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

by Mel Starr

  “Your potion? I thought you said it could not harm a man.”

  “I did, and I spoke true. But my thought is this: perhaps Sir Henry was given a larger dose of the pounded lettuce seeds than I advised. It might be that a greater amount could put a man so deeply asleep that he would not awaken when his head was turned and he felt the first prick of the weapon.”

  “You think this possible?” the sheriff asked.

  “It is outside my experience,” I replied. “But yes, I believe it possible. I would like to see the pouch I gave to Sir Henry, to see how much remains of the lettuce seeds.”

  “You shall, and I will speak to Lady Margery. Can you open Sir Henry’s head to learn if a thrust through his ear did this, without disfiguring his visage before burial?”

  “I can.”

  Lady Margery would not permit me to open Sir Henry’s skull. This did not surprise me. The woman was convinced, or said she was, that my sleeping draught had taken her husband’s life and had no wish to be proven wrong.

  “Said you wished to mutilate her poor husband to turn suspicion for the death from yourself to some other man,” Sir Roger said.

  Lord Gilbert also attended this conversation. “I asked if she wished Sir Henry embalmed,” he said. “‘Who would do it?’ she asked. When I told her Master Hugh had the skill, she refused. Of course, it may be she would not pay your fee.”

  “There is little reason to embalm a man who will await the last judgment in the churchyard,” I said. “A putrid corpse there will not torment a parish as might be if the corruption was entombed within the church and the seal lacking.”

  “Lady Margery wishes to bury Sir Henry tomorrow,” Lord Gilbert said. “Is there any reason she should not?”

  Sir Roger and I exchanged glances and waited for the other to speak. He did not, so I finally told Lord Gilbert that the corpse could tell us nothing more and that Lady Margery’s wishes should be granted.

  Bampton has been without a carpenter since Peter Carpenter fled, but Edgar Haute, a groom in Lord Gilbert’s service, has shown some skill with saw, chisel, and drawknife, and so has been pressed into service when castle or village requires a man to build with wood.

  Lord Gilbert sent Uctred to find Edgar and tell him that the coffin he was assigned to fashion would be needed Friday morning.

  “Had Sir Henry enemies, you think?” Sir Roger asked.

  Lord Gilbert chuckled and looked to me with one eyebrow raised. “Must be,” he said. “No friend would drive a bodkin through a man’s ear.”

  “Oh, aye, just so,” Sir Roger replied.

  The sheriff looked to me. “How do we go about finding the man? Whoso did this is clever. I’m a soldier. If an evil fellow must be brought to justice at sword’s point, I’m your man. But this…” Sir Roger waved a hand above the corpse. “This is work for a scholar.”

  He said this while gazing fixedly at me. I turned to Lord Gilbert, seeking his aid in turning the task back to Sir Roger, but received no support.

  “Master Hugh’s a scholar, is that not so, Hugh? And he’s been bailiff here long enough to ferret out felons in a wink. He’ll have the culprit in your hands within a fortnight.”

  I wished for Lord Gilbert’s confidence. There is but one thing a scholar can be relied upon to do, and that is to disagree with other scholars. Discovering felons is not taught in the set books.

  “What is to be done first?” Sir Roger asked, and thereby placed himself, the high sheriff of Oxford, under my command. I would have preferred it otherwise. Humility is a virtue, and one which I admire. I have never sought to rise above my station. St Augustine wrote that humility is the source of all virtue, and pride the root of all evil. Somewhere in Bampton there was that day a proud man, or woman, who had done murder. Likely there were in the castle that day many proud men, both gentle and commons, but only one, or perhaps two, had taken Sir Henry’s life.

  “I would like to find the pouch of lettuce seed I gave to Sir Henry,” I replied, “to learn how much was put in his wine.”

  “If the seed did not stop his breath,” Lord Gilbert said, “why seek it?”

  “Because it seems to me that, if Sir Henry took a large portion of the seeds in his wine, one man might have done the felony, Sir Henry being in so deep a sleep that his head might have been turned upon his pillow and the murder done without him being awakened.”

  “Ah,” Sir Roger said. “I see. If the dose was as you advised he might have awakened when a man sought his life. Then two men might have been required to do the deed.”

  “Aye. So let us first seek the pouch. Walter may know where it may be found.”

  He did. Lady Margery had asked for it after Sir Henry was found dead. It had been in Sir Henry’s chamber, resting upon the table where was found the wine cup, until then.

  “Hmmm. ’Twill not do for you to ask Lady Margery for the pouch,” Lord Gilbert said. “I will do so. Wait here.”

  While he was away seeking the pouch I asked Walter of the potion and how it had been administered.

  “Sir Henry sent Adam to the buttery for wine.”

  “Adam?”

  “Another of Sir Henry’s valets. I measured a thimbleful of the powder from the pouch an’ poured it into the wine, like I was told. Used one of Lady Margery’s thimbles. There it sits, upon the table.”

  “Did Sir Henry then drink it down, straight away?”

  “Aye.”

  “And left the empty cup upon the table?”

  “Aye.”

  I heard footsteps approach and a moment later Lord Gilbert appeared in the doorway, the pouch dangling from his hand.

  “Here ’tis,” he said, and offered it to my inspection.

  I had not measured a precise amount of the lettuce seed when I filled the pouch, just poured a handful in and sent it off to the castle. So I was required to cast my mind back two days to recall how much of the crushed seed I had placed in the pouch. I was certain that more than a thimbleful was gone. Lord Gilbert saw me frown as I peered into the pouch to examine its contents.

  “You are troubled, Hugh.”

  “Much of what I placed in the pouch is missing.”

  “How much?” Sir Roger asked.

  “Half, I should think.”

  “Enough to poison a man?” Lord Gilbert asked.

  “Nay.”

  I turned again to Walter. “Did any other require an aid to sleep? Did some other man ask for some of the sleeping potion? Or woman?”

  “Nay,” he shook his head. “None that I’ve heard of.”

  Just then we heard footsteps approaching and the rustle of clothing in the corridor. Lady Margery and two of her ladies appeared, garbed in somber cotehardies of brown, and the Lady Margery veiled.

  Sir Henry’s wife stared through her veil for a moment, as if the obstruction to her vision caused her to misjudge who stood before her. She finally fixed her eyes upon Lord Gilbert and spoke.

  “’Tis not meet for my husband to go unwashed to the grave. Has this miscreant leech finished with Sir Henry?”

  Lord Gilbert looked to me for a reply. “Aye, I have done here,” I said.

  “I should hope so,” Lady Margery hissed. “You have already done quite enough.”

  Then, before I or any man could react, Lady Margery lunged for me. Her fingernails scored my cheek.

  Lord Gilbert hastened to my defense. He grasped Lady Margery’s arms and pinned them to her side. “M’lady, Master Hugh did not poison Sir Henry. Your husband was murdered. Master Hugh has shown how ’twas done. Sir Roger and I are convinced that Master Hugh speaks true and has discovered here an evil felony.”

  I put a finger to my cheek and it came away bloody.

  “Bah, what man wished to take my husband’s life? A groom or valet? Sir John or Sir Geoffrey? A squire? Or mayhap one of your men? Absurd.”

  Lady Margery eyed the pouch in my hand. “’Twas that potion which murdered Sir Henry.”

  “My instruction,” I replied, �
�was to give Sir Henry a thimbleful of the crushed seeds, but more than that is gone from the pouch… perhaps half of what I sent.”

  “You sent some herbs so hazardous that taking a larger dose would put an end to him?”

  “Nay. He might have consumed the entire contents of the pouch and yet awakened next morn.”

  Through the veil I saw the woman’s disbelief, so continued. “Mixing half of the contents of the pouch into his wine might have sent Sir Henry to a deep sleep, but would not have caused death.”

  The skeptical look did not leave Lady Margery’s eyes, so I decided upon a measure which would prove my assertion. I asked Uctred to seek the buttery and bring a cup of wine.

  Lord Gilbert peered at me from under a raised eyebrow.

  “I will prove to m’lady that crushed seeds of lettuce, even taken in immoderate measure, will not send a man to his death.”

  “How will you do so?”

  “I will consume what remains of the potion.”

  “Nay, Master Hugh. You must not do so. Perhaps some other substance has befouled the potion, unknown to you.”

  “I keep my remedies secure and clean of contaminants.”

  “But what if some man mixed some poisonous herb into the contents of the pouch?” Lord Gilbert said.

  The thought gave me pause. I poured a generous amount of the pounded seeds into my palm and inspected the stuff closely. I am familiar with the appearance of pounded lettuce seeds, as the powder is one I use often to aid sleep when a man is injured or in pain. I saw in my palm nothing to indicate the crushed lettuce seeds had been adulterated.

  The buttery was close by, down a stairway at the end of the corridor and adjacent to the hall through the screens passage. Uctred returned promptly with a cup of wine. Lord Gilbert, Sir Roger, Lady Margery, and the others crowded into the chamber watched silently as I emptied the pouch into the cup, then drank the coarse concoction in one prolonged gulp. I confess that, as I swallowed, I had a worrisome thought that perhaps Lord Gilbert was correct, and somehow my pots and vials and flasks had become confused upon the shelves and in the chest where I store them.

  I placed the empty cup upon the table and wiped my lips with the back of my hand. The others remained silent and motionless, as if they expected me to swoon before their eyes. Only the Lady Margery seemed to watch with anticipation. The others seemed apprehensive.

  “I put but a thimbleful of the powder into Sir Henry’s wine,” Walter said, breaking the silence. “’Twas not near what he has taken.”

  “Then how,” Sir Roger asked, “did near half of the stuff disappear? This fellow said he gave Sir Henry but a thimbleful, as he was told to do, but Master Hugh says but half of the potion remains.” The sheriff looked to Walter. “Where did you leave the pouch after you had prepared Sir Henry’s draught?”

  “There, on the table, where it now rests.”

  “Perhaps,” Lord Gilbert said, “Sir Henry thought the draught too weak, and took more. Did you see him drink what you had prepared?”

  “Aye, m’lord. Drank it straight down, ’e did.”

  “Was there any wine remaining in his cup?” I asked.

  “Dunno. Don’t think so. He tilted the cup so’s to drink it all.”

  “How then did he consume more of the potion?” Lord Gilbert mused. “Did he eat it, mayhap?”

  “I doubt so,” I said. “The seeds of lettuce are bitter. And we do not know that he did take more of the potion. Perhaps someone else swallowed a part of it.”

  “But who?” Sir Roger asked. “Was there another,” he looked to Lady Margery, “who was troubled in the night so they could not fall to sleep?”

  Lady Margery shook her veiled head and replied, “What difference if half the potion did not stop his breath?”

  “Aye,” Lord Gilbert said. “What difference?”

  “I will tell you tomorrow,” I said. “As for now, ’tis near the twelfth hour, I wish to return to Galen House, and Lady Margery wishes to prepare her husband for burial.”

  “You will return on the morrow to seek a murderer?” Sir Roger asked.

  “Aye. I will be well rested for the work.”

  Galen House and my bed loomed large in my thoughts as I passed under the castle portcullis and set out for Bridge Street and home. I had rarely dosed myself with even a thimbleful of crushed lettuce seeds, as sleep generally comes readily to me. I had no experience at consuming so great a portion of the herb. I did not pause at the bridge over Shill Brook, as I often do when no pressing business calls, for worry I might succumb to sleep while gazing into the flowing water and tumble into the stream.

  I had forgotten my scratched cheek. When I arrived at my home and Kate saw me her eyes went wide and she asked what had befallen me. I told her of Lady Margery’s anger, and for a moment thought she was about to strike out for the castle to avenge me.

  “The woman must be forgiven,” I said. “She is a new widow and does not see things as they are.”

  “But folk will see your cheek and think I have done this.”

  “Those who know us will know you would not do such a thing to your husband, and that I would not treat you so as to give you cause. Why should we care what others will think?”

  Kate was not much pleased when she learned what I had done to prove to Lady Margery that Sir Henry’s sleeping draught could not have caused his death.

  “What am I to do,” she asked, “if you fall to sleep upon the table while eating your supper?”

  “Carry me up to our bed,” I said in jest.

  “You like my cookery too well. You are no longer the slender youth I wed.”

  “Am I grown fat?”

  Kate frowned and assumed a thoughtful air. “Not yet,” she said.

  “But if you continue to feed me with mushroom tarts and coney pies and roasted capons I soon will be, eh?”

  “’Tis a mark of honor for a wife that her husband is well fed.”

  “Then I will do what I may to bring you respect amongst other women. And if I fall to sleep here, over my loaf and ale, leave me. I may sleep as well with my head upon an elbow as upon a pillow, after so much lettuce seed as I’ve consumed. But I am alert enough yet, I think, to climb to our bed. When I am well asleep, turn my head upon the pillow.”

  “Turn your head?”

  “Aye. I wish to know if a man could fall to such a deep sleep that he would not awaken if his head was moved.”

  I managed to remain awake through a simple supper, but became drowsy when the meal was done. I climbed the stairs to our bed chamber, lay down, and was deep asleep when the sun sank beyond the trees of Lord Gilbert’s orchard and forest to the west of Bampton Castle.

  Kate’s rooster awakened her next morn, but not me. The sun was well up when I finally blinked awake. It occurred to my muddled mind that I was yet alive. My experiment had been a success. A surfeit of crushed lettuce seeds had not stopped my breath. I had been sure it would not, but yet… well, that is the point of an experiment – to learn what is unknown, even if the result seems sure.

  I admit to being a bit unsteady as I descended the stairs. When Kate saw me enter our modest hall she said, “I could’ve shaved away your beard and you’d not have cared.”

  I was yet too stupid from sleep to understand her words. My spouse saw this, rolled her eyes, shook her head, and said, “I was to turn your head upon the pillow, remember?”

  “Oh, aye. You did so?”

  “Indeed. I turned your head one way, then the other, and prodded you in the ribs, too. I even poked where the arrow pierced you under your arm. I know the wound is yet tender, but you lay as dead. But that your chest rose and fell with each breath I might have thought you were.”

  I had little appetite this morn, which is surely a reflection of too much crushed lettuce seed the night before, as I am usually eager to break my fast. My tongue felt as though one of the poulterer’s geese had molted in my mouth, however, so a cup of the baker’s wife’s ale was welcome.
/>   My cup was near empty when Kate spoke again. “What did you learn when I turned your head last night?”

  “I learned nothing when you turned it, but this morn I have learned that a man may be so deep in sleep that his head might be moved so as to drive a sharp object through his ear and into his brain, doing murder while the fellow is asleep.”

  Kate shuddered. “Is this what happened to Sir Henry?”

  “So I believe. The Lady Margery thought my sleeping potion to blame for her husband’s death. I drank a fistful of crushed lettuce seeds in a cup of wine to prove her wrong, but I have also proven that under the spell of such a draught a man might be murdered and be able to do nothing to prevent his death.”

  “Had Sir Henry enemies?”

  “One, at least, although his wife and those in his service say not. What man who has achieved anything of import has not made enemies while doing so?”

  “Either they are ignorant,” Kate said, “or they do not wish to cast suspicion on one another.”

  “Aye,” I agreed.

  “Which do you believe it is?”

  “I do not know Lady Margery or Sir Henry’s daughter or his knights, squires, valets, and grooms well enough to say.”

  “But you have thoughts on the matter.”

  “Aye. Some man in Sir Henry’s service has done this. And some others may have suspicions which they do not wish to voice.”

  “A friend of the murderer?”

  “Or fearful for their own life, perhaps.”

  Kate was silent for a moment, then spoke again. “A man who would do murder once might do so again, if he thought he was about to be found out.”

  “Aye. A man can only hang once.”

  “Then I beg you take care. I need a husband and Bessie needs a father.”

  “You may trust me to do all necessary to keep body and soul entwined.”

  Kate had set a maslin loaf before me, but I had no appetite for it, nor did she. It lay untouched upon our table while we spoke.

  “Why do men murder one another?” Kate asked.

  “Many reasons, I suppose.”

  “Aye… but some reasons are rare and others common, I’d guess.”