by Mel Starr
Uctred and another groom were assigned to bring a pallet to the hall and transport Sir John to his chamber. I told the knight I would visit him in the morning and saw him nod in understanding.
I had no interest in dining this evening at Lord Gilbert’s table. So when he asked me to remain I declined, told him I would return shortly to seek information from William, and made my way to Galen House and a simple supper in the peace and quiet of my own family.
“You believe this fight is connected to Sir Henry’s death?” Kate asked as we consumed a maslin loaf. “Or is it but a coincidence?”
“Bailiffs do not believe in coincidence.”
“Ah… then one or both of the fellows knows of Sir Henry’s murderer, and the other…”
“The other knows, or believes that he knows,” I completed her thought.
“And the squire is now in the castle dungeon?”
“Aye. Nothing like a dungeon to concentrate a man’s mind upon his sins.”
“And give him time to devise a tale which will turn guilt to the other fellow and ascribe innocence to himself.”
“Aye, that also. Which is why I am to return to the castle this hour and with Lord Gilbert and Sir Roger question the squire about the brawl. If he does not have the night to invent his excuses we may more readily get the truth from him.”
The sun rested just above the treetops of Lord Gilbert’s forest to the west of the castle when I re-entered the gatehouse. I went directly to the solar, for supper was over and done and grooms were disassembling tables and benches. This was Sunday eve, so there would be no entertainment, no musicians or jongleurs. Lord Gilbert does not think such frivolity meet for the Sabbath.
Sir Roger was in attendance with Lord Gilbert and Lady Petronilla, enjoying wine and conversation, when I arrived at the chamber. Lady Petronilla excused herself and Lord Gilbert called for a sergeant to bring Squire William to us.
The youth’s eyes were turning black from the blow he’d taken, and his nose was swollen and askew, clearly broken, if no longer dripping gore. William eyed us cautiously from the slits his eyes had become. Lord Gilbert and Sir Roger sat facing the lad, arms crossed, intent but waiting. Waiting for me.
“You might have killed Sir John,” I began.
“He will live?” the squire asked.
“Aye, most likely.”
I thought I saw regret flash across William’s battered face. Not regret that Sir John might perish, but that he might not.
“Why did you thrust a dagger into him?”
“Because he first attacked me.”
“You speak of your nose?”
“Aye. And when he struck me down he drew his dagger and would have plunged it into me was I not too quick for him.”
“He knocked you down,” Sir Roger asked, “then made to stab you whilst you were on the ground?”
“Aye… but I saw him coming and rolled away.”
“Then you drew your own dagger?” I asked.
“Aye. I’d got free of him, but he came for me again, so I took a swipe at him with my dagger as I twisted away. Made him back away, an’ I was able to get to my feet.”
“That’s when we came upon you and stopped the fray?” Lord Gilbert asked.
“What did you do to cause Sir John to smite you so?” I asked.
“Didn’t do anything,” William replied.
I saw one of Lord Gilbert’s eyebrows rise, as is common when some matter strikes him as curious. “If you did nothing, then you must have said something,” Lord Gilbert said. “A man will not aim such a blow at another for no reason.”
I realized that Lord Gilbert had chanced upon the cause of the fray when William made no reply. For him to do so would mean that we who interrogated him might learn a thing he wished us not to know.
“The fight was near to the marshalsea,” I said. “Were you and Sir John going to attend your horses?”
“Aye. They’d not been exercised since day before Sir Henry died. We thought to go for a gallop.”
Men who dislike each other would not agree to a companionable ride through the countryside. Something went seriously awry between Sir John and William between the time they made plans to ride and their approach to the stables.
“Is Sir John an irascible fellow?” I asked.
The squire shrugged. “Never seemed so,” he said.
“Then you must have said something objectionable. What was it?”
William was again silent. Sir Roger responded.
“Say what Master Hugh requires, else you will return to the dungeon ’til your tongue is loosened.”
“I don’t remember my exact words,” he said.
“Nonsense,” I replied. “When a man says a thing which causes another to strike him to his knees, he is not likely to forget what he said which brought him two blackened eyes and a broken nose.”
“Broken? My nose is broken?”
“Aye,” Lord Gilbert said. “All askew. Now answer Master Hugh.”
William tenderly touched his nose, discovered the truth of Lord Gilbert’s assertion, then spoke.
“Can it be set right?” the squire asked.
“Aye,” I said. “I will deal with it when you have answered our questions. If you will not, then you may go through life with a nose seeking scents to the sinister side, and through which you may never breathe properly.”
William was, I knew, smitten with Lady Anne, and reports said the lass wished to wed the youth. Would she do so had he a disfigured face and a nose which would draw laughter behind upraised hands? I believe William considered these same thoughts.
“’Twas meant as a jest,” the squire finally said.
“What was? Your words to Sir John?” I asked.
“Aye.”
“What did you say that he took amiss?”
“We spoke of horses… I said ’twould not be long before Sir Geoffrey would be riding Sir Henry’s mare.”
“You did not see that Sir John would see this as an insult to Sir Geoffrey and Lady Margery?” I said.
“Nay,” the squire said ruefully. “All know that Sir Geoffrey and the Lady Margery…”
William’s voice trailed off. I prodded him to continue. “‘Sir Geoffrey and Lady Margery’ what? It would be well if I could restore your nose as soon as possible. A broken nose left crooked for too long can sometimes not be made right.”
William gingerly touched his swollen nose, grimaced, then continued.
“That Sir Geoffrey and Lady Margery would wed if she was free of Sir Henry.”
“All knew this? Did Sir Henry know?”
“Think so. If he didn’t, he was the only one, man or woman, on his estate who didn’t.”
“What else do folk know? Did Sir Geoffrey and Lady Margery connive in Sir Henry’s death?” Sir Roger asked.
“Oh, nay. Surely not,” William replied.
“Then how did they expect Lady Margery to be free of Sir Henry?” Lord Gilbert asked.
“Lady Margery was to seek an annulment.”
“On what grounds?” Lord Gilbert scoffed. “That they had no issue? She had no funds. How would she gain the coin a bishop would require of her?”
“Don’t know what ground she was to claim. Did all work according to plan, she wouldn’t have needed grounds.”
“Oh?” I said.
“The Bishop of Lichfield is old and ill and will not live much longer. Lady Margery’s cousin is thought to have the see when the old bishop dies.”
“Ah,” Lord Gilbert said. “The new bishop would grant the plea of kinfolk.”
“So men said.”
“And this is why Sir Henry was distressed and lay awake nights?” I asked.
“Mayhap,” the youth agreed. “That and his debts.”
“The old bishop is dead,” Sir Roger said. “Word came to Oxford early last week.”
“Then Lady Margery will soon know if her cousin will receive the see,” I said.
“She may know already. Rumor in Oxford is that a sch
olar at Merton College will be elevated to the post,” Sir Roger said.
“Is Lady Margery’s cousin an Oxford scholar?” I asked William.
“Nay. He’s Dean of Hereford Cathedral, and not of noble birth.”
Here was interesting information. If Lady Margery hoped to be free of Sir Henry when her kinsman became Bishop of Lichfield, that hope was dashed. Did she know of this already? And did the news cause her or Sir Geoffrey to seek another way to dissolve her marriage?
“Will you set my nose right now?” William asked.
I looked to Lord Gilbert and saw him nod. “We have what we asked of this fellow,” he said. “Put his nose in place.”
“To do so will cause him much pain,” I said. “’Tis late, near dark, and I have no sedative herbs with me to reduce the hurt. I brought only instruments to deal with Sir John’s wound. I will return in the morning and set his nose right then.”
“But you said it must be done betimes or I may suffer the blemish all of my days,” the squire protested.
“Tomorrow will be soon enough,” I replied. “And you do not want me to tug your nose straight until you have swallowed a dose of crushed hemp seeds. You may trust my judgment on this.”
“What is to be done with the lad ’til then?” Sir Roger asked. “Back to the dungeon?”
Lord Gilbert looked to me with that curious, raised eyebrow, and waited for me to speak.
“I think William will not try to flee the castle in the night,” I said. “And if Sir John lives he’ll face no charge of murder in the King’s Eyre.”
“Very well,” Lord Gilbert said. “You may return to your chamber for the night. Where you spend the morrow will depend upon where Sir John’s soul may be then.”
William bowed, backed away from his betters, and felt behind him for the door from the solar to the corridor. I could guess how uneasy a night he would spend. In his chamber he would likely find Robert de Cobham already abed. Word of William’s brawl had surely passed the ears of all in the castle, so that even those who were not present at the fight knew of it, so likely Robert would demand to be told all. The recounting, and his painful nose, would drive sleep far from William. And worry that he might be returned to the castle dungeon would also make him wakeful. So be it. My own bed called. I would concern myself with the squire and his troubles tomorrow.
Shill Brook flowed dark and quiet under the bridge. As was my custom when I had no pressing business, I stopped upon the bridge to gaze into the water, although, truth to tell, the evening had become so dark that I could see little of the stream. But I knew it was there. As was a murderer in the castle. There was not enough light yet for me to see the felon, but, like the brook below my feet, I knew he was there.
My thought traveled back to the evils which had come to Bampton Castle in past days. Whence did these evils come? Not from God. But if the devil created evils, who created the devil but God, who is all goodness? Could not God, all-powerful, change the sin in me and other men to good? How does wickedness exist in God’s world, against His will?
As I pondered this I remembered St Augustine’s assertion that all God has made is good, even the perverted things, like human nature. If they were not good, they could not be perverted. A thing which is already evil cannot be defiled, for it is so already. If men were the supreme good, like God, they would be incorruptible, as is He. But if they were not good at all, there would be nothing in them worthy of corruption. Being only evil, men would be incorruptible.
Men, and women also, must fall between the two. Events at the castle in past days displayed man’s perversion. But those evil deeds are an argument that men were originally made good, as Holy Scriptures teach. We are not perfect. Only God is. But neither are we irreversibly evil. There we are, caught in the middle, and unable to save ourselves. We are moral beings, made good in the image of God, but we are corruptible, as God is not, as we abuse the gift of free will. And thence we are inevitably corrupted.
Was it not for the Lord Christ’s death upon the cross we would all suffer the penalty of our depraved free will. I turned from the dark stream and set out for Galen House with a lighter spirit. Not because I had been considering how evil influences men, but because the Lord Christ has freed all who accept His sacrifice from the penalty of their depravity. Even me. Somewhere this night within Bampton Castle walls was a man, or perhaps a woman, who had freely chosen sin and would pay the penalty for the choice, in this world, was I wise enough to discover them; and even if I failed, they would suffer for it in the next.
Kate awaited me at Galen House. She was full of questions about events at the castle, as anyone would be. I had been in haste when I returned to collect my instruments, so had left Kate with only the rudiments of what had happened, and at supper had not yet questioned the squire. Kate is not a woman who is satisfied with partial knowledge. I sat with her on our bench and in the light of a cresset explained what I knew of the fight between Sir John and William.
“It seems to me,” Kate said when I finished the tale, “that there are few folk sorry of Sir Henry’s death.”
“Aye, but few had cause to do murder, even if they feel no loss that he is gone.”
“The night before Sir Henry was buried someone placed a message under the sheriff’s door, telling him that the squires had what he sought. Is this not so?” Kate said.
“Aye. And written in a poor hand, as one unaccustomed to a pen.”
“Then you found a bloody cloth and a bodkin in the squires’ chamber.”
“Just so.”
“And one of the squires had cause to dislike Sir Henry, as he sought the Lady Anne’s hand but was rebuffed.”
“Mayhap was rebuffed. Whether or not he asked to pay her court I do not know… but Sir Henry knew of his interest and was opposed.”
“Sir Henry was so poor his daughter stole silver spoons and knives from Lord Gilbert’s pantry. I wonder did she resent her poverty enough to join William in wishing her father dead?”
“Who can know? Did Squire William wish Sir Henry dead? Both would deny it, so there is no point in asking either of them. And having a suit rejected has rarely drawn a man to homicide.”
Kate was silent a moment, thinking. I was silent as well, content to watch the glimmering flame of the cresset light her cheeks and hair.
“And the portpain,” she said. “Missing from the pantry at about the same time, you said, as the silver was taken. Then a fragment is discovered in William’s chamber.”
“Also Robert de Cobham’s chamber,” I reminded her.
“Sir Henry cannot sleep because of his debts and because he knows his wife seeks another husband. Now you say that Lady Margery may have had a design to escape her marriage, but no longer, as her cousin is not made bishop.”
“I wonder,” I said, “how badly Lady Margery wanted to escape her marriage?”
“And how much Sir Geoffrey might have been willing to assist her to free herself?” Kate added.
“Aye, that also.”
We sat in silence then, lost in private thoughts. Kate’s head began to sway, and soon rested upon my shoulder. I was loath to interrupt the moment, but the night grew cool, and the cresset burned low. I lifted Kate from the bench and carried her to the stairs and our chamber. This life includes many sorrows, but some simple things may soothe the hurts and make trivial the pains which come, soon or late, to all.
Next morn, after a maslin loaf and ale, I set off for the castle with a few instruments and a vial of crushed hemp seeds. William would require a strong dose if the pain of my work upon his nose was not to overcome him.
The gate to Bampton Castle was open and the portcullis raised when I arrived. Wilfred the porter greeted me with a tug of his forelock, and I went straight to the hall and the stairs to Lord Gilbert’s solar.
I found my employer and Sir Roger there, having just arrived from the castle chapel and morning mass.
“You are about early today, Hugh,” Lord Gilbert greeted me.
“I promised to set the squire’s nose straight, and I wish to see Sir John.”
“Sir John lived the night,” Sir Roger said, “and took some ale and part of a loaf to break his fast.”
This was welcome news, both for Sir John and for Squire William. The lad would not face the King’s Eyre if Sir John lived. Of course, he might face other sorrows if Sir John recovered health and strength and sought vengeance upon the lad. If he did so I hoped the reprisal would take place elsewhere and be no concern of mine.
“I’ve seen nothing of William this morning,” Lord Gilbert said. “He did not break his fast nor attend mass.”
“Hah,” Sir Roger laughed. “With such a nose and eyes as he had last night, ’tis no wonder. He’ll wish to take his meals in his chamber for a fortnight. He was not a handsome lad to begin with. If Master Hugh cannot repair his nose you might toss him in the Isis and skim ugly for a week.”
“If you hear a yelp from the lower level,” I said, “take no notice. It will mean I have put the lad’s nose straight.”
“Mayhap he will think before he offers another such jest,” Lord Gilbert said.
“Aye,” I agreed. “But I am puzzled why Sir John took his wit so badly. If William had spoken so where Sir Geoffrey heard, and was then struck, I could understand.”
Lord Gilbert’s eyebrow rose. “Aye, ’tis a puzzle. You believe it important?”
“Everything which happens in your castle may be important. Our problem is that some things may not be of consequence and we do not know which are which… so we must treat all events as significant to Sir Henry’s death, even though some may not be, as we do not know the difference.”
“Oh,” Sir Roger frowned. “Just so.”
I departed the solar with the sheriff’s brow furrowed in thought and Lord Gilbert’s eyebrow yet raised. They might puzzle out the mystery over a cup of wine whilst I ministered to William.
I found the squire groaning in his bed. His nose was more swollen and his eyes blacker than the day before. It seemed likely that William had slept little.
Robert de Cobham sat upon his bed, watching his companion, when I entered their chamber. Robert’s visage, clouded with worry, lightened when I entered, as if he thought his friend’s anguish would be soon ended. Not so. Pain may come in but a moment, as in the arrival of a strong man’s fist upon the point of another man’s nose, but will generally take much longer to pass away.
