Rest Not in Peace (The Chronicles of Hugh De Singleton, Surgeon #6)

by Mel Starr

  I must now report this sad discovery to Lord Gilbert, and he must send for Sir Roger de Elmerugg, Sheriff of Oxford. Murder upon Lord Gilbert’s lands would generally be my bailiwick, but not when the deceased was a visiting knight. I was pleased that seeking a murderer would be another man’s business. Sir Roger entertained other thoughts.

  I had no authority to summon the sheriff of Oxford to Bampton. Lord Gilbert must do that, and before he would do so I must explain the need. I found my employer in the hall, deep in conversation with Lady Petronilla and Lady Margery, sitting in chairs drawn aside while grooms erected tables for dinner.

  Lord Gilbert saw me enter the hall. I did not wish to tell him of my discovery in the Lady Margery’s presence, so stopped at the entry and with a nod of my head invited him to join me. He did so.

  “What news, Hugh? Have you done with your examination?”

  “I have, m’lord.”

  “And?”

  “Sir Henry died at some other man’s hand.”

  “What?” Lord Gilbert said, startled by this news, then peered over his shoulder to see if Lady Margery had observed or heard his response.

  “Murder was done last night,” I said.

  “You are certain? How so?”

  “Come with me and I will show you what I have found.”

  I motioned for Lord Gilbert to leave the hall before me, and as I turned to follow saw Lady Petronilla and Lady Margery look to me, their conversation halted, questions from their raised eyebrows. Few things will stop ladies’ gossip, but I had managed to do so.

  “Sir Henry,” Lord Gilbert said as we strode the corridor toward the dead man’s chamber, “had no wound upon him that I could see. How could this be murder? Have you found some poison?”

  “Nay… no poison. I will show you. Come and see.”

  Lord Gilbert hesitated at the door to Sir Henry’s chamber, where Arthur and Walter stood watch. I pushed past and motioned for him to follow. At Sir Henry’s head I stopped and turned to Lord Gilbert.

  “I had nearly given up learning the reason for this death,” I admitted, “when my eyes fell upon yon poker.” I pointed to the iron rod.

  “Sir Henry was beaten to death with that?” Lord Gilbert asked incredulously.

  “Nay.”

  “Stabbed, then? But where?”

  “Nay. Not stabbed with the poker, but he was pierced.”

  “But there is no sign.”

  “There is if one seeks for it in the proper place. You have heard the tale of the death of King Edward’s father?”

  “Aye,” Lord Gilbert grimaced. “Mayhap ’tis no tale, but true. But you said that poker was not employed to do murder.”

  “It was not. The soot of the last fire of winter is yet upon it. But when I saw it I wondered if another weapon might have been used to penetrate some other orifice.”

  “And you found it so?”

  “Aye. So I believe. Look there.” I pointed to the fragment of dried blood which I had teased from Sir Henry’s ear, and which yet lay upon the pillow beside his head.

  Lord Gilbert bent to examine the clot and perceived readily what it was he saw.

  “Blood?” he said.

  “Aye.”

  “From whence has it come?”

  “Sir Henry’s ear.”

  Lord Gilbert scowled. “Could not some spasm cause such a rupture?”

  “I have never heard nor have I read of such a thing,” I replied.

  “But yet it could be so.”

  “Mayhap. But if Sir Henry died of a fit, I think he would have thrashed about in its throes, left his bed in disarray, and made some racket before death came upon him.”

  “Hmmm.” Lord Gilbert stood from examining the blood, raised one questioning eyebrow, then spoke again.

  “Some man within Bampton Castle walls did murder last night, then?”

  “Or woman.”

  “What woman would wish Sir Henry dead?”

  “What man?” I replied.

  “Surely some man has done this.”

  “Why so? ’Twould take little strength to plunge a bodkin through a man’s ear and into his brain.”

  “But would a woman have the stomach to do so?”

  “That, m’lord, I cannot say. There are some men, I think, who could not bring themselves to do such a sleeping murder, no matter the provocation. As there be some men who could not, there may be some women who could.”

  “Oh,” Lord Gilbert said thoughtfully. “Just so. Well, if you are certain of murder you must discover who has done it.”

  “Is that not the sheriff’s duty?”

  “He must be told, of course. I will send for him straight away.”

  “And we must bring Hubert Shillside to see what has happened here.”

  Shillside is Bampton’s haberdasher, and has been the town coroner since before I came to the place. I have had many dealings with him and his jury. More than I would wish. I do not dislike the man, but it seems that whenever I have discourse with the fellow some man has died.

  “We will have our dinner first, then you must travel to Oxford and fetch Sir Roger.”

  “Me?”

  “Aye. You must explain to Sir Roger what has happened, and why you suspect murder. John Chamberlain or some valet could not do so in convincing fashion.”

  June twenty-first was a fast day, so Lord Gilbert’s table was not so lavish as otherwise would be. Lord Gilbert, Lady Petronilla, Lady Margery, Lady Anne, Sir John and Sir Geoffrey sat at the high table. In times past I had also had a place there, but not this day. There was room enough. Perhaps Lord Gilbert thought that Lady Margery might take it amiss, being yet convinced that my potion had slain her husband. Neither Lord Gilbert nor I had announced yet the cause of Sir Henry’s death.

  The first remove this day was sole in cyve, wheaten bread with honeyed butter, and mussels boiled in wine. I watched Lady Margery consume her portion of this first remove. I thought she might have little appetite, but not so. She attacked her dinner eagerly. Her cheeks were yet pink and swollen from the morning’s tears, but her conversation with Lord Gilbert and Sir Geoffrey, who sat on either side of her this day, showed little sign of bereavement. Sir Geoffrey, I was surprised to see, stuffed himself crudely, and wiped honeyed butter from his lips with the back of his hand. Lady Margery did not seem to notice.

  For the second remove the cook presented boiled salmon and a pottage of whelks. During this remove I turned my attention to Lady Anne. She seemed less enthusiastic for discourse, speaking to Lady Petronilla and Sir John only when spoken to, and ate but a small portion of the boiled salmon.

  Directly across from me, at the head of the other side table, sat the two squires. I watched them as valets brought the third remove, eels in bruit and a pike fried and anointed with sobye sauce. One squire ate heartily, and spoke frequently to his companion, but the other seldom made reply, consumed little of his meal, and from a corner of his eye seemed intent on those who sat at the high table.

  For a subtlety there was gingerbread and a chardewarden. I gave up trying to learn anything from Sir Henry’s household and enjoyed these sweets.

  Sir Henry’s and Lord Gilbert’s grooms and valets, who sat at the far ends of the side tables, received only maslin loaves, eels, and stockfish, of course, but they seemed to enjoy the meal as much as we who dined on more refined fare.

  “Your chaplain,” I said to Lord Gilbert when the meal was done, “has he offered Extreme Unction?”

  “Aye. When Sir Henry was discovered dead. Before I sent for you.”

  “What is to be done with the corpse? Will Lady Margery return her husband to Bedford?”

  “Nay. She said ’tis too far. June days are warm. Sir Henry will begin to stink before he can be got home. She will have him buried here, in St Beornwald’s churchyard.”

  “She does not wish him interred in the church?” I asked. I was somewhat surprised that a knight would await the Lord Christ’s return under the sod with common folk
.

  “What she wishes and what she will pay for seem two different things.”

  “Lady Margery will not pay for Sir Henry to be buried within the church?”

  “Will not, or cannot,” Lord Gilbert said.

  “Surely a knight’s widow has coin enough to see him rest under the church floor.”

  Lord Gilbert shrugged. “Father Thomas has been sent for. Lady Margery will treat with him about costs. But when I asked this morn, before you were sent for, she named the churchyard as his burial place. ’Tis my belief,” he added after a moment of silence, “that Sir Henry was in straitened circumstances.”

  “Ah… I understand. He’s been under your roof, dining at your table, since Ascension Day.”

  “Day after.”

  “Had he said aught about taking himself home?”

  “Nary a word, though I’d begun to hint of it. Gambled a bit, did Sir Henry. Lost often in France, while we awaited battle. He’d wager upon nearly anything; dice, two lads wrestling, which dog would win a fight. Lost ten shillings when he wagered Sir Ralph de Colley that next day there’d be no rain.”

  “There was rain?”

  “Came down in buckets. Sir Henry had little luck when he put his coin at risk.”

  “That’s why he came to Bampton, you think? Because of his poverty he wished to take advantage of your table?”

  “Aye,” Lord Gilbert answered. “And likely why he’ll sleep under the churchyard rather than under the church floor, or in his own parish church.”

  It is no dishonor to be poor. The dishonor in poverty is often found in the manner in which a man becomes poor. Or remains so.

  I wondered that Lord Gilbert would not offer funds to see Sir Henry laid under the floor of the Church of St Beornwald, but there are things even a bailiff finds it injudicious to ask of his employer.

  It was by then past midday, too late to travel to Oxford, seek the sheriff, and return before night, even as the longest day of the year drew near. And Bruce, the old dexter given to my use, has such a jouncing gait that such a journey all in one day would be a torment to my nether portion.

  I told Lord Gilbert that I would take Arthur with me to Oxford, and return next day with the sheriff, was Sir Roger not otherwise engaged. Lady Margery could, with Father Thomas, make plans for her husband’s funeral, and after Sir Roger had seen the corpse, and been shown the damaged ear, Sir Henry might be placed beneath the grass of St Beornwald’s churchyard, there to await our Lord Christ’s return.

  Kate awaited me, hands on hips, lips drawn tight, when I returned to Galen House. She had expected me for my dinner, a chevet, which is a meal I enjoy. Well, as Kate knows, there are few meals I do not enjoy.

  “I left it upon the coals so long, awaiting your return, that it is scorched and gone dry,” she said through pursed lips.

  The subject was troublesome. I thought to change it. “There has been murder done at the castle,” I said.

  “Oh.” Kate put a hand to her mouth. “Sir Henry?”

  “Aye. Found dead in his bed this morning. ’Twas not a natural death.”

  “What has happened?”

  “Some man thrust a bodkin or awl or some such thing through his ear and into his brain whilst he slept.”

  Kate’s eyes grew wide and she shuddered. “I am sorry that I was short with you. The pie is not so badly burnt.”

  “Lord Gilbert asked me to dine at the castle.”

  “You did so?”

  “Aye. I wished to observe Sir Henry’s family and retainers.”

  “Because one of them slew him?”

  “It must be. Lord Gilbert wished him away and back to his own demesne, but would not have murdered him to be rid of him, nor asked another to do so.”

  “What did you learn, watching them eat?”

  “Nothing. Sir Henry’s wife believes my sleeping potion to blame, and ate heartily of her dinner. But only one of Sir Henry’s squires had appetite for his dinner. Lord Gilbert has promised to tell Lady Margery how Sir Henry died, and I must travel to Oxford and return tomorrow with the sheriff. The murder of a knight is more his business than mine. It happened in my bailiwick, but his shire.”

  Sir Roger de Elmerugg possesses champion eyebrows. They cross his face like a hedge through a meadow. When I told him of death at Bampton Castle and its cause, his ruddy forehead furrowed above his brows.

  “You do not know who has done this murder?” he said.

  “Nay. Lord Gilbert wishes you to attend him and seek the felon.”

  “You are bailiff there. Does he not trust your competence?”

  “Sir Henry,” I shrugged, “is… was a knight. And,” I added, “I am suspect.”

  “You? How so?”

  I explained that Sir Henry had slept uneasily and had asked for a sleeping draught.

  “You provided this?”

  “Aye. ’Twas but the pounded seeds of lettuce, a physic I have often used to bring slumber.”

  “What if a man took your potion, yet could not sleep, so consumed more? What then?”

  “The seeds of lettuce are a mild soporific. We may see how much remains in the pouch of what I gave him, but he could have consumed all and it would not have stopped his breath. Lettuce seeds may poison a man if taken to excess, but there were not enough in the pouch to sicken Sir Henry. And I told you of the blood I found in his ear.”

  “Aye. Well, Lord Gilbert asks, and I will come. You may sleep this night in a guest chamber, and your man may sleep with the castle sergeants. We will set out tomorrow after we have broken our fast.”

  I had slept in Oxford Castle before, but not under a clean blanket. I had been charged with stealing another man’s fur coat, which I had not done, so until I was freed at Lord Gilbert’s command I spent several days in the castle dungeon. The experience returned to my mind and so occupied my thoughts that I did not readily find sleep.

  A sergeant pounded upon the chamber door shortly after dawn and announced that Sir Roger would have me and Arthur join him to break our fast. We found the sheriff in the hall, his mouth stuffed with wheaten bread and cheese. No maslin loaf for the sheriff of Oxford. Another sergeant was there also, and Arthur and I joined readily in consuming the loaves and cheese and ale.

  Sir Roger, the two sergeants, Arthur, and I, our bellies pleasingly full, rode under the Oxford Castle gatehouse half an hour later, crossed the Isis on Bookbinder’s Bridge, passed Osney Abbey, and set off for Bampton.

  Whole families were in the fields as we passed. Men swung long-handled scythes to cut hay close to the ground. Women and children followed to turn the hay so it would dry evenly. In other meadows, where the hay had been cut some days past, men were gathering it into great stacks. Many of these laborers watched our party pass upon the road, and some noticed that Sir Roger and I were garbed as gentlemen and tugged at a forelock as we passed.

  The hall was prepared for dinner when we arrived at Bampton Castle. Lord Gilbert had expected Sir Roger’s arrival, so the meal this day featured many pleasing dishes: roasted partridges, cony in cevy, stewed pigeons, and boar in confit, amongst others.

  Place was made at the high table for Sir Roger, and I, again, sat at the head of a side table. Sir Roger was seated beside Lady Margery, and throughout the meal she continued an uninterrupted conversation with the sheriff, turning from him occasionally to cast a baleful eye in my direction. I did not see the woman exchange even one word with Lord Gilbert, who sat also beside her.

  To avoid Lady Margery’s hostile gaze I watched other diners. None seemed to have lost his appetite in the past twenty-four hours. Even the youthful squire who had picked at his pike a day earlier consumed his portion of the meal this day. Perhaps he preferred boar over pike.

  ’Twas well we dined before I took Sir Roger to Sir Henry’s corpse and not after, for in the warmth of June the corpse was beginning to bloat, and would in a few days stink, reducing even a stout sheriff’s hunger.

  “Lady Margery believes you at fault in
this business,” the sheriff said as we walked the corridor leading to Sir Henry’s chamber. “Lord Gilbert has told her what you found, and that murder was done. She scoffed at that, he said, and claims you seek to turn suspicion from your own malfeasance.”

  “You will see soon enough,” I replied, and led Sir Roger past Walter and Uctred, who had been pressed into the melancholy duty of guarding the corpse in Arthur’s absence. For reasons I could not then explain, I wanted a Bampton Castle man at Sir Henry’s door as well as one of Sir Henry’s retainers.

  Sir Henry lay as I had left him the day before, the dried clot of blood from his ear yet upon the pillow. I pointed to it.

  “That is what I drew from Sir Henry’s ear.”

  “I’m no surgeon,” Sir Roger said. “Is there no other explanation for such a wound?”

  “I know of none. Even if he was taken with a fit in the night, I do not believe blood would issue from his ear.”

  “What of the other ear? If a fit drew blood from one ear, seems likely it would be found in the other as well.”

  “I did not look there, not after finding the injury done to this ear.”

  “Look now.”

  I did. Rigor mortis was beginning to fade, so ’twas no trouble to turn Sir Henry’s head upon the pillow. The light in this chamber, as I have written, was poor, but enough to show that no blood could be seen in the ear. Nevertheless I took the thin blade I had left in the chamber and probed as deeply as I could. I found no crusted blood there.

  “Wouldn’t need to pierce a man’s head through both ears to slay him,” Sir Roger said when I withdrew the scalpel and held it up for him to see the clean blade. “Can you be certain such a thrust took his life?”

  “Not without opening his skull, which I cannot do without Lady Margery’s permission.”

  “Oh… aye. Would not the pain of such a stab cause a man to shriek, even if but for a moment, before he died?”

  “Who can say? Perhaps he was silenced with a pillow over his mouth. Or perhaps my potion had to do with the business.”