Without a Trace

by Mel Starr

  “Nay. We traveled to Steventon Priory to seek a bed, as you suggested. It’s not much of a priory. More like a grange. Only two monks and a few lay brothers. We arose this morning, took a loaf an’ ale, an’ set out for ’ome, thinkin’ the task was an easy one.

  “We’d traveled no more than a mile when a dozen or so mounted men accosted us. Some come out of a copse before us, the others was behind so we couldn’t retreat.”

  “We don’t look so good,” Uctred joined the conversation, “but there’s more’n a few of them fellows sore an’ cut up as well.”

  “They knew of the letter,” Arthur said. “The leader – must’ve been, cause ’e stood aside an’ let t’others ’ave sport with us – said, ‘’Ere’s your lord’s reply.’”

  “They made no attempt to slay you there, upon the road?”

  “Nay. Only one or two drew daggers, an’ them only after I’d drawn me own. Just fists an’ clubs.”

  “What of your ear?” I said to Uctred.

  He raised a hand to the lacerated appendage and tenderly touched it as if to assure himself it was yet at least partially attached to his skull.

  “Some knave with a club took aim at me ’ead,” he said. “I seen the blow comin’ but couldn’t dodge fast enough – it just caught me ear. It would’ve laid me out on the road for sure, if I ’adn’t ducked.”

  The clamor surrounding Arthur and Uctred was heard in the solar. Lord Gilbert opened the upper door, peered out, saw his pages and grooms clotted together just inside the gatehouse, then apparently saw Arthur and Uctred. Even from that distance he could see that all was not well.

  Lord Gilbert plunged down the stone steps from solar to castle yard growing more red-faced with each step. By the time he reached the group clustered about Arthur and Uctred his visage glowed, and his brows had narrowed to a scowl. He guessed what had happened.

  “Is this how Sir John replies to my letter?” he said to me.

  “It seems so. They were set upon this morning, after spending the night at Steventon Priory.”

  Lord Gilbert required Arthur and Uctred to tell him what they had already told me. He listened, hands on hips, jaw set. Sir John Willoughby, I thought, had got himself some trouble. Even a cousin who was a judge of the King’s Eyre could not save him from the wrath of the Third Baron Talbot.

  When Arthur and Uctred had told this tale for the second time, Lord Gilbert turned to me, his eyes flashing.

  “Tomorrow we will visit Sir John and teach him the error of his ways. A company of my household knights and grooms will change his behavior.”

  “You intend to lead this band?” I said.

  “Aye. No man deals so with my retainers.”

  “It might be best if you did not.”

  “Oh?” Lord Gilbert lifted an eyebrow. “Why so?”

  “When you lead men into battle do you throw your entire force into combat when it is first joined, or do you hold back men as a reserve in case some part of your line requires support?”

  “Ah, I take your point. You wish for me to be the reserve, to be called upon only if needed.”

  “Just so. We may allow Sir John a day or two to believe himself safe from your wrath, then on Wednesday I will travel to Didcot with some of your household knights and grooms.”

  Arthur and Uctred, although sore and bruised, would not hear of remaining at Bampton on Wednesday morning. Uctred’s ear was held firmly to the side of his head by four stitches and a length of linen wrapped tight. ’Twas the second time I had been required to fix a torn ear back to its proper place. One becomes more skilled with practice. Perhaps Uctred’s ear will not project from his head like a banner in the breeze. The gristle of an ear is difficult to pierce, but Uctred bore the sting well.

  Sir Ralph Alward, Sir Jaket Bek, and Sir Humphrey Mauduyt rode with me Wednesday morning as we led seven of Lord Gilbert’s grooms across the castle drawbridge. The knights carried swords, we others but daggers. I was uncertain of the assistance that Arthur and Uctred could offer if we became involved in a brawl, and the realization came to me that Arthur was no longer a young man. As for Uctred, he had seemed aged as long as I had known him. As if he had never been a young man.

  Chapter 13

  The way to Didcot led past pleasant fields and forests. We crossed the Thames at Newbridge and approached Didcot before noon. Men at work in the fields watched guardedly as we passed, seemingly ready to abandon hoes and rakes and run toward the nearest wood if we showed interest in them. Such is the state of the realm that strangers are viewed with mistrust, and armed strangers with fear.

  The inn at Didcot did not expect eleven hungry men at the tables for dinner. The innkeeper had only a kettle of boiled stockfish and maslin loaves, which, I assume, was enough to feed his customary patrons. He promised to put another kettle to the fire, and provided ale while we waited. By the time the meal was done most of our company had consumed not enough fish and too much ale. I worried about our performance if conflict lay before us.

  It did, but not before enough time had passed that an excess of watered ale no longer dulled a man’s faculties.

  Arthur and Uctred knew the way to Sir John Willoughby’s manor, Coscote, a mile south of Didcot. Perhaps a hundred souls live in Didcot, even fewer in Coscote. There are many empty dwellings in both villages. Plague has struck hard. A knight who has seen rents collapse as his tenants die or move to another manor might throw in his lot with a felon to replace his lost income.

  Sir John’s manor house was a substantial structure in need of repair. The oiled skin of a window on the upper storey was torn, and the daub was chipped away in several places. Two barns and a stable occupied the space behind the house, but the thatching of one of the barns was so rotted that anything stored therein would soon become damp and moldy. Between the barns was a dovecote, the roof of which was nearly as dilapidated as the barn.

  Several men of the village saw us approach, and one took to his heels and disappeared behind the manor house. Sir John would be expecting us.

  Some who watched as we drew near were close enough to our path that they could be recognized had Arthur or Uctred seen them before. When accosted, perhaps. I leaned toward Arthur and told him to keep a sharp eye for any man who might have been among those who waylaid them upon the road. He nodded, as did Uctred, who overheard the conversation.

  There was no rail before Sir John’s house where we might tie our beasts. Apparently if men arrived mounted they knew to guide their horses to the stable. I was concerned that Arthur and Uctred were in no fit condition for a brawl, if such was in our near future, so I left them and one other groom with the beasts, then with the three knights and four grooms approached the manor house door.

  I needed to smite the door but once and it opened. A groom swung it wide, saw four men before him garbed as gentlemen, and tugged a forelock.

  “We seek Sir John Willoughby,” I said in my sternest voice.

  “Please enter,” the fellow said, and swept a hand toward the hall as an invitation. “Who shall I say desires to see Sir John?”

  “I am Sir Hugh de Singleton, bailiff to Lord Gilbert Talbot at Bampton, and these are three of his knights.”

  The groom’s eyes darted from me to the knights, then dropped to the swords which hung from their belts.

  “Please wait here. I will find Sir John.” As if we would think he did not know his master’s whereabouts.

  Sir John seemed in no hurry to greet us. The groom disappeared and we stood awaiting Sir John, resting weight upon one foot, then another, for half an hour or more. I wondered what pressing business delayed the knight. I discovered soon enough.

  An open door led from the hall to a screens passage and then a buttery and pantlery. From the door I heard voices. At first I thought this must be the groom returning with his master. Not so. Many more than two voices came to my ears. A moment later the hall entrance door banged open. I turned with a start at the unexpected sound and saw a well-dressed man garbed i
n a fine blue cotehardie, grey tunic, and pale chauces standing arms akimbo in the opening. Another movement caught my eye. Two men stood shoulder to shoulder in the screens passage. Each held a dagger. Behind them I saw more faces. I did not take time to count. Either faces or daggers.

  “What does Lord Gilbert mean,” the gentleman in the entrance doorway said, “sending armed men to Coscote?”

  I looked to the faces behind the speaker. None of these were Arthur or Uctred. Had they been assaulted again? Nay, they would have cried out a warning.

  “You are Sir John Willoughby?” I asked.

  “Aye. Lord of this manor and ready to defend it.”

  “Why should it need defense?”

  The question seemed to take Sir John by surprise.

  “Uh… there are evil men about. These are troubled times,” he finally said.

  “Indeed. Three days past two of Lord Gilbert’s grooms delivered a letter to you. They were set upon next day as they returned to Bampton. They are outside your door at this moment, tending to our beasts. Likely you saw them there. Lord Gilbert requires of you two things: a reply to his letter, and punishment of the men who attacked his grooms.”

  “I cannot assist Lord Gilbert in either matter,” Sir John said, and folded his arms.

  At that moment I heard an incomprehensible shout through the open door. I and all others. This bellow was immediately followed by another, and then the constant roar of men in combat.

  No man took heed of any other as we all pushed through the door, to the toft, to learn what the uproar was about.

  Two men rolled about in the dust, kicking, shouting, attempting to do each other harm. One of these was Uctred. From the corner of my eye I saw Arthur. His arms were wrapped tight about a man I did not recognize. One of Sir John’s grooms, I thought. The fellow struggled, seemingly intent upon joining the fray, but in Arthur’s grip he could as well have been bound to a gatepost with hempen cords.

  Sir John shouted that the combatants must cease the brawl. He might as well have commanded the wind to cease. Uctred and his foe regarded no man but the other.

  The struggle did, however, end only moments later. Uctred found space to draw back his fist and deliver a blow to the other fellow’s chin. A tooth popped free of the man’s mouth, blood gushed from his lip, and he collapsed limp upon the dirt. Uctred stumbled to his feet and as he did Sir John turned to a retainer and shouted, “Seize him.”

  Arthur and I reacted to these words at the same instant. He shoved the man in his grasp to the ground and drew his dagger. My dagger was also in my hand, and together we jumped to Uctred’s aid. Lord Gilbert’s knights saw this and a heartbeat later three swords were unsheathed and forming a steel ring about Uctred.

  “Your man has attacked one of mine,” Sir John said. “I will see justice done!”

  “’Tis already done,” Uctred said, and pointed to his vanquished opponent. The fellow was just beginning to twitch himself back to wakefulness. “That’s one of them what set upon me an’ Arthur two days past.”

  “What? Edmund? Nay. He’d do no such thing.” Then, to his grooms, Sir John again said, “Seize the fellow.”

  A few grooms placed hands upon the hilts of their daggers but none took a step toward Uctred. Five men encircled him armed with two daggers and three swords. Five quickly became ten as the rest of Lord Gilbert’s grooms advanced toward the place of combat and joined us who had placed ourselves between Uctred and harm.

  “Are you sure this fellow was one of those who attacked you and Arthur on Monday?” I asked Uctred.

  “No mistake. Look at ’is finger.”

  I did, and saw that one digit was wrapped in a dirty, bloodied linen fragment.

  “You recognize his wounded finger?” I said.

  “Recognize? Hah! I give it to ’im.”

  “How so?”

  “Him an’ two others ’ad me down. He was tryin’ to gouge me eye. I seen ’is fingers close to me face so I bit on one. He let out a yelp an’ from then on I ’ad but two rogues to contend with.”

  “Look about you,” I said. “Do you see any others who were among those who waylaid you? Arthur, do you recognize any man?”

  Arthur and Uctred scanned the crowd of men who had gathered behind Sir John. I thought it seemed as they did so that several men retreated a few steps and placed themselves behind others. One of these had a fat, purple lip. Some unyielding object had recently made contact with it.

  “I can’t say as I do,” Arthur said. “I wasn’t givin’ faces much attention at the time. I was more heedful of clubs an’ fists.”

  The two groups of men facing each other over the fallen groom were of near equal size. But among the men behind Sir John I saw no swords. Only daggers, and these yet sheathed. None of Sir John’s retainers seemed eager to use or face a blade.

  The man Uctred had bested raised himself to his knees, swayed a bit, then struggled to his feet. I stepped toward the dazed fellow and, taking an arm, drew him to the circle of Lord Gilbert’s men who encompassed Uctred.

  The stupefied fellow tried to resist when he saw to which group he was taken, but wobbly as he was could do little to object. He found himself surrounded by armed men who gazed upon him with choleric expressions upon their faces.

  Whether or not the fellow had wit enough to answer my questions I did not know. There was but one way to discover this. I asked him who had sent him to attack men upon the road Monday after they had departed Steventon Priory.

  Sir John took exception to the question, as I thought he might. He stepped toward me and said, “Edmund is not fit to be interrogated.” He was about to say more, I believe, but glanced over a shoulder and saw that none of his retainers had followed. They stood as if rooted. The only man who moved in response to Sir John’s approach was Sir Jaket, who, sword in hand, stepped to intercept Sir John.

  Edmund, meanwhile, glanced about as if seeking some way of escape. He found none, for even as bewildered as he was he could see that none of Sir John’s grooms were eager to do combat to free him from my control.

  Sir John scowled fiercely at Edmund, assuming, I suppose, that a truculent stare would close the fellow’s mouth. But an angry glance is no match for drawn swords and daggers. Through thickening lips Edmund pointed to his master and said, “Sir John sent us.”

  “Nay,” the knight said. “He is so dazed he knows not what he says.”

  “Us?” I said. “Who else? My men were attacked by half a dozen or so. Who accompanied you?”

  “Osbert.”

  “And who else? More than two attacked my men.”

  As I spoke I saw a man detach himself from the group behind Sir John and disappear through the manor house doorway. Osbert, perhaps.

  “Just Osbert. We was to help Gaston.”

  “Gaston Howes?”

  “Aye.”

  “Why would the man need aid from two of Sir John’s grooms?” I said.

  The scowl on Sir John’s face deepened and from the corner of my eye I saw him shake his head.

  “You’ll need to ask ’im,” Edmund said.

  There was peril in doing so, I thought, but likely the man spoke true. I had one more question for Edmund.

  “Where is Gaston to be found?”

  Again Sir John shook his head. Perhaps Edmund did not see. Or perhaps he thought Lord Gilbert Talbot a greater threat to his future than Sir John Willoughby.

  “Just there,” he said, and pointed to a house perhaps a hundred paces from the manor house, on the opposite side of the street.

  The time had come, I decided, to use my rank. “I am Sir Hugh de Singleton, bailiff to Lord Gilbert, Third Baron Talbot. I was knighted by Prince Edward, your next sovereign, for services I rendered him. Neither baron nor prince will be pleased if they learn that men of Coscote have hindered my investigation of the disappearance of Lady Philippa Molyns.

  “You,” I pointed to Sir John, “come with me. We will seek Gaston Howes. The others will remain here. Sir Jak
et, accompany me and Sir John.”

  The knight nodded and sheathed his sword, although his hand did not stray far from the hilt. I told Sir Ralph and Sir Humphrey to remain before the manor house and see to it that none of Sir John’s retainers followed him and me and Sir Jaket. None appeared zealous to do so. Sir John’s grooms did not seem eager to risk blows or slashes to defend his conduct. Perhaps his behavior to his own people had been occasionally offensive.

  As we turned to the dwelling Edmund had pointed out I saw a man run from behind an abandoned house and sprint across the road, disappearing behind the house Gaston Howes occupied. This house was remote from its neighbors. The nearest dwelling was fifty or so paces to the south. To the north of Gaston’s house was a pile of rubble which had once been a house, now fallen to ruin, most likely since plague had taken its occupants.

  I saw as we approached that Howes’ residence seemed in better repair than Sir John’s manor house. The thatching was nearly new, the daub of the walls freshly patched, and the skins of the windows whole and untorn. Whatever business Gaston Howes followed, it had prospered. Well, I knew what business he followed. With a formidable protector, theft can be lucrative.

  The house was the only one in the village, other than the manor house, which had behind it a sizeable barn. As this structure came into view two men suddenly appeared between the house and the barn. They glanced in our direction, then turned and took to their heels across a new-mown hayfield beyond which lay a dense wood. Men who flee a bailiff likely do so because they are guilty of something. Of course, most men are guilty of something. But they hope that only the Lord Christ knows all and will forgive.

  One of those who fled toward the wood was the man who had left the group before the manor house and I had next seen running to Gaston’s dwelling. He and a man I assumed was Howes were now halfway across the stubble to the wood.

  Should I chase after them? If I did so I must leave Sir Jaket with Sir John, to be sure he did not abscond. What then? If I caught Osbert and Howes before they found the wood I would be one against two. If I could not apprehend them before they reached the wood, the copse was dense enough that they might melt into the grove. Or hide themselves so as to set upon me as I stumbled after them. I decided to refrain from a chase. Valor is commendable, but those who possess too much of the virtue seldom live long enough to bounce grandchildren upon a knee.