by Jason Vail
“Where’s that?” Gilbert asked.
But Stephen did not reply. “How long have you been here?” he asked the father of the squatter family.
“Ten days, maybe, sir,” the man answered. “We came the same day that dead fellow was discovered at the castle.”
“Ten days. And no one was here when you came?”
“No. People had been here before us, but the miller said it had been a week since the bailiffs had driven them off.”
“I see,” Stephen murmured, still gazing at the fire. He dug into the fire, which was surrounded by a circle of stones and tossed the flaming wood and coals aside. Then he dug down into the circle. He had got down a couple of feet and was about to give up when the shovel deposited a leather purse atop the pile of soil he had created. Stephen knelt and loosened the drawstrings. He upended the purse. Four large green stones in gold fittings fell out onto his palm. He held out the stones for Gilbert to see. “Look.”
“Aaah!” Gilbert cried. He snatched the shovel and began throwing dirt every which way, deepening the hole. “It’s not here! Saint Milburga’s relic — it’s not here!”
“No,” Stephen said, “and I don’t think we’re going to find it, either.”
Chapter 22
Voices on the road told Stephen that Walter Henle had arrived. Stephen emerged from beneath the bridge to face him. It would do no good to run away.
“Attebrook,” Henle said with some satisfaction at the sight of him, “it looks like you’ve been up to some mischief.”
“There was a spot of trouble here, but it’s over now.”
“I’m going to have to arrest you, you know.”
Stephen had been expecting this. Homicide was homicide and punishable even if committed in self-defense. Only a pardon would save him, and those were expensive and hard to get. “Pesky thing, the law. Always forcing you to do things you don’t want to do.”
“Oh, I don’t mind doing this. You’ve had it coming.”
“I like it when a man enjoys his work so.”
“Yes, I must admit, it does give me some pleasure to think of you in my gaol. Take him away, boys,” Henle said to the deputies at his back. “Be sure that he’s especially comfortable. I will be along shortly to see how he’s doing.”
Stephen was in hold for three weeks when the Prince returned from Wales with only his entourage, the army having been disbanded, victorious it was said, even if it hadn’t fought a single battle. However, the Prince had relieved several castles in the north that had been besieged, and apparently that was reckoned enough for him to turn his attention to the more immediate threat to the crown: the discontent among many of the barons and the threat of civil war posed by Simon de Montfort’s faction. He had been recalled to London for a council about how to address this threat.
The second day the Prince was in residence, a pair of castle wardens fetched Stephen from the gaol and escorted him to the hall, even though he was as bearded, unkept, and filthy by now as any denizen residing beneath one of Ludlow’s bridges.
A person so filthy had no business in the hall, so Stephen wasn’t surprised that he was made to wait at the foot of the stairs, although he could have done with not being chained to a post there.
“Sorry, sir,” one of the wards, a fellow named Rodney, said. “Orders.”
“Nowhere to run in here,” Stephen said.
“Well, that thief, whoever he was, managed to get out. They reckon you’re smarter than him, I suppose.”
“But not smarter than you, and I know you’ll keep a sharp eye on me.”
“Oh, I’ll do that. You can count on it.”
About half an hour later, Sir Geoffrey Randall emerged and clumped down the steps with the help of a cane and the bannister. He looked up at Stephen, eyes a little rummy, his face a bit more careworn.
“Foot bothering you again, sir?” Stephen asked.
“Yes, dammit. What’s the matter with you, boy? Why does trouble seem to rear its head whenever you’re about?”
“Well, I thought I had solved the trouble, at least partly, anyway.”
Sir Geoffrey nodded. “Yes, you’ve found the stones. But all these bodies lying about. Good God, what’s happening to Ludlow? It was such a quiet, peaceful place until you showed up. Precious little for me to do, except for the occasional accident. Now I’m busy all the time!”
“Sorry, sir. But none of it’s my doing — well, most of it, anyway.”
“About those fellows at the mill. You’re sure they were the culprits?”
“Most of them. Not the ringleader, I think. That was a fellow named Melmerby.”
“One of Parfet’s men, Gilbert said.”
“Yes.”
“And there’s but one left alive to be brought to justice.”
“That’s my thought.”
“I doubt we’ll ever catch him. He’ll go to ground, change his name, that sort of thing, if he’s got any sense at all.” Sir Geoffrey wagged a finger in Stephen’s face. “But what are we to do with you, eh?”
“I had thought that since I was doing service for the crown that a pardon would be in order. You did speak to the Prince about that, I hope?”
“I exchanged some words with him to that effect. He is most pleased with the recovery of the gems, though his heart aches at the thought of the relic still out there. What became of it, do you think?”
“I imagine that the thieves tossed it in the river. I doubt they had much use for it. The stones were their objective all along.”
“Stupid fellows.”
“About that pardon, sir. What did the Prince say? He had mentioned a reward.”
“Owing to the fact that you did not recover the relic, I doubt there will be a reward.”
“Oh,” Stephen said, crushed. “Not even a little one?”
“Not even a little one. As for a pardon, a gift might hasten it.”
“You wouldn’t by any chance be able to lend me some money, would you, sir?”
“Lend you money? You are daft, boy. No, but you have a fine horse. The Prince would be satisfied with that, I’m sure.”
Stephen was dismayed. No doubt Sir Geoffrey meant his war horse. The stallion was worth a lot of money. He was the last thing Stephen hoped to part with. “How sure are you, sir?”
“We spoke about it. FitzAllen argued against it, of course. He thinks you ought to hang, you know, and he makes quite a persuasive argument for it. But the Prince seemed receptive to a pardon, despite FitzAllen’s meddling and accusations against you, once I mentioned that stallion of yours. If you are amenable, I shall tell him.”
“Don’t let me keep you, sir. I know that standing on your bad foot is a trial.”
Sir Geoffrey harumphed, and went back upstairs.
He came back out in another quarter hour. This time he remained at the top of the steps. “You fellows can let him go!” he called down to the castle wardens. “He’s been bailed, on the Prince’s order.”
“Stephen, my dear fellow,” Sir Geoffrey continued as the wardens fussed with the manacles, “the Prince has decided to give the stones to the monastery at Greater Wenlock, for their continued prayers and all that. It’s a most happy resolution all round, don’t you think?”
“Happy, yes, I am happy everything turned out so well.” Stephen rubbed his wrists where the manacles had chafed.
“Good, then,” Sir Geoffrey said. “What are you waiting for? Off you go.” He turned back into the hall.
“Bit of bad luck, losing your best horse like that, sir,” Rodney, the guard, said.
“It’s a fucking disaster.” Honor and dignity required that he show no feeling, but he was so distraught at having lost the one thing above all others that marked him as a knight and a man of position, if not substance, that the words escaped his tongue before he could recall them. At least Sir Geoff had gone inside and could not see or hear him disgrace himself. “I’ll never be able to afford another like him. Nor get away from this place.”
“I’ll never get my own grime off, what with all that’s come off you!” Harry had protested. But since there were no other free tubs at the time, due to all the custom the Kettle was getting from the men-at-arms of the Prince’s household, he had no choice. Besides, Stephen was paying, and Harry would not refuse charity, regardless of its form.
Gilbert, meanwhile, sat on a bench, sipping wine, as he had no desire to share a tub with Harry no matter how much he needed a bath himself. He leaned against the wall, face long, which was a feat owing to its naturally round condition.
“What’s the matter with you?” Stephen asked Gilbert when he noticed Gilbert’s sad expression.
“Yes,” Harry said, “what have you been up to? He never looks that way except when he’s feeling guilty about something.”
“I’m not feeling guilty about anything,” Gilbert protested. “But I am troubled.”
“Troubled about what?” Stephen asked.
“I’d rather not say.” It was clear from Gilbert’s tone that he was reluctant to speak of whatever bothered him before Harry, who might be prone both to needle him about it and spread the word to the rest of Ludlow and beyond.
Harry swam to the near side of the tub, hands on either side of his face, only his nose and above showing. “This sounds serious. Cheated on Edith, have you?”
“I have not!” Gilbert said indignantly.
“That’s a relief. I was worried about that,” Harry said.
“It is,” Gilbert allowed at long last, “about my book.”
“What book?” Harry asked. “I didn’t know you fancied literature.”
“You are a man without the slightest bit of culture, nor conscience, I might add, after all the trouble you’ve caused Jennie,” Gilbert said. “I would not expect you to understand.”
“Your book,” Stephen murmured. He knew exactly what Gilbert meant: his purloined Gospel, the one he had taken when he left Greater Wenlock.
“I’ve been thinking — you shut up!” Gilbert pointed a finger at Harry, whose mouth had opened to speak. “I don’t want to hear a word from you!”
Harry subsided in the tub at the fury of this outcry, content to wait and see what revelation would ensure.
Gilbert went on, rubbing the bench with his fingers. “I’ve been thinking I should return it. For my soul.”
Harry started to comment again, but Stephen laid a hand on his shoulder and forestalled whatever he planned to say. Stephen said, “We should ride up there then.”
“I suppose we should,” Gilbert said.
It was only twenty miles from Ludlow to Greater Wenlock, but it took most of the day to get there, owing to Gilbert’s mule, whose fastest pace was a slow walk unless it was startled by something, but being an unusually level-headed and stubborn mule, it could not be coaxed nor startled into going any faster. This was just as well, since Gilbert was liable to fall off at any more energetic pace.
It was late afternoon when they finally arrived, and the fields about the town had already begun to clear as people gave thought to supper.
The priory lay to the east of the town, and it was a pleasant sight, a neat, modest abbey flanked by timber buildings on the south side forming the priory close. A groom offered to put up their horses, but Stephen declined, saying, “Thank you, but we will take a room in the town.”
Gilbert paused at the passage into the cloister, lips pursed.
“If you burst into tears, I’ll give you a clout,” Stephen said.
“Just remembering things, is all.”
“Happy memories?”
“For the most part. Hard work, hard prayer, strict obedience. I loved it for all that.”
“It is hard to imagine you being strict about anything.”
“Well, I did get in a lot of trouble about that. Brother Anthony always had to get after me. I suppose he found me exasperating.”
“These reminiscences are all well and good, but my stomach is growling. You finished Edith’s ham and cheese hours ago, and left me little part.”
“I have more to feed that you do.” Gilbert released the leather case he clutched to his round stomach to give the stomach a pat.
They entered the cloister and crossed to the refectory, passing a stone-walled well. A servant asked what they wanted, and having heard their desires, delivered a message to Prior Anthony. The servant returned in short order to escort them to the prior’s chamber.
Prior Anthony received them in a high-backed chair, looking more worn and stooped than he had only a few weeks ago. Brother Adolphus stood at Prior Anthony’s side.
“Sir Stephen,” Prior Anthony said in his reedy voice which one had to strain to hear, “what a surprise to see you. We understand that we have you to thank for the return of the emeralds. We are so grateful for that small bit of fortune.”
“We found them,” Stephen said, indicating Gilbert.
“Yes. Master Wistwode. I must say I had not expected to see you again. Is there some special reason for your visit?” Prior Anthony’s eyes lingered on the leather case, which was large enough to contain a large book.
Gilbert coughed. He was about to speak, but Stephen held up a hand to stop him.
“He has business with you. But so do I. I should like that taken care of first.”
“Your business?” Prior Anthony asked. “What business could you have with us?”
“I want you to fetch the relic. I want to see it.”
“Whatever are you talking about?” Brother Adolphus burst out. “It was stolen!”
“It was stolen, but not by the men who took the stones.”
“Stephen!” Gilbert cried. “What are you saying?”
“I have been thinking this long day, and I have finally worked it out,” Stephen said. “When Ormyn Yarker climbed into the storeroom at the chapel and took up the relic, he pried the stones from the bones. He had not come for the bones and did not care about them. Or perhaps he feared spiritual retribution if he took the relics. I don’t know. In any case, he left them behind, along with parts of the clasps.” He held out the small golden clasp he had found in the relic’s box the day of his examination. “In the morning, one of your order opened the box and discovered that the stones were missing. You then saw your opportunity to seize the relic for yourselves by claiming it had been taken as well. You thought that the thieves would never be found and people would think the relic lost forever. But you had it safe.”
“That is a scurrilous accusation!” Brother Adolphus cried.
He was about to protest more, but Prior Anthony held up a hand. “Adolphus,” he said with resignation, “it seems we have been found out, after all.” Anthony addressed Stephen, “I pray before the relic every day for the saint’s guidance and help. That morning when I opened the box, the bones indeed were there, although the stones,” and his voice hardened here at mention of the stones, “were not, thank God. Although we had thought the adornment of the relic was a sacrilege, I then realized it was part of the saint’s plan to put her remains into the hands of those who love her most, those who do not seek to profit by her but to do good and her will. Our saint will be safe here, out of the hands of that man, FitzAllen.”
“Thank God!” Gilbert said.
“Thank God, indeed,” Adolphus said.
“Bring it out,” Stephen said.
“What good would that do?” Anthony asked. “You have my confession. Is that not enough for you?”
“Bring it out so that Gilbert can see it.”
“Stephen,” Gilbert said, “I don’t need to really.”
“Be quiet, Gilbert.”
Anthony’s fingers drummed on the arm of his chair. “Brother Adolphus, would you be so kind as to fetch Saint
Milburga’s bones?”
“Brother Anthony —” Adolphus protested.
“Please!” Anthony said. “Let us indulge this young man. He is the law, so I suppose he has a right to see the stolen goods.”
“This is a mistake,” Adolphus said, despite the prior’s order. But after a moment, he retreated to another chamber.
Adolphus returned bearing a small, plain wooden cask. He gave the cask to Anthony, who rested it in his lap and tilted up the lid. The remains of a human thigh, brown and aged, lay within the box, in three pieces now rather than two.
“It’s been damaged,” Gilbert said in a voice tinged with awe and pain.
“So it has,” Anthony said, “but it is still Saint Milburga nonetheless.”
“What now?” Anthony asked Stephen. “Will you report your discovery to the Prince? I understand that you are in some trouble with the law.”
“I just wished to be sure,” Stephen said. “You have a complaint about a trespass done to you years ago. Charity requires that you forgive it, and let it rest where things lie. I would have that done.”
Anthony glanced again at the leather case in Gilbert’s hands, eyes shrewd, as if he already knew what it contained. He nodded. “God tells us to be charitable and forgiving.”
“Good,” Stephen said. “Thank you.” He put a hand on Gilbert’s shoulder. “We’re done here.”
“What?” Gilbert said, for his attention was still on the relic and he did not seem to have understood what had just happened.
“What will you do when you return to Ludlow?” Anthony asked. “What will you say?”
“Nothing,” Stephen said. “We were never here.”
Anthony smiled. “We are ever grateful.”
“So are we.”
* * *
[1] See The Wayward Apprentice.
[2] See A Dreadful Penance.
[3] See The Girl in the Ice.
