said or did, to you?”

  The squire blushed faintly. I had struck a nerve.

  “Does Milicent speak of these private matters to others of Sir Aymer’s household, or only you?”

  The blush deepened. “Only me, so far as I know.”

  “You have a particular friendship with the maid?”

  The blush continued. The squire did not reply.

  “Was… is Milicent a pert lass?”

  “Aye, she… she is,” Giles stammered.

  Very well. I needed to ask no further questions on that subject, then.

  “Has Milicent ever suggested that Lady Philippa is so unhappy that she would flee?”

  “Nay. Where would she go? Her father was pleased with the match. He arranged it, and it cost him a few shillings, also.”

  “Lady Philippa came to Sir Aymer with a large dowry?”

  “She did.”

  “Hmmm. If Sir Aymer demanded an annulment because Lady Philippa is barren he would have to return the dowry to her father.”

  “Aye,” the squire replied. “That’s likely why those who’ve served Sir Aymer longer than I say he was not much sorrowful when Lady Alyce was taken with plague four years past.”

  “He was then free to wed another who might provide an heir?”

  “Aye, but so far, not so.”

  “As to where Lady Philippa would go if she fled Coleshill, has she ever confided in Milicent about other suitors, before she wed Sir Aymer?”

  “Aye. You’ve never met Lady Philippa?”

  “Never.”

  “A beauty she was… is. Often speaks to Milicent of lads who’ve sought her hand.”

  “Any names you remember?”

  “One. She’d have wed Martyn de Wenlock.”

  “Why did she not? Her father?”

  “Aye. Her father would not permit it. Not after Sir Aymer showed interest.”

  “Who is Martyn de Wenlock?”

  “A scholar. He studies at some college in Oxford. I don’t know which.”

  “What father would wish to see a daughter wed to a penniless scholar, eh?” I was once a penniless scholar, and understand the disagreeable condition. “Has Milicent spoken of Lady Philippa recently recalling the student?”

  “Aye. Not a fortnight past. As Sir Ayner became more unhappy with her she spoke of de Wenlock more often. So Milicent said.”

  “Thank you. To another matter: as you traveled from Coleshill with Sir Aymer and his lady, did you see any suspicious men about? We have gone over this ground already, but think upon it again. Were there others on the road? Perhaps men who appeared, then were gone, and then were seen again?”

  “I don’t recall any such. There were folk upon the road, but most were afoot. I saw but one cart, as I remember.”

  “Where? Was it covered?”

  “Just before we came to Clanfield. It wasn’t covered. ’Twas empty, as I could see from horseback, but there was a hempen cloth folded in the bed. The carters had stopped at the side of the road where a stream flows near the road. One was holding a leather bucket to their beast to have water. The other was garbed as a friar, or clerk.”

  “Was this near to Radcot Bridge?”

  “Halfway from there to Clanfield, I’d say.”

  “Did these carters then follow Sir Aymer’s party to Clanfield?”

  “I paid no attention. I suppose so. They were travel
ing the same direction.”

  “It seems odd,” I said, “that they would not catch you and pass by, having an unladen cart, whereas you had to travel slowly because of Lady Philippa’s heavy wagon.”

  Giles pursed his lips and considered this suggestion. “We did make slow going, that’s true. Three runcies were just enough to surmount the hills we came to. Perhaps the fellows rested their beast before they traveled on.”

  “Aye, perhaps.”

  I released the squire and considered what I had learned from him. Sir Aymer was unhappy with his wife. She had produced no heir. Lady Philippa was unhappy for the humiliation of her barren state. And when drunk Sir Aymer mistreated his wife. Perhaps at other times, as well. The lady often recalled fondly a former suitor. Would she have plotted to abscond with him? Would the scholar have seized her against her will? Would Sir Aymer have sought his wife’s death so to be free to seek a third wife and the heirs his first two wives had not provided?

  What of the unladen cart Giles saw beside the road south of Clanfield? Was it coincidence that the women hay-rakers of Black Bourton saw a cart pass their village about the time Lady Philippa vanished? The cart they saw was covered, whereas the cart Giles saw was not. But a hempen cloth was folded in the bed.

  I returned to Galen House for my dinner. Kate and Adela had prepared meselade. As I approached my door I noticed some men raising a pile of branches and limbs in the Bishop of Exeter’s meadow, beyond St. Beornwald’s Church, for the Midsummer’s Eve fire. I lingered to watch them, and waved my hand in greeting when one glanced my way.

  If, as I suspected, Lady Philippa had been the target of felons – mayhap the two carters along the road – the bailiff of Clanfield Manor might know of disreputable characters within his bailiwick. I resolved to seek him. His reputation had traveled the few miles from his manor to mine, so I was unsure of how much aid the fellow might provide. Indeed, he was known for corruption and odious dealings with his tenants and villeins. He could get away with such behavior because the lord of Clanfield lived most months upon another of his estates, and Clanfield’s bailiff was resolute in collecting fees, rents, and fines for his master. That he kept a portion for himself did not, apparently, trouble the lord of Clanfield so long as the manor was profitable to him.