by Keith Moray
‘Master Oldthorpe, the court would again like to call upon your services. Step forward please and examine the body.’
The apothecary made his way through the crowd, bowed to the bench and then bent to inspect the body. As before, the arrow had been left in place and the blood-soaked clothes had been left as they were.
‘This man died of his arrow wound, my lord. It is a high wound on his chest on the left side. I think that it must have missed his heart, but would almost certainly have punctured a lung and probably severed his main blood vessel from the heart.’
‘Would this be consistent with him living for several minutes after he was struck?’
‘Absolutely. Men can live for hours after the lung is punctured, but if the blood vessel was leaking he would have died once the blood filled his chest.’
Richard nodded grimly. ‘Remove the arrow, if you will.’
‘I shall need to use some instruments,’ the apothecary replied, taking off his shoulder bag and delving inside for a thin knife and a pair of forceps. ‘First I will need to remove his clothes, my lord.’
Richard gestured to begin and the crowd strained to watch Master Oldthorpe begin his grisly work. He laid his instruments down on the floor and gingerly opened the tunic as far as he could. Then he cut the clothes around the arrow so that he could peel them back to reveal the chest and the gory wound with the arrow protruding from it. Before he made a move to remove the arrow, he ran his hands expertly over the exposed torso and neck.
‘There is a curious cut at the side of his neck, Sir Richard,’ he pointed out. ‘I would say that it could have been from a chain or a string. It could have been made if something like a medallion had been torn from around his neck.’
Richard nodded to John of Flanshaw. ‘Record that, please, Bailiff.’ Then he turned to Master Oldthorpe. ‘Now the arrow, if you please.’
Lady Wilhelmina and most of the women in the crowd looked away as the apothecary worked on the tissue around the arrow shaft to loosen it. Then grasping the shaft, he pulled and it came out with a sickening sucking sound. As it came away, old, dark blood spurted from the chest and oozed for a moment over the alabaster white chest of the corpse. He rose with the arrow and, at Richard’s indication, laid it on the bench beside three other arrows, two of which were as bloodstained as the new one.
‘And now, please examine the other body and give us your opinion.’
The apothecary stepped over Hector Lunt’s corpse then bent again and drew back the blanket from the second body. At the sight of the corpse with its gaping throat wound and still staring eyes, there were many gasps and oaths, and two members of the crowd fainted and had to be carried out.
Wilfred Oldthorpe remained detached and leaned close to inspect the wound. ‘Clearly this man would have died almost immediately, Sir Richard. He was killed by a mortal wound to his throat.’
‘A knife cut?’
‘A terrible wound, Sir Richard. His main blood vessels and his windpipe were severed.’
‘Could it have been done while he was leaning over the first body?’
‘It could.’
‘And could it have been done by Hector Lunt, as he lay there with an arrow in his chest?’
The apothecary pursed his lips pensively as he considered the question. ‘It could,’ he replied hesitantly, ‘if he flailed out, but even so, I fear it would have sapped his remaining strength.’
‘Quite so,’ Richard commented. ‘Yet on battlefields you see such feats of strength, even at the point of death. Thank you, Master Oldthorpe, you may stand down.’
Richard rapped his gavel to silence the crowd, for several sections had begun whispering and speculating. ‘Does anyone recognize this man? Can he be identified?’ People leaned forward or craned above their neighbours to try to get a better view of the bodies. A few men, including George-a-Green volunteered that they had seen him in one tavern or another over the last few days, but in general there was much head-shaking. No one seemed able to put a name to him.
‘Very well,’ said Richard. ‘Before we proceed, I am going to report on another thing that occurred yesterday.’
And he gave an abbreviated version of his and Hubert’s trip into Barnsdale Forest and of the way that they were ambushed and of how they took refuge in the charcoal burner’s hut, which their assailant set on fire with blazing arrows. He made no mention of Matilda Oxley or of their rescue by the outlaws.
‘I tell you this because we brought back one of the arrows that narrowly missed us.’ He picked up the single arrow that was not bloodstained from the bench. ‘Here it is. Now call Simon the Fletcher.’
John of Flanshaw duly called the fletcher, who took his place in the witness pen.
‘You have already examined two of these arrows, one of which was removed from the body of William Scathelocke and one from the body of Albin of Rouncivale. Please now compare them with the one that has just been removed from Hector Lunt and this one that was fired at us yesterday.’
It took a matter of moments before Simon the Fletcher replied, ‘They are all made by the same hand, sir.’
‘Thank you. You may stand down, Simon the Fletcher.’ Then to John of Flanshaw, ‘Record that if you please.’
Richard sat forward and tapped his fingertips together. ‘So this is what apparently happened. Hector Lunt left the Bucket Inn, was followed by this unknown man and shot with an arrow. As he lay dying, the bowman came and leaned over him and possibly pulled something from his neck, if the apothecary is correct. Then with his failing strength Hector Lunt lashed out with his knife, which was found in his hand, and cut his murderer’s throat. Does this sound likely?’
He waited for a reaction, scanning the crowd before going on, ‘I do not believe that this happened!’
‘And why not?’ Sir Thomas demanded.
‘For several reasons,’ Richard replied suavely. ‘First, I find it hard to believe that an assassin armed with a bow would only come with a single arrow. He had a bow, yet no quiver, no other arrow in case he missed.’
‘If he killed all three men, then clearly he was a marksman!’ exclaimed Sir Thomas.
‘Yes, if he was,’ said Richard. ‘But I am not convinced that he was a bowman at all, far less a marksman. Constable Burkin, lift the man’s right hand.’
Ned Burkin did as he was instructed and people in the crowd murmured their understanding.
‘He has lost his second finger!’ exclaimed a youth at the front.
‘Exactly!’ said Richard. ‘Hardly likely then to have been an archer, no matter whether he was right or left-handed. This man had an accident of some sort in the far past, for the wound is healed. And secondly, if he had taken something from about Hector Lunt’s neck, what was it? And where is it?’
Sir Thomas had been sitting nodding his head as he followed Richard’s argument. ‘Clever, Sir-Richard. Clever!’
‘And lastly,’ Richard said. ‘I am not convinced that Hector Lunt would have been able to cut his throat. Not from his position on his back.’
Wilfred Oldthorpe nodded his head. ‘You are right, Sir Richard. I see that now. This wound would be more consistent with someone grabbing his head from behind, so that his throat was exposed, then a blade was applied from one side to the other.’ He made movements with his hands, as if dealing such a mortal wound to an invisible adversary.
‘Exactly my belief,’ said Richard. ‘I think that our mysterious bowman slew Hector Lunt, then the unknown man went in to check the kill, and while he was leaning over the dying man, he had his throat slit by the bowman who had crept up behind. Whatever was taken from Hector Lunt was taken away, the bow was dropped by the body and the knife was planted in Hector Lunt’s hand to make it look as if no one else was involved.’
‘But why was he killed in the first place?’ Lady Wilhelmina asked.
Richard glanced towards Beatrice, Matilda and Lillian, who were standing at the back of the crowd. ‘I think that there is enough here which suggests
that one man may have had a motive for some if not all of these killings. That man is Robert Hood.’
There were angry murmurings from the crowd and much nodding of heads. Yet a few steadfastly shook theirs.
‘If Robert Hood was guilty of the crime of rape, he could have a motive for silencing a man who was once a rival in love, and who had seen him leave the cemetery. The Pardoner may have given him a pardon upon hearing his confession, yet when the Hood thought about it he may have come after him. Hector Lunt had publicly abused Hood’s name. And this unknown man — well, it looks as if he had been in league with the bowman, until the opportunity presented itself for him to remove him as well. By doing so, he effectively removed all potential blame from him.’
The crowd considered it all, and this time Richard did not stop them from talking among themselves. He noticed that the twelve jurymen were also murmuring to each other.
‘I go back to our adventure of yesterday,’ Richard continued, when the hubbub settled. ‘You do not need to know the details, but my assistant and I were attacked, we believe, by Robert Hood while we took refuge in the hut. It almost cost us our lives, and we were only saved by his former fellows who chased him away. I should add that the reason they had chased him away is because he is an outcast among the outlaws that he led until yesterday. The reason for this was a spectacularly clever plan by the Deputy Steward, Sir Thomas Deyville.’
Sir Thomas stared at Richard in wonder, then, when he found himself being applauded, he beamed and slapped the table with his hand. ‘It was my pleasure, Sir Richard,’ he roared.
Richard gave him a thin smile, and then went on, ‘All of this leads me to believe that it is ever more important to bring Robert Hood to justice. His crimes are great and we need to hear him in person. I therefore make this proclamation, which John of Flanshaw shall copy and have read out and nailed up in writing for any who can read, in every village and hamlet around the town of Wakefield. It shall also be posted at every road leading into the Barnsdale Forest and the Outwood.’ He paused, then dictated slowly: ‘A proclamation, in the name of King Edward the Second, of Caernarvon, a reward of five guineas for the arrest of the outlaw Robert Hood, to be taken alive. If this arrest is made by an outlaw or group of outlaws, they shall earn full pardon. If it is made by any who are not freemen, they shall by this deed gain their freedom.’
Sir Thomas thumped the bench with his fist. ‘By God’s blood, we shall have the dog by nightfall, I wager! I will send some men out to the forest roads straight away.’
The crowd in the Moot Hall were carried away by the Deputy Steward’s exclamation and began to jeer the name of their former townsman, and to cheer at the reward for his capture.
Hubert had been watching the crowd all this time, and he noted the gleam in the eye of Midge the Miller. He assumed that the news of the proclamation would reach Barnsdale Forest before the proclamations were dry on John of Flanshaw’s parchments.
Richard was about to close the court session when there was the sound of a horse outside and a commotion from the outer members of the crowd. Moments later, a young messenger dressed in the unmistakable royal livery appeared at the door and made his way through to the bench.
He doffed his hat and bowed. ‘Greetings, sirs. I seek Sir Thomas Deyville and bring him a message from His Majesty the King. I rode to Sandal Castle but was informed to ride here.’ He drew from within his tunic a sealed message.
Sir Thomas hesitated for a moment, and then gestured to Richard. ‘My eyes are strained this morning, Sir Richard. Would you be so kind as to read it for me?’
Richard held Sir Thomas’s eyes for a moment, then nodded with a genial smile. He took the message, opened the seal and read the message. Then he leaned closer to the Deputy Steward and whispered in his ear. Sir Thomas coloured, asked a couple of quiet questions then stood up.
‘His Majesty the King and his special adviser Hugh le Dispenser are staying at nearby Rothwell Castle, but have decided to dine and stay at Sandal Castle until Corpus Christi in two days when he will watch the Wakefield Mystery Plays.’ He beamed proudly. ‘This is a great honour for Wakefield, and to mark it I invite all of the Wakefield burghers and the heads of the guilds to sup with us, His Majesty and his adviser this evening at five o’clock.’
He was still beaming proudly some minutes later, once the court had cleared, when Lady Wilhelmina brought him down to earth.
‘Father, we should make haste. My mother will be all of a fluster. Honoured though she will be at entertaining His Majesty, yet I fear she will be less pleased at having to entertain half of Wakefield.’
Richard was dressing and Hubert was looking out of his tower room when the royal party rode up the hill towards Sandal Castle. At the head of the party of some twenty men rode two trumpeters, then two banner carriers, and behind them, a tall dark-haired man of about thirty years, somewhat foppishly dressed, with a pill hat that barely covered his cascading locks. Beside him was the unmistakable figure of the King, Edward II of Caernarvon, resplendent in blue tunic and hose, with a breastplate, a flowing fur collar on his purple cloak, and a light crown upon his head. Even at a distance the strange three-forked beard that he cultivated was evident, and he cut a dashing figure. The two men laughed as they rode, clearly enjoying the afternoon sunshine and each other’s company. Behind them rode a column of heavily armed men.
‘His Majesty comes, my lord,’ Hubert announced. Then he gave a soft whistle. ‘So that is his special adviser, Hugh le Dispenser.’
Richard joined him at the window and looked down. ‘Indeed. He seems rather a fine peacock of a fellow, does he not?’
Hubert scratched his chin. ‘And you say that he is the new Gaveston, my lord?’
‘That is what they say. The King calls him his King’s Eye.’
Hubert hummed. ‘They seem close enough, that is for sure.’
‘Too close for many of the King’s opponents,’ returned Richard. ‘And indeed, too close for Her Majesty Queen Isabella, for she had him and his father banished until only this year. Now that he is back, she has been sent on a diplomatic mission to France. But still, that is up to His Majesty. Our purpose is to uphold the King’s justice. And it would not do for us to be absent when the King arrives, so come, we had best take our places.’
Richard completed his change of clothes then swiftly made his way down to the courtyard where Sir Thomas, Lady Alecia and Lady Wilhelmina were already waiting to receive the king. The castle staff were assembled at a discreet distance.
‘A great honour for you, Lady Alecia,’ Richard said with a smile.
Lady Alecia smiled back nervously. ‘Yet a daunting challenge, Sir Richard. I wish that His Majesty had given us more time.’
‘It will be fine, my lady,’ said Sir Thomas. ‘A great opportunity for — all of us.’ His eyes fell on his daughter, and Richard imagined that there was sadness in his regard. ‘Alas, he will probably not be over interested in my daughter’s beauty.’
‘Father!’ Lady Wilhelmina hissed under her breath.
Trumpets called from outside the walls of the castle, then there came the sound of horses crossing the outer drawbridge as the royal party entered the castle. The trumpeters and the two officers rode up to the waiting Deputy Steward and his group, then they broke apart to reveal the King and his adviser, Hugh le Dispenser.
The King looked down as Richard and Sir Thomas bowed and the ladies curtsied. And behind them, the castle staff echoed their moves.
‘Excellent! Most excellent!’ King Edward laughed, elegantly swinging a leg over his saddle and nimbly dropping to the ground. ‘Isn’t this the most delightful little castle, Hugh?’
Hugh le Dispenser followed suit and came to stand beside his monarch and friend, for their relationship was immediately apparent to be more that of two close friends than sovereign and humble subject. He looked round at the barbican, the inner moat and then at the keep beyond. ‘An interesting design, Edward, I give you that.’ He nodded his head as
if agreeing with his own statement. ‘Quaint, but functional, I would say.’
‘And this must be Sir Thomas Deyville, the Deputy Steward that I have such high hopes of.’
Sir Thomas bowed and kissed the outstretched fingertips. ‘Your loyal servant, Your Majesty,’ he returned obsequiously.
‘And these beauties must be your wife and daughter,’ the King went on. He pouted and then added, ‘But which is which? They are both so enchanting that they could be young sisters.’
Lady Alecia giggled and blushed. ‘Your Majesty is too kind. I am Alecia and this is my daughter, the Lady Wilhelmina.’
Both the King and Hugh le Dispenser bowed in unison.
‘And how are you, Richard, my good and trusty Sergeant-at-Law?’ asked the King.
‘I am well, Your Majesty.’
‘Your wound is healed?’
Richard looked puzzled for a moment, then said, ‘Quite healed, sir. There is an apothecary here in Wakefield so skilled that he cured it days ago. I had forgotten.’
‘Maybe you will be fit enough to hunt with us tomorrow then, Richard. Hugh here is keen to stick a boar or two in this Great Park that we have heard so much about.’
‘Or a deer,’ said Hugh le Dispenser with a yawn. ‘I quite fancy exercising my bow arm.’
Richard inclined his head. ‘I would beg to be excused from a hunt, Your Majesty. I still have pressing law work to take care of. Yet I am sure that Sir Thomas would be a more than able guide to the park here.’
‘Indeed, Your Majesty,’ began Sir Thomas. ‘I would —’
‘Pah! The law!’ interrupted Hugh le Dispenser. ‘It is so boring. So dusty, don’t you think?’
King Edward smiled indulgently on his adviser. ‘I think you are too artistic to understand the law, Hugh. But my realm needs good law and just law. That is why Richard here is the perfect man for me. He breathes the law. Isn’t that so, Sir Thomas? Has he taught you much?’
