by Mel Starr
Here were many questions but few answers. Suppositions, aye; answers, nay. My mind was centering upon Edmund Harcourt as the key to unlocking these mysteries. I must guard against this. I have been bailiff of Bampton Manor long enough to know that, when seeking felons, things are not always as they first appear. Then again, sometimes they are.
“When do you wish to visit Oxford?” I asked Will, who stood patiently waiting while I ruminated on these knotty matters.
“Soon. My supply of pins is exhausted, and I have but three buckles and a few yards of various ribbons.”
“Thursday, then? That will give you and Alice two days to speak of your travel. Do not make an issue of the business, else you might arouse suspicion where we want none. But if a housewife asks for pins, tell her you have none, but will visit Oxford on Thursday to renew your supply.”
From Will’s pea field I went to the castle and told Arthur and Uctred we would journey with Will Shillside to Oxford on Thursday, hoping to be attacked. Or hoping Will would be attacked. My plan was that Arthur, Uctred, and I would travel mounted a hundred or so paces behind Will as he walked the road. If he saw or heard anything amiss he would be told to turn, cry out for aid, and run to us, leading the felons to their capture. If they scattered when they saw us galloping toward them we, being mounted, would surely take one or two of the rogues, and from them the Sheriff of Oxford would have methods of discovering the names of the others.
Will performed the first part of the scheme well. Wednesday eve at supper Kate mentioned that John Prudhomme’s wife had complained that Will had no pins. But, she had said, he hoped soon to renew his supply, being off Thursday to seek goods in Oxford. She said every woman in the village agreed Will Shillside was foolhardy, not brave, traveling alone to Oxford for a packet of pins with so much theft and violence in the offing and the ruffians still at large. But what can a man do? He must make his living. I nodded sagely at this, and bade her ask God to watch over Will when she offered her bedtime prayers.
Arthur, Uctred, and I set off upon our palfreys from the castle at dawn on Thursday. We joined Will at his house, and waited there as he walked from the village. Alice watched and chewed upon a knuckle, afraid the babe she was about to bring into the world would have no father, I suspect. I had explained the plan, and its dangers, to Will the day before. There was nothing very sophisticated about my strategy. A simple scheme has less chance of going awry. Will was ready to accept the risk if doing so might bring his father’s murderers to justice.
“What if I reach Stanton Harcourt and no thieves attack me?” Will asked when I reviewed the plan. “Men of the village will see you as you pass through behind me, and the trap may be exposed. Mayhap the felons reside there.”
“When we see you enter the village we will leave the road and circle the place through fields and forest ’til we come to the road to Eynsham. We will wait then for you to pass, as your business in the village will take some time, then resume our place behind you. It is unlikely the felons will accost you close to the village where your shouts might be heard. You should be safe for that short distance entering and leaving the place.”
So I hoped.
“If no men have attacked before you come to Eynsham we will do the same.”
“What if men see you follow me from Bampton?”
“Even if they do, they’d find it difficult to forge ahead of you to warn thieves of a trap. ’Tis possible, I suppose, but such men will need to be fleet of foot to pass us by and warn of our intentions, even if they guess what we are about.”
’Twas a practical, cautious scheme in my estimation, but it failed. Perhaps, had I given the plan more thought, I would have devised a better one.
Will was not attacked upon the road to Stanton Harcourt, nor between that place and Eynsham. Nor did any brigands appear between Eynsham and Oxford. Will sought Martyn Hendy, purchased the goods he would sell at Stanton Harcourt and Bampton, and together we four departed Oxford and set off for Eynsham Abbey, Will mounted behind Uctred for the return journey. I was much cast down for the failure of my plot.
While in Oxford I visited two of the surgeons and three of the physicians I had asked to watch for my stolen instruments. None had been offered such tools at any price, bargain or not. So they claimed. Perhaps they spoke true. My profession has made of me a suspicious man. I wish it was not so, but mayhap ’tis best, as my dealings tend often to be with men worthy of suspicion.
There was no reason to continue the ruse as we returned next day to Bampton. Men would not likely rob another who carried pins and buckles and ribbons and such rather than silver pennies and groats. Unless, perhaps, the villains wished to impress a lass with a gift of pins and silken ribbons. Lads will do many things to attract a maid. All men know this well, for all men were once lads.
Abbot Gerleys was told of our arrival at the guest house and sent his servant to request my presence in his lodging. I thought he desired news of my search for felons, and he did, but he wished more than that.
“Ah, Hugh, you are well met. I had considered sending for you.”
“Why so? Have you information of recent felonies hereabouts?”
“Nay, more’s the pity. ’Tis this,” he said, removing his cowl and bending toward me so that his scalp was visible. I saw him touch a place upon the side of his tonsured head with a finger, and saw there through the parted hair a sore that was red and oozing pus.
“I cannot see what afflicts the top of my head,” Abbot Gerleys said. “Brother Guibert says ’tis a contusion resulting from some injury. But I do not recall striking my head recently.”
I drew close and inspected the sore. ’Twas reddened, raised, and swollen. A small opening appeared in the center of the lesion and, as I watched, a small burst of yellow fluid issued from it.
“When did this sore first appear?”
“A fortnight past, perhaps a few days less.”
“Do you sleep with the window open?”
The abbot furrowed his brow in puzzlement. “Aye. But what has my sleeping practice to do with this affliction?”
“’Tis a cow fly larva has made its home in your scalp, I believe.”
“Cow fly? Ah, I remember last year a few of the abbey cattle had a similar affliction. Did some insect make its way through my open window in the night?”
“Likely. What of the cows? How did the abbey deal with their lesions?”
Abbot Gerleys shrugged. “We didn’t. After a few months the swellings on the beasts declined and the discharge dried.”
“And a hole was found in the beasts’ hide where the sore had been,” I said.
“Aye. The hides were near to worthless.”
“’Twas likely cow flies, and one is now growing in your scalp, an egg having been deposited there in the night.”
“What is to be done? Must I wait until the insect hatches and takes flight?”
“Nay. This you must not do. The maggot will travel through your body and reappear elsewhere. It must be removed immediately. Send for Brother Guibert. Tell him to bring his smallest pincers, such as he might use to remove a splinter from a man’s thumb.”
The monk who served Abbot Gerleys was dispatched to the infirmary and shortly Brother Guibert appeared. In his hand he carried a delicate instrument, and his face wore a puzzled expression.
“It would be helpful,” I said, “to have wine with which to cleanse the sore after the larva is extracted.”
“Fetch wine for Master Hugh,” the abbot instructed Brother Guibert. The monk hastened off to do his superior’s bidding.
I told the abbot to move his chair to the window, where I could better see what I must do. The afternoon was quickly becoming evening and did I not make haste the business might best be delayed ’til morning.
The sore was nearly as large as a penny, and raised to a height of two pennies stacked one atop another. W
ith my thumbs I pressed upon the sides of the swelling and watched as thick fluid issued from the small orifice at the center of the sore.
The flow of pus ceased, and in its place I saw, as the tiny hole expanded, a white, glistening shape appear. But when I reached for the pincers the larva receded, no longer visible. I called the abbot’s servant to aid me, and showed him how he must press his thumbs against opposite sides of the lesion. His visage reflected distaste for the work, but he did as instructed and the larva immediately reappeared. I employed the pincers to grasp the visible end of the maggot and began a slow, steady pull. The creature was reluctant to leave its home, and did not come free of the abbot’s scalp readily. But I persevered, and after a time of constant but gentle pressure the larva popped free of Abbot Gerleys’ head.
I held the creature before the abbot. It wriggled, and was nearly the thickness of my littlest finger and half as long.
“Hah… so that thing has been growing in my head! What say you, Master Hugh? Must I close my window before I seek my bed at night?”
“Nay. I think not. Such insects are rare in England. Whilst I studied in Paris I learned that they are more commonly found in warmer climes: Italy and Spain and Africa. It is not likely that you will be so afflicted again.”
“And if I should be, I shall call upon you to deal with it again,” the abbot said with a grin. “And should one of our cattle be afflicted again, we will know the cause and deal with it better than before.”
Brother Guibert arrived with a cup of wine as the abbot spoke, and I bathed the sore so as to speed its closure and healing.
“You have traveled to Oxford again?” Abbot Gerleys said, changing the subject. “Are you yet seeking stolen instruments, and your book? Or have you found them?”
“Aye, and nay. I seek, but do not find. But we rode to Oxford this day on another matter. We thought to lay a trap for the felons who have done theft and murder hereabouts.”
“From your words and expression I think your snare failed.”
“Aye, it did.”
“Have you suspicions who the men might be that you intended to entangle?”
“One of them, perhaps.”
“Has the fellow behaved in such a way as to give you cause?”
“He has, but his behavior, so much of it as I can be sure of, is not enough for the King’s Eyre to convict him. And it may be that I see guilt where none is.”
“Because you see what you wish to see?”
“Aye.”
“Explain to me your trap.”
I told the abbot how Will Shillside was to walk alone, tempting brigands on the wooded stretch of the road, and how we noised his journey abroad in Bampton and Stanton Harcourt.
“Either word of the lad’s travel did not reach the felons’ ears,” the abbot said, “or they suspected the snare you laid for them.”
“I believe that they must have smelled a rat. There has been so much banditry on the roads hereabouts that men rarely travel alone.”
“Unless they be fools,” the abbot said.
I did not mention that two days past I had journeyed to Witney alone.
“So a solitary man walking the roads might not be seen as an easy victim,” Abbot Gerleys continued, “but rather the brigands might view such a fellow as too convenient. How far behind the lure did you travel?”
“A hundred paces. Perhaps a little less.”
“That might be well enough where the road bends and climbs, but where the path is straight men lying in wait for a victim might see you in the distance.”
“’Twas a risk. But to separate farther from Will would have been a greater risk. We might not have heard him call for aid or come up to the rogues in time to prevent harm to the lad.”
“Ah, just so. Tricky business, attempting to lure a wicked man to his doom. What will you do now?”
I had thought much upon this very subject but had no ready answer.
“Tomorrow we will return to Bampton. Will has purchased goods in Oxford for Sir Thomas and other folk of Stanton Harcourt. We will halt there long enough for him to conclude his business.”
“I wish you Godspeed,” the abbot said, “and much thanks for ridding me of my uninvited visitor.” Abbot Gerleys looked down to his table, now dim in the shadows of his chamber, where the white maggot was yet visible, writhing in an attempt to regain its host.
He picked up the larva, dropped it into the empty wine cup, and said to the servant, “Take this to the fish pond and toss it in. Feed the pike.”
Brother Watkin brought loaves and ale to the guest house early next morning. We reclaimed our beasts and entered Stanton Harcourt before the third hour. There was nothing for Arthur, Uctred, and me to do while Will visited houses where folk had requested goods of him. I did greet Sir Thomas and inquire of him if Oswald had discovered any information regarding the murder of his son. I was not surprised when he answered “Nay.”
While we spoke, Edmund entered the manor house in the company of a youth perhaps a year or two older and a stone heavier. A friend from Oxford, I assumed.
I departed the manor house and returned to Arthur and Uctred, whom I had left waiting patiently with our beasts whilst Will did business and I greeted Sir Thomas. The two men had been at ease when I left them, but Arthur no longer was. He was much agitated. This is unusual, for the man is of a phlegmatic nature.
“Did you see ’im?” Arthur said in an excited whisper as I approached.
“See who?”
“The lad with Edmund! ’Ad a mole upon ’is left temple, just ’ere,” he said, and raised his index finger to point out the place. “Could see it from ’ere, twenty paces distant.”
Edmund’s friend had passed me so that the dexter side of his face was visible. I saw nothing of a mole upon the opposite side of his face.
“Never seen a man with a mole like that, and in the exact same place as on that ragged scholar what we was told tried to sell your book.”
“Remember,” I said, “that we were told the ragged scholar had been recently shaved and his locks trimmed. And he seemed fleshy enough, ’twas said.”
“Aye, so we was. Well, that fellow with Edmund is old enough to shave ’is whiskers, an’ has done so not long past. You suppose he’s the man what ’ad your book? What would Sir Thomas’s lad be doin’ in company with an evil fellow like that?”
I did not immediately reply. Arthur saw my hesitation and said, “Oh,” as the answer occurred to him. “But ’is own brother? ’Ow could a lad do such a thing?”
“Mayhap he did not. There are yet too many suppositions and too few facts.”
“If there be evidence, ’ow we gonna get it?” We, he had said. He was beginning to believe himself a vital part of keeping Bampton Manor safe. And he was.
I thought back to the moment Edmund and his friend passed whilst I spoke to his father. Did his eyes dart from me to Sir Thomas? Did he seem anxious about some matter? I did not know the youth well, so had no way to compare his usual comportment to what I had observed when he appeared moments earlier. I had thought, when I first met him, that Edmund seemed without guile. But if a man is enough of a knave he might be duplicitous enough to cover his deceit.
Walter Mapes’ son had heard one of those who did hamsoken addressed as “Edmund.” Did another also possess a mole upon his left temple? In the dark of night who would know? Did another of Alain Gower’s assailants wear a green cotehardie? Such a color would appear black, or nearly so, in the dark of night.
The green woolen wisp would tell me much if it could be found. Was this why the fragment had disappeared? It must not be permitted to speak? I had wondered at this, and now I began to believe it so.
There was a chain here. Perhaps Edmund was a link – he and his friend with the mole. Another link may be he of the green cotehardie. Four men, usually, had been involved in the fel
onies plaguing the shire. There must be a fourth link, unidentified.
Stanton Harcourt’s bailiff had possessed the green woolen wisp before it vanished. Was he the fourth link to the chain? Nay, he could not be. The man was too fat to prowl roads and fields seeking to plunder the unwary. A fifth link, then? Four who robbed and murdered and one who did not?
If Oswald was a party to the wickedness, but not one who stole and murdered, what role did he play in this drama?
I thought on these things as we departed Stanton Harcourt. Will again rode behind Uctred. To spare the beast some weight his sack of goods was fastened behind my saddle. I heard the occasional jingle and clink as buckles of various sizes and quality smote against each other.
Any chain is likely to have a weak link. If I had correctly identified five links in the chain of wickedness encompassing the shire between Bampton and Oxford, which link would be most readily snapped? Oswald, I thought. But what tool might be used to break him?
Kate provided the answer.
She had prepared a dinner of stewed herrings, for it was a fast day. As we ate, I spoke to her and my father-in-law of the failed plot to entrap felons, and described the partial identities I had learned, the links in my chain of connections.
“This Edmund was a student at Queen’s Hall?” Kate asked.
“Aye, he was.”
“Is that not a school for the training of priests?”
“It is.”
“If Edmund Harcourt joined with others to plunder and slay honest folk, it seems most likely that he would combine with friends, and most of his friends would likely be other scholars of Queen’s Hall.”
“Edmund is no longer at Queen’s Hall,” I said. “He assists his father on his manor. Wise words, nonetheless. His friends were more than likely made at Queen’s, and may yet be associated with the school.”
“Suppose this is true, and you find some way to prove it so. What will happen to Edmund and his companions?”
