by Mel Starr
“I’ll fetch Alyce,” she stammered, and turned to leave us standing in the doorway.
“Not necessary,” I said. “You may speak as well as any who may enter this house.”
When I had earlier stood at this door I had seen that it opened to a large chamber. This hall was furnished with benches, chairs, chests, and a table. At the left end a fireplace warmed the room. To the right was a partition, and two doors. Simon atte Pond’s prosperity had allowed him to enlarge his house with a bay for private rooms. I had thought it likely that these doors led to bedchambers, and this now prompted my visit.
I pointed toward the first door, which opened to a room lit by a small window of glass, another sign of the reeve’s prosperity. This window looked out upon the road before the house, and across the road to Sir Richard’s manor house. From the manor house, of course, a man might also look upon this window.
“Who sleeps in this bedchamber?” I asked. The question so startled the servant, and the prior’s presence behind me had so unsettled her, that she did not think to dissemble.
“The lasses,” she said. “Maude an’ Isobel.”
The door to the house had no lock, which I thought odd for so prosperous a household. I peered around the open door and saw an upright fixture fastened to a vertical beam between the hinges. Another like it was fixed to the latch side of the jamb, and propped in the corner I saw small oaken beams which, when dropped in place, would bar the door. If the hinges were greased, the bar could be lifted and Maude could pass from the house silently, with no rasping of key in lock.
“And whose chamber is that?” I asked, pointing to the second door.
“Simon an’ Alyce sleeps there.”
“And you and the other servants? Where do you sleep?”
The woman nodded over her shoulder to a ladder which led up to a loft over the far bay of the large chamber. “In the loft,” she said. “The lad sleeps in the stable, with the beasts.”
To leave the house in the night Maude would need either to open this front door, or to silently pass the chamber where her parents slept to depart the house through a rear door. Then she must creep past the barn, where slept another of the household. I thought it likely she would choose the front door. The night John Whytyng was slain was well lit. ’Twas nearly a full moon, and skies had been cloudless, the weather dry, for some days before the murder. Could it be that Sir Thomas Cyne had stood at his window that night and watched the lass steal from the house to meet her novice at the fishpond?
Maude told me that she had crept from her parents’ house several times before the night John Whytyng was slain. Had Sir Thomas seen one of these earlier escapes and watched for another? In my mind’s eye I saw him at his window, watching, then following the lass as she made her way to the pond. Where did he think she was going, and what did he expect to find there? Whatever the answers, it was unlikely he anticipated the presence of Prior Philip. Perhaps he heard Maude and the novice speak before the prior came upon them, and knew his pursuit of the maid doomed. Then, from the shadows, he would have heard Prior Philip and John in dispute.
When the prior stalked off in disgust Sir Thomas saw opportunity to do away with this rival. He would have known that Maude was somewhere near. But could she identify him in the moonlight? Perhaps he struck in passion, without considering that he might be identified. Then, in fear of discovery, he fled, to return with another who would help him move the novice’s corpse to some far place. He should have known that the novice would be missed and eventually found, but those who act out of fury and passion do not likely consider the consequences of their impulsiveness.
I bid the servant “Good day,” and motioned to Arthur and Prior Philip that ’twas time to leave. My mind was as fixed now upon proving that Sir Thomas Cyne had done murder, as a day earlier I was convinced that Prior Philip was the felon. But the prior’s thoughts were on other matters.
“No one will believe you,” he said as we set foot upon the road. “I will claim that ’tis you and Brother Gerleys and the novices who are of the Brotherhood of the Free Spirit. That Brother Gerleys is your adept. All who have heard of the Brotherhood know that members hold truth to be irrelevant, so when you protest ’tis not so, your repudiation will be expected and disbelieved.”
This thought had occurred to me. An accomplished liar is more readily believed than the maladroit truthful.
“What of Brother Adam? And Brother Herbert?”
“Brother Guibert will say that they followed Brother Gerleys. Their confession is to protect him, and is false, to save themselves from their due penalty.”
The prior thought that he had firm ground again beneath his feet. Eventually Bishop Bokyngham and his archdeacon would be required to decide which faction within Eynsham Abbey spoke the truth. My testimony would do no good. The archdeacon already thought me a heretic. If I pointed to Prior Philip as the apostate he would likely believe the opposite.
The prior guessed my thoughts. “The archdeacon will see you hang for two heresies,” he chuckled. “Which will make the noose tighter, I wonder?”
Arthur heard this conversation while following from the reeve’s house. He inserted another thought into the conversation.
“Lord Gilbert is at Goodrich Castle. He thinks right well of Master Hugh. An’ the Sheriff of Oxford an’ Lord Gilbert is close friends, Sir Roger an’ Lord Gilbert havin’ gone off to war with the French together. In five days I can be to Goodrich an’ back with Lord Gilbert. You think Lord Gilbert, an’ Sir Roger will allow some wart-faced prior to send Master Hugh to the scaffold? An’ ’ere’s another reason you should think afore you speak such lies.” Arthur circled around before the prior as he spoke, and concluded his words by lifting an imposing fist before Prior Philip’s widening eyes.
“You would not strike a monk and risk the wrath of Holy Church,” the prior said hopefully.
“The wrath of the Church don’t trouble me none. Won’t be nobody to tell the archdeacon what happened anyway.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“No, you won’t,” Arthur said. He spoke softly, but there was menace in his voice. “If Lord Gilbert an’ the sheriff can’t persuade you to steer away from falsehood, I’ll do so.”
Arthur left no doubt as to the means of persuasion he would employ. The bruise upon his cheek told Prior Philip that he was accustomed to the occasional brawl and his demeanor spoke that he would cheerfully accept another. Prior Philip might have been an adept, but I thought it unlikely the title would also apply to his ability in a fight.
The prior fell silent, and with Arthur standing resolute before him, he stood still. He had thought his opposition limited to me and a few monks. Now he understood that he must overcome a great lord and the king’s Sheriff of Oxford. His shoulders began to droop and I pressed my advantage.
“Scotland or Norway? Which would you prefer? When Brother Gerleys is confirmed as abbot I’m sure he will give you your choice. And if the bishop puts some other monk in place as abbot you will have the same option. I and Lord Gilbert will see to it. Now, let us return to the abbey and meet with Brother Gerleys.”
“Meek” is not a word which in past days I would have used to describe Prior Philip, but as we walked to the abbey precincts, and he considered the opposition of Lord Gilbert and Sheriff Roger de Elmerugg, he became crestfallen and subdued. I believe he saw a difficult journey to Scotland in his future.
We passed the manor house and I stole a quick glance toward the window where I had often seen Sir Thomas. He was not there. Or was that a fleeting shape I saw standing back from the window and moving quickly aside?
I led Prior Philip past the church to the west range, then to the novices’ classroom. I hoped to find Brother Gerleys there, but he was away. Osbert was bent over a desk, quill in hand, ink and cheap paper before him, practicing his hand. I asked for Brother Gerleys.
“In the chapter house, meeting with Brother Precenter and Brother Sacrist,” he said.
“Run quickly and fetch them, all three. Tell them Prior Philip has an important announcement.”
The prior’s subdued manner had been gradually replaced by a scowl. His mind was considering, I knew, how he might escape his dilemma and turn it to his advantage. Osbert set his quill beside his work and trotted off upon his errand. I pointed to a bench and told the prior to sit. He remained standing.
There was a brief silence, then Prior Philip opened his mouth to speak. But before he could do so Arthur said, “Master Hugh said ‘Sit.’”
The prior decided that if he did not sit of his own accord Arthur would require him to do so unwillingly. After a moment given to considering the method Arthur might use to convince him to sit, he did so. The words he was preparing to say he swallowed.
A few moments later the precentor and the sacrist followed Brother Gerleys into the chamber. Osbert also entered.
“’Twould be best,” I said to Brother Gerleys, “if Osbert was sent upon other duties.”
The novice-master looked down upon the ink, quill, and paper, and told the lad to take his work to the cloister and finish it there before the light failed.
Osbert knew some matter of great import was to be raised, and was abashed that the business was thought to be too distressing for his tender years. When the lad was away and the chamber door closed I turned to the seated prior and spoke.
“To avoid great unpleasantness, it would be proper for you to announce to these, your brothers, that you withdraw your name from consideration for the office of abbot and do endorse Brother Gerleys for the post, as Abbot Thurstan desired. Furthermore, tell them of your desire to be assigned to Dunfermline Abbey.”
Precentor, sacrist, and novice-master exchanged astonished glances. The precentor finally spoke.
“Is this so?”
Prior Philip’s wit had left him. He nodded dumbly, eyes downcast, which was surely a new and novel posture for him. Later, on the road to Scotland, he would think of many words he might have said. But for the moment he was silent.
“Do you wish to address the chapter?” Brother Gerleys said.
The prior shook his head. He wished for no more humiliation than he now endured.
“When will you depart?” the sacrist asked.
“Tomorrow, at first light,” he said. “I have no wish to remain where I am not wanted.”
I thought that if such was the case, he would not remain long at Dunfermline Abbey, but held my tongue.
Brother Gerleys felt himself sufficiently empowered that he now spoke. “Brother Prior, I will write a letter to Dunfermline’s abbot, requesting him to welcome you to his house. I will not relate your heresies while here, but you should know that if you continue in your wickedness you will be found out there, as you were here. Tomorrow in chapter we will pray for your safe journey. Now you must prepare for travel. Go to the church, and pray there for your soul.”
Five men stood silent, no other words spoken or needed. Prior Philip stood slowly and left the chamber. He faced the ruin of his plot and a journey which would have been arduous even in mid summer.
And I faced the ruin of my explanation for John Whytyng’s murder. The prior was guilty of many sins, and I had wished murder to be among them, but this was not so. The novice had been dead for three weeks. For more than a fortnight I had sought his killer. Too many of those days, I now knew, had been wasted trying to prove the guilt of an innocent man. Well, innocent of murder, anyway.
But as prior, precentor, and sacrist left the chamber, another solution to the puzzle of John Whytyng’s murder was taking form in my mind.
“You set out to discover a felon,” Brother Gerleys said, “and found rather a heretic. Will you continue to seek a murderer, or is the trail too cold?”
“I had thought ’twas cold, but perhaps it has become warmer.”
Both Arthur and the novice-master looked at me with puzzled expressions. I explained to Brother Gerleys that the prior had seen a man walking from the pond after his argument with John Whytyng, and that this shadowy figure had disappeared in the direction of Sir Richard’s manor house.
“An hour past I required Prior Philip to go with me to Simon atte Pond’s house, where I sought information, and saw Sir Thomas gazing down upon us and the reeve’s house from an upper window.”
Brother Gerleys said nothing. I explained. “Arthur and I have seen the knight often as we pass on the road, peering from that window. What could he hope to see which is not already familiar to him?”
The novice-master’s eyes opened in understanding. “The maid… Maude?”
“Aye. Her bedchamber is at the front of the reeve’s house. ’Twould have been a simple matter for the lass to unbar the door when all are asleep and sneak off in the night to meet John Whytyng.
“’Twas nearly a full moon the night the novice was slain. Sir Thomas, at his window, could have seen Maude steal away and followed. He might have heard Prior Philip and John in dispute, knew that Maude was somewhere close by, and when the novice told the prior he intended to leave the abbey, Sir Thomas guessed that Maude and her lands were lost to him.”
“Sir Thomas is the murderer, then?” Brother Gerleys asked.
“I believe so. I once thought ’twas the prior, but no longer do… even though his words are not to be trusted without corroboration.”
“But Sir Thomas is left-handed,” Arthur reminded me. “You said, from the wounds in the novice’s back, that his killer would be right-handed.”
“Aye, so I thought. But it may be that John heard his assailant approach and began to turn to see who was there, so that Sir Thomas’s dagger pierced him on his right side.”
“How can this be proven, if so?” Brother Gerleys asked.
“Sir Thomas ain’t gonna’ admit to murder an’ put ’is neck in a noose,” Arthur said.
“We must trap him.”
“How?” the monk asked.
“I intend to spread gossip, and see how he responds.”
“What gossip?”
“Simon atte Pond opposed the suit of a tenant of Cumnor, although the fellow is nearly as prosperous as the reeve. I intend to tell some folk that he has changed his mind, and now looks with favor upon the suit. Sir Thomas is eager for the lass and the land she will inherit, and may decide to remove another rival.”
“This will put Osbern Mallory in some danger,” Arthur said.
“Aye. We will go to Cumnor and stay under his roof for a few days, to see if Sir Thomas can be caught.”
“How will you put this gossip abroad?” Brother Gerleys asked.
“The ale house,” I said.
“Will you tell Simon what you intend?”
“I must. He favors Sir Thomas, I’ve heard, but I think no man of the commons wants a murderer for a son-in-law, even be he a knight.”
“What if he protests?”
“We must pray that he will not, for I have no other trap devised.”
“When will you do this?” Brother Gerleys asked.
“Now, this day. I will seek Adam Skyllyng’s ale. He knows why I am in Eynsham, and I will allow him to pry the gossip from me.”
“An’ then we seek the reeve an’ tell ’im what’s been said,” Arthur said. “Be too late for ’im to object.”
“What of Osbern Mallory?” Brother Gerleys asked.
“We will go to Cumnor this day to see he is safe. And I think he will not be opposed to the scheme. We must act with haste; the day is far gone.”
I asked the novice-master to see that our palfreys were saddled and ready, then told Arthur to follow. ’Tis no more than a hundred paces from the abbey gatehouse to the ale house, and before I had consumed half a cup of the man’s ale I had allowed him to draw inference that Osbern Mallory of Cumnor was likely to wed Maude atte Pond.
I declined a second cup of ale, which disappointed Arthur, and hastened to the reeve’s house. It was yet light, and I feared he would be about his work and I would need to take time to find him. But he was at
home. The man was not pleased to learn of his part in my plot. I could see that he hoped ’twould fail. He did not want to lose a knight for a son-in-law. I was somewhat worried that he might cross the road and divulge the scheme to Sir Thomas, but he promised that he would not. Sir Thomas had not been at his window when we walked to the reeve’s house, but upon our return to the abbey I saw him there again, barely visible in the dying light.
I hurried to the guest house for my sack of instruments. There was, I thought, a reasonable chance that I might have need of them before many days passed.
It would not do for the knight to see Arthur and me ride past on our way to Swinford and Cumnor. So when we departed the abbey we led our beasts past the fishponds, behind the reeve’s dwelling, past the wood, and joined the road to Swinford two hundred paces east of Sir Thomas and his window.
’Twas nearly dark when we splashed across the Thames at Swinford, and two miles beyond, at what remained of the plague-ravaged village, we entered Cumnor. Several houses showed light gleaming through oiled-skin windows. Osbern Mallory’s was one of these. I left the palfreys with Arthur, in the road, approached the house and called out my name. I thought an unannounced knock upon Mallory’s door, given recent events, might cause the man to greet a caller with a blade rather than a welcome.
I heard a bar lifted from the door and a moment later Mallory’s shadow filled the opening. My supposition was correct. I saw a dagger in the man’s hand – a legitimate caution.
The yeoman was surely surprised to see me, or any caller, at his door at such an hour. I apologized for the intrusion and explained that an urgent matter brought me to Cumnor.
“Me arm’s doin’ well,” he said, misunderstanding my explanation. “But come in. See for yourself.”
“Arthur has our palfreys in the road. It is important,” I said, “that they be hidden in your barn. I will explain in a moment. Have you place for them, and a cresset to light his way?”
Mallory’s brow furrowed, but he trusted me enough that he asked no questions. He turned from me, found an unlit cresset, touched its wick to one which was lighted, and brought it to me. This I took to Arthur, pointed to the shadow of the barn in the toft behind the house, and told him to join us in the dwelling when the beasts were cared for.
