Without a Trace

by Mel Starr

  A woman of middle years opened the door, and from behind her a puff of smoke wafted through the door, surrounding her head like a halo. The thatching was old and collapsing over the vent holes in the eaves. As if to prove this conjecture the woman coughed, then, noticing my garb, bowed.

  “I seek the reeve of this village,” I said. “Is this his house?”

  “Aye, but ’e ain’t ’ere. ’E’s out a-haying.” As she spoke she glanced over a shoulder and I saw in the distance four men swinging scythes and three small boys turning the hay.

  “Which house is Thomas Mowrey’s?” I asked.

  The woman looked at me with wide eyes. “You seek my ’usband, but you don’t know ’is name?”

  “Thomas is your husband?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And he is haying in yon field? Who else is at the haying with him?”

  The question puzzled the woman, but she saw no reason to withhold the names.

  “John, Alfred, an’ Randall.”

  “Randall Attewell?”

  “Aye. You know ’im?”

  “Nay. I’ve heard his name.”

  “And my ’usband’s. You not bein’ from ’ere, ’ow is it you seek men you don’t know?”

  “I serve Lord Gilbert Talbot. I am on the Baron’s business. Attewell’s name and your husband’s were provided me.”

  “What business does my ’usband ’ave with some lord?” The woman frowned with worry. When a great lord takes notice of a tenant or villein it usually portends no good thing. For the tenant.

  “Perhaps nothing,” I replied.

  Would Thomas and Randall be swinging scythes in a hayfield if Gaston had been here and told them that a man who knew of their felonies would soon visit them? Not likely. Then where did Gaston go, and if he sought the place where Lady Philippa was held, where was that? And who besides Thomas and Randall were involved in this business? Was there a name, or names, that Sir John had neglected to mention?

  And when Gaston Howes and his companions had swept down upon the Didcot Candlemas procession and carried off Joan le Scrope, whose horses did they ride? No lord of this manor would have beasts. There was no lord. Only Sir John Willoughby could provide horses. I had not pressed him about this. When we returned to Coscote I would remedy the fault.

  But first I would cross the stubble and have words with Thomas and Randall. Not alone. A solitary man should not ask unwelcome questions of men wielding scythes. I called Sir Jaket, Sir Ralph, and Sir Humphrey to follow me.

  The approach of four gentlemen, three with swords slung from their belts, will arrest the attention of most men. The four haymakers and three boys stopped their work and watched our approach. I sought a worried face among the men, or some indication of concern. I saw only dust and sweat-covered brows.

  “Thomas Mowrey?” I said.

  “That’s me.”

  “I give you good day. When did you last see Gaston Howes?”

  “Don’t know the man. Though I’ve ’eard of ’im.”

  “What have you heard?”

  “Nothin’ much. Prosperous. Has two yardlands of Sir John.”

  “What have you heard of his felonies?”

  “Felonies? Gaston? I’ve ’eard nothin’ of felonies.”

  “If you see the fellow you may tell him that Sir Hugh de Singleton, serving Lord Gilbert Talbot, seeks him – and the rogues who accompany him. They seized a maid in Didcot for three pounds’ ransom. They will pay for this felony upon a scaffold. They believe a judge of the King’s Eyre will protect them, but this is no longer so. If one of the scoundrels who have done this evil send me to Howes it may be the Sheriff of Oxford will spare him.”

  I said no more, but watched the reeve. He blinked, then glanced to another of the mowers. Here was Randall Attewell, I thought. I also cast my gaze upon the man. He would not meet my eyes, but looked away to some distant object which seemed to have seized his attention.

  “I am bailiff to Lord Gilbert at his manor of Bampton. It has come to Lord Gilbert’s attention that a lady has been taken and is now held for ransom, much like the maid of Didcot. Gaston Howes may be the rogue who took this lady, as he did the lass. Have you heard of such knavery?”

  The four men looked to each other, then to me, and shook their heads.

  “If such a felony comes to your ears I have told you where to find me. Those who took the lady will surely do the sheriff’s dance when they are found out, but might escape such an end if they give up their leader.”

  ’Twas apparent that wherever Gaston and Osbert had run to, it was not here. Their companions in villainy would not be calmly mowing a hayfield was it so. Was Lady Philippa hidden away somewhere in Southbourne? Unlikely. If so, her captors seemed little concerned that she would be discovered. Was Gaston somewhere near, perhaps peering out from some hiding place, watching as I offered his companions a way to escape the wrath of insulted law?

  “Your names,” I said, “were given me by Sir John Willoughby, who is at this moment beginning to rue the day that he shared the ransom of the maiden Joan le Scrope. Why would he name you as among those who consort with Gaston Howes, whom all men know guilty of seizing the lass?”

  “It wasn’t us,” one of the other haymakers said in a shaky voice. “Me an’ John ’ave naught to do with Gaston Howes. ’E’s asked often enough. Knew ’e’d come to a bad end, ’im an’ them as has dealin’s with ’im.”

  “Like Thomas and Randall?” I said.

  The man did not reply, but I saw him and the fourth man, whom I took to be John, quietly taking small steps back to separate themselves from Thomas and Randall. Thomas, meanwhile, glared at the fellow. There would be hard feelings in this hamlet, I thought, and perhaps a wound or two after I had departed. Still, John and the haymaker who protested that he’d kept a distance between himself and Gaston Howes seemed brawny fellows and able to defend themselves. And my hope was that, given a day or two to consider a scaffold awaiting him in Oxford, Thomas or Randall might seek me with information of where I might find Gaston Howes. And perhaps Lady Philippa.

  A day was not required.

  I had bidden the haymakers “Good day,” and with a last glance at Thomas and Randall stalked back toward the village. Sir Jaket, Sir Ralph, and Sir Humphrey came after. I did not expect to be followed, so did not look back over my shoulder to learn if I was – which proved to be the case.

  As we four approached Arthur, Uctred, and the grooms attending our return by the reeve’s house I heard a voice cry, “Wait!” ’Twas Randall.

  When I first saw him he was red in the face from exertion and sun. Now he was pale. The thought of a noose placed about his neck will do that to a man.

  “I know where Gaston might be,” the man said. “You’ll not tell ’im I said?”

  “Do you fear him?” I asked.

  “You’ve not met Gaston?”

  “Nay.”

  “I thought not. If you ’ad you’d not ask such a question.”

  “Do you fear a scaffold more than Gaston?”

  “’E told us the sheriff would not trouble us. Sir John’s cousin would see to it.”

  “When you took the lass at Candlemas?”

  “Aye.”

  “Did he assure you likewise about Lady Philippa Molyns?”

  “I don’t know about ’er. Gaston didn’t ask our ’elp takin’ ’er.”

  “Who aided him, then?”

  “I don’t know. But it wasn’t us – not me an’ Thomas.”

  “Howes and Sir John’s groom Osbert fled Coscote. You said you might know where they now are. Might they have a lady hid away there?”

  “Not likely. Gaston’s got a hut in the forest, near to Coscote, an’ a shed close by Didcot.”

  “He hides there to escape pursuit?” I said.

  “Aye. ’E told us as help ’im that we’d naught to fear from the hue an’ cry, but ’e’d got ’imself a hide anyway.”

  “Just in case?”

  “A
ye,” Randall agreed. “Just in case.”

  “Can you take us there?”

  “Me?” the man said with alarm. “Gaston would know who set you on ’im.”

  “If I arrest him and take him to the Sheriff of Oxford, why should you fear him?”

  “Gaston’s got friends in ’igh places what’ve gained from ’is thievery. What if ’e don’t hang? What’ll become of me then? If ’e learns I’ve told you even this much I’m a dead man.”

  “He’ll not learn it from me. Where should I seek this hut? The last I saw of the man, he and Osbert were running from his house, across a new-mown hayfield, to a wood. Is that the forest where he has made his hide?”

  “Aye.”

  “And the shed?”

  “Behind the priest’s house in Didcot.”

  Chapter 14

  Here was interesting news. The clerk to Didcot’s priest had been uncle to Gaston Howes’ wife, and Randall said Howes was known to conceal himself in a shed upon the priest’s glebe lands.

  I turned from Randall to mount my palfrey.

  “You’ll not tell Gaston of me?”

  “Nay. But you’d best convince Thomas and the others to hold their tongues also. How much did the fellow pay you to help seize the maiden?”

  “Two shillings.”

  “You will be required to repay, I think.”

  “Two shillings! Where am I to get two shillings?”

  I shrugged. “Same place you spent the loot, perhaps. This village is much reduced because of plague. Could you not rent more land of Godstow Abbey and increase your prosperity honestly? The abbess would not wish to see her lands go to waste. Surely she would be pleased for you and others who survive to work the strips of those who have perished.”

  “Rents is fixed. The law says ’ow much I must pay, an’ abbess won’t bargain.”

  Evidently the abbess of Godstow Abbey would rather see her lands earn for her no profit than a small profit. For this is the result for those landowners who refuse to transgress the Statute of Laborers and reduce the rents their tenants must pay.

  The sun slanted across the road as we returned to Coscote. Much of the forest behind Gaston’s house would be in shadow but I was resolved to prowl the wood and find the rogue if he was there. He was not; nor Osbert.

  But before I entered the wood it occurred to me that, although Sir John’s purse held no dented coins, Gaston Howes’ might. I rapped upon the door of his house and called for his wife. When she appeared I demanded she produce her husband’s purse. She might have claimed that he had it with him, but evidently did not think of this. I assured her I was not about to steal from her coins, and she reluctantly entered the house, returning a moment later with a small leather pouch. It contained no dented coins. This was, I admit, a disappointment. The absence of such coins did not mean Howes was not guilty of taking Lady Philippa, though the presence of them could have indicated that he was – which I had hoped to discover.

  Our party returned to Sir John’s manor house and I told the knight we’d be his guests for the night. He was to see to our beasts, stable and feed them, and arrange for straw and pallets to be spread upon the floor of his hall. We would explore more thoroughly the wood seeking Howes, then return for loaves and ale. Sir John was not pleased, but did as I asked. I believe he did not wish to further anger Lord Gilbert, which he assumed would be the result if I reported his intransigence to my employer.

  Sir Humphrey, Sir Jaket, and Sir Ralph led our party across the stubble of the mown hayfield, then divided the grooms amongst us so we had four groups. We spaced ourselves twenty or so paces apart and planned to reorganize when we left the far side of the wood if we found nothing. This proved unnecessary.

  Nearly halfway through the wood Sir Ralph shouted that Gaston’s hut was found. The other three groups converged on the sound of the knight’s voice, and we found a structure so cunningly fashioned of branches and shrubbery that ’twas wondrous we discovered the place at all. Indeed, Roger, who stumbled upon it, thought at first the hut was an obstacle he must struggle through to continue his part in the search.

  A door of sticks woven together with vines closed the entrance to the shelter. This gate was fastened with hinges of vines. I swung it open and peered into the gloomy interior. The thick lacing of brush and twigs combined with the lengthening shadows to make the enclosure so dark that I explored it by feel more than sight. I found no pallet, and no lady. I did not expect to find either. No woman, no matter how frail, could be confined against her will in such a place unless she was bound hand and foot.

  ’Twas too late in the day to travel to All Saints’ Church in Didcot and inspect the priest’s shed. Perhaps, if Howes was there with Lady Philippa, he would, before morn, discover I had learned of the place and move on elsewhere. ’Twas not to be helped. Men and beasts were exhausted after such a day.

  Sir John’s ale and loaves were stale. If he had better ’twas not offered to us. Here was no surprise. I had told him he would surely be required to repay his share of the three pounds’ ransom for Joan le Scrope. Likely he had decided to tighten his belt.

  We broke our fast next morning with more stale loaves and watered ale. I told Sir John that, as Gaston Howes’ protector, he would be held liable for any new predations for which the man was responsible. Would he? That would depend more upon the Sheriff of Oxford and Lord Gilbert than me. Perhaps even his cousin the judge and, as a last resort, Prince Edward. But Lord Gilbert’s encouraging reassurance that Prince Edward would remember my good service gave me confidence that my words were not merely empty threats.

  Half an hour later our band approached All Saints’ Church. The priest was about to enter the porch for mass, when he saw us approach and hesitated. Was he curious about a band of mounted travelers, or did he guess we sought him?

  I did not seek the priest, but rather his shed, which was clearly visible behind the priest’s house. I pointed to the structure and we rode past the church while the priest gazed at us, open-mouthed.

  The priest peered round the corner of the porch as we dismounted beyond the churchyard wall. I instructed the grooms to remain with our beasts, then we four knights quietly approached the shed, which I judged large enough to serve as a small tithe barn. Before we dismounted I had seen three sides of the building. There were no windows on two of the sides. The fourth side was part of the churchyard wall. Unlikely there would be a window there. The three sides I had seen were of wattle and daub, so a man imprisoned within it might batter his way out if he cared not for the noise he would make. Could a lady do so as well?

  It is unwise to choose a place of concealment which has but one exit, and particularly when that opening is also the entrance. But if felons were wise they would not be felons. The shed door was closed with an iron bar fitted to a hasp. Through a slot in the bar and another in the hasp a lock the size of my hand was fitted.

  “Wait here,” I said, and hurried to the porch. The nose of the priest was no longer visible, nor any other part of him.

  I entered the church through the porch door as his clerk began to swing the censor. I dislike interfering with Divine Office, but thought the Lord Christ would understand if the ceremony honoring Him was delayed so justice could be done for one of His creatures. I thought it possible Lady Philippa, if not Gaston and Osbert, might be found within the shed.

  I had taken only a few steps toward the altar when through the open door of the porch behind me I heard a man shout, “Halt!” Immediately there followed a cacophony of voices raised in anger. I turned and ran back through the porch. As I did so I saw the head and shoulders of a large man running beyond the churchyard wall, Sir Jaket in pursuit.

  I ran for the lych gate to cut off the fleeing man. I assumed that if Sir Jaket wished to apprehend the fellow so did I.

  I do not believe Gaston – for that’s who Sir Jaket was chasing – looked over the churchyard wall to see me sprinting on a converging course. I ran through the lych gate as Howes came to it
and there we collided. Kate’s cookery has added some to my bulk, but still the man outweighed me by two or three stone. I, however, had the advantage of seeing the impact coming so was somewhat prepared. I raised an arm to ward off the blow, and the point of my elbow caught Howes aside his jaw. We tumbled to the grass in a tangle of arms and legs. By the time we unsorted our injured limbs Sir Jaket was above us, the point of his sword at Gaston’s neck. To my surprise I had finally apprehended the man, though there must be less painful ways to capture a felon.

  Sir Jakef’s sword proved unnecessary. My elbow – which remained quite tender for a day or two – had rendered the scoundrel witless. He lay half-stunned upon the ground whilst I and Sir Jaket stood above him, dagger and sword in hand.

  “Bind him,” I said to Sir Jaket, then hurried to the shed. Some of the grooms of our band had followed Sir Jaket, others remained at the open shed door. How, I wondered, had a barred and locked door come open?

  Arthur and Uctred stood among the grooms clustered around the open door. As I approached I saw them inspecting bar, hasp, and lock.

  “Look here,” Arthur exclaimed. A hole had been drilled through the door beneath the hasp, and a pin inserted from inside the shed. Pressure against the pin would raise the hasp and when a man pulled against the door, the hasp and bar would slide away from the jamb. This could not be done from outside the shed, for the pin was nearly invisible from the exterior, and could not be grasped even if it was seen.

  “No man wants to be trapped in a locked barn,” Uctred said as we examined the intricate mechanism. “But we ’ad a surprise when that door come open an’ the fellow ran out.”

  “No doubt,” I said. “Still, there were two men who ran across the hayfield. Perhaps one is yet lurking within this shed?”

  I kept my dagger gripped firmly. Arthur, Uctred, and another groom drew theirs and we cautiously entered the shed.

  Sunlight through the now wide-open door illuminated the shed interior well enough for us to see any other man attempting to conceal himself within. We prodded sacks of barley, oats, and rye – but with our fingers, not with our swords. Grain was scarce enough in the hungry months of lean times. We looked behind the sacks and peered into dim corners. No other man hid there, nor any lady. Osbert and Gaston had separated. Perhaps Gaston would know where his companion had fled.