by Mel Starr
I sought again the haberdasher who had supplied John Thrale with some of his wares, and questioned the fellow about the chapman. He knew of Thrale’s sisters, but knew not of their abode. One, he thought, had wed a cobbler of some nearby town, but he could not remember that the chapman had ever named the place. The other sister lived nearby, he thought, perhaps in Abingdon, but he could not say of a surety. He thought their names were Julianna and Edith, but which lived near and which had wed a cobbler he knew not.
This information was not of much use, but was more than I had known when I picked at my stockfish. I next walked to East St. Helen Street, intending to again visit the pepperer’s wife, to see if the two names might spur her memory. She answered my knock upon her door readily, probably assuming a customer, with her infant yet propped upon her ample hip. I saw recognition in her eyes. “You again?” she said.
“I have learned that John Thrale indeed had two sisters,” I began. “Julianna and Edith. Do you remember him speaking of them? Where they might reside? His goods should be surrendered to them.”
“Why would you need to know? He’s nothing left now for any kin, but for the house. You said ’e was murdered for ’is goods.”
“Not so. The goods found in his cart are safe in Bampton Castle. And some possessions are in his house.”
“No more. The night after you was last here two men entered John’s house. My Alfred heard ’em in the toft, long past curfew. He thought to stop ’em, but saw there was two of them and but one of ’im, so come back to bed. Went out come morn yesterday an’ saw they’d broke into the place.”
“What was taken? Could your husband see in the night what they were about?”
“Nay, an’ didn’t stay to watch.”
“Did he or any other inspect the house after the men had gone?”
“Nay. But them fellows come back the next day. Thought one was you. Tall, skinny fellow with, beggin’ your pardon, a big nose.”
“For what did they return?”
“Didn’t find whatever they sought, I suppose. Asked of John, if he had kin nearby, just like you, an’ wanted to know had ’e left goods with us for safekeeping. I told ’em, ‘Nay,’ on both counts, an’ they went to every house on the street. Askin’ the same questions, I’d guess.”
“You can describe the men?”
“Oh, aye. Like I said, one was as tall as you an’ slender, an’ wore a beard trimmed short, like you. The other was not so tall, an’ had more belly than a man ought. His beard needed trimming.”
“What of their clothing?
“The tall one wore a brown cotehardie, much like yours, an’ the fat one wore grey.”
“What color was their hair?”
“Brown, both of ’em.”
“Of what color were their caps?”
“Tall one wore red, the other wore blue.”
I was about to thank the woman for her assistance when she added, “Told ’em another had been here day before, seekin’ the same knowledge.”
“What did they say when you told them this?”
“Asked who ’twas. Told ’em I knew not, that ’twas some bailiff where John was found murdered.”
Here was a distressing announcement. If the two who had entered John Thrale’s house were the men who had murdered him, they knew who it was who sought them, and if they knew of and coveted the gold and silver from his chest, they now knew where it might be if it was not found in Thrale’s house. But of these villains I knew nothing but a description which might match a quarter of the men of Oxfordshire. I began to wish I had taken the three pouches to John Chamberlain in the castle for safekeeping.
I went to three other houses on East St. Helen Street to learn if any resident knew of Edith or Julianna. Only one resident had heard their names, and did not know more of them.
Before I returned to the New Inn I decided to see what damage was done to the chapman’s house. I walked behind the place and saw that the shutters had been torn from the single small window which looked out upon the toft. The oiled skin which had closed the window to the chill October nights was ripped asunder. Likely the two men climbed in through the torn window.
I sought the shed, and with the rake tested the filthy straw until I found the key, where I had returned it two days past. Here was evidence that my assumption was correct, for thieves would not trouble themselves to replace a key, and had they found it they would not have awakened a neighbor by forcing entry to Thrale’s house.
I opened the door farther, entered the chapman’s house, and saw before me a scene of ruin. The bed was overturned and mattress and pillow were torn apart. Straw and feathers littered the floor. The table and cupboard were likewise displaced, and the table stood askew, missing a leg. The small chest was gone from the table, but I soon found what remained of it.
When the felons had failed to discover a key they chose to force the large chest open. This they must have done by battering it with the smaller chest and a leg from the table. Splintered remains of the small chest littered the floor about the larger chest, which lay open, its top demolished. The fractured table leg lay propped in the ruins of the chest. I peered into the chest and saw there the hammer and the small iron box. The bellows lay apart, near the opposite wall of the room, as if it had been thrown there in disgust. No wonder the neighbor had been awakened in the night. Breaking open such a chest would rouse all the street, but none had intervened. Violence heard in the night will keep most men behind their own barred doors. The destruction they heard might be visited upon them if they thought to meddle in the business.
I left all as it was, shut the door behind me, and left the place. I did not trouble myself to dig the key from the straw to relock the door. To what purpose?
If neither a man with whom John Thrale had done business, nor the chapman’s neighbors, could direct me to his kin, I had no other thought as to how I might discover them. This concern occupied my mind as I returned to the inn, and so distracted was I by this failure that I came close to encountering a man upon the street before the inn whom I preferred to avoid. It was not yet dark, so I saw clearly a group of four men walking twenty or so paces before me. Much banter and laughter accompanied them. One of the four was taller than most, and wore a yellow cap with a long liripipe coiled stylishly upon his head. His friends also wore fashionable clothing. These young gentlemen entered the New Inn and as they did so I got a better view of the taller man’s misshapen ear, which I recognized with a shock.
I remembered the man’s profile as well, and his great, hawk-like nose. The ear was familiar to me, as I had sewn it to the fellow’s head when Odo Grindcobbe had come near to knocking it loose from his skull, supposing the man to be me. It was Sir Simon Trillowe who walked before me into the New Inn.
Sir Simon is a vengeful sort. He blames me, I think, that an ear juts from the side of his head in unsymmetrical fashion. ’Tis not easy work to stitch a man’s torn ear in place, and his was the first I had ever attempted. Perhaps I will do better should the need arise again.
Sir Simon also harbors a grudge against me because I won Kate Caxton, when he had set his cap for her also. I was outnumbered four to one, so decided prudence would be a virtue. Perhaps some would call it cowardice, but I passed by the door, walked through a gate to the mews, and made my bed that night in the straw beside Bruce. He seemed glad of the company, and unlike others who occupied the upper story of the inn, Bruce did not snore.
I thought it unlikely that Sir Simon would yet be found in the public room of the inn, but entered cautiously next morn in case it might be so. He was gone, and I wished to be away from the place myself, so I downed a cup of ale, then visited the baker across the marketplace for a fresh loaf which, after I had saddled Bruce, I ate as the horse ambled from the town.
Once again I arrived in Bampton just past the hour for my dinner. But this day I first left Bruce in the hands of the castle marshalsea, and so could enjoy my meal with no other obligation to intrude. That was not pre
cisely true, for as I consumed the stewed capon which Kate set before me, my eyes traveled to my iron-bound chest and I remembered the three pouches there.
Lord Gilbert wishes to be kept informed of events upon his lands, so I kissed my Kate and left Galen House for the castle. I found my employer entertaining guests in the hall, and decided he was not likely ready to hear a complete recitation of my travels and discoveries, slight as those were. So I told him the rudiments of what I had learned, then bowed my way out of the presence of this noble entourage.
For the remainder of the day I occupied myself with manor business. John Holcutt, Bampton’s reeve, is competent to oversee these affairs, but he would be employed upon his own land and I might relieve him of some of his labor if I saw to manor concerns.
Final plowing of fallow fields was nearly complete, and upon Monday villeins would begin to sow wheat and rye upon Lord Gilbert’s demesne lands. It is a risk to sow crops so late in the year. If no rain fell soon, the seed would be much delayed in sprouting, so that when the chill of winter approached, it would rot in the cold soil rather than take root and grow.
Some villeins not engaged in plowing were gathering wheat stubble from the August harvest to mix with hay as winter fodder for Lord Gilbert’s beasts. A few tenants who owed boon work were at this task as well, and would soon be doing the same work upon their own strips. These laborers looked up from their toil as I passed by, and tipped a cap or tugged a forelock in greeting. They needed no advice from me about their work, anymore than I needed their counsel before setting a broken arm.
Darkness was near when I completed my observation of Lord Gilbert’s manor, and herders who had been in the forest with their swine, pannaging, were driving the beasts to their sties for the night. I walked to Galen House well content with my lot. I had wed a beautiful lass, and was father to a healthy babe. I owned freehold a house worth ten pounds, and another of like worth in Oxford, part of Kate’s dower, a gift of her father when we wed, which brought twenty shillings each year rent. I did have an obligation to seek who murdered John Thrale, but the responsibility did not undermine my spirits on this fine autumn evening as I approached Galen House, Kate, Bessie, and my supper.
I suspected some mischief as I came close to Galen House and saw the front door standing open to the chill evening. I broke into a run, plunged through the door, and found Kate trussed upon the rushes of the floor, her mouth stuffed with a gag made of fabric ripped from Bessie’s tiny gown. The rushes were disordered where Kate had thrashed about to free herself, but this she could not do, for her wrists were bound tight together and then to a leg of our table. Our daughter lay beside her mother, unharmed but for the damage to her clothing. As I ran to free Kate I saw, from the corner of my eye, my chest standing open.
I first drew the gag from Kate’s mouth, and she immediately shouted that I must make haste and be after them. I made haste, rather, to free her wrists and ankles from their bonds, then asked what had befallen her.
“Two men,” she gasped, rubbing chaffed wrists, “came upon me unannounced and asked for you. I told them you were at the castle, upon Lord Gilbert’s business.”
“They did not leave to seek me?”
“Nay. They exchanged glances, then one seized me and put a hand over my mouth while the other picked Bessie from the floor.”
“What then?”
“The man who held Bessie approached the hearth and said I was not to cry out or he would pitch her into the fire.” Kate shook as she recalled the moment, and I held her close to calm her quivering.
“My captor then released me, and told me to lie face-down upon the rushes and be silent, else his companion would set Bessie in the fire. I did as he demanded, and from the corner of my eye watched as he moved about the room. He soon saw your chest, opened it, and I heard him tell the other he’d found what they sought.”
“The three sacks?”
“Aye. He set them upon the floor before me when he bound me.”
“This was how long ago?”
“Not an hour past. They were mounted. I heard them ride off.”
I cursed myself that I had not sent Thrale’s sacks to the castle when I first learned from the pepperer’s wife that I was known to men who sought what I had found in the chapman’s house.
“It is nearly dark… too late to follow upon the roads, but I will ask on Church View Street and the High Street if any saw which way they went.”
“Do so. Do not fear to leave me. I am not harmed, but for tender wrists where I was tightly bound.”
“Describe the rogues, so I may ask wisely.”
“One was tall and slender, the other short and stout. The tall man’s beard was trimmed close.”
“And he wore a brown cotehardie and a red cap,” I added, “while the shorter man wore grey, with a blue cap.”
Kate’s eyes widened. “Aye… the one who held Bessie to the fire, he wore a blue cap. How did you know?”
“The same men did hamsoken to John Thrale’s house in Abingdon. A neighbor described them.”
“Are these the men who slew the chapman?”
“So I believe. They tried to learn of the coins and wealth from him, and beat him to make him tell.”
“But if the coins were in his house,” Kate mused, “why not enter while he was away? Why waylay him on the road and beat him?”
“It was not only the coins he had already found that they sought, I think. The chapman discovered some cache of coins and jewelry in his travels, and each time he did the circuit of villages he renewed his supply.”
“What did he do with them?”
“Melted them to ingots in a small iron box, then sold them to a silversmith, I’ll wager.”
“So these villains knew what you found in the chapman’s house, and thought it might be here?”
“Aye. Knew, or guessed. I am a fool. The neighbor’s wife told them the bailiff of the manor where John Thrale was found had visited his house. Men who will beat another to death will not so easily give up the pursuit of the loot they seek.”
“You think they knew it was you, then, who entered the chapman’s house and took away his wealth?”
“Not then, but they knew he died upon Bampton Manor. When they arrived this day the first man they met upon the street could tell them my name and where I was to be found.”
“I am glad you were not here,” Kate shuddered.
“Why so?”
“You would have tried to do some manly thing when they threatened to harm Bessie. They would not have hesitated to beat you as they did the chapman. I might now be a widow.”
I could say nothing, for I suspect Kate spoke true. Fathers do not always behave wisely when wife or children are threatened. There is a field, the Green Ditch, to the north of Holywell Street in Oxford, where a scaffold is raised whenever felons are hanged. I vowed to see the miscreants dangle there. For the murder they did, or for the insult to my house, my wife, my child? I could not say which was the sharper spur.
I left Galen House and found the place on Church View Street where Kate’s assailants had tethered their horses. ’Twas near dark, and the evening Angelus Bell rang while I studied the dust where horses had left imprints of their hooves. Close inspection showed that one beast wore a broken shoe, as if the horse had galloped over cobbles and snapped off a small part of a horseshoe. This shoe was not so malformed as to require immediate replacement, but enough to distinguish the animal from any other.
I cast my thoughts back to the discovery of the chapman’s cart, and the hoof-prints in the road. I could not recall a mark made there by a broken horseshoe, but other matters concerned me at the time, so I might have seen such a print and taken no notice of it.
I rose from studying the dust and saw Martyn the cobbler peering at me from before his shop. He was surely astonished to see Lord Gilbert’s bailiff on hands and knees in the street. I stood, motioned to him to hold his place, and hurried the hundred paces to where he waited.
�
��Two men on horseback, not of Bampton,” I began. “About an hour past. Did you see such men?”
“Aye.”
I thought he might, for he has placed his bench before a shutter which, when lifted, provides light and looks out on the street. He sees all who pass on Church View Street.
“Did one wear a red cap, the other blue?”
“Aye.”
“When they reached the High Street, which way did they go?”
“East, through the marketplace, toward St. Andrew’s Chapel.”
I had suspected that, thanked the cobbler for his time, and hastened back to Galen House and my affronted family. Kate awaited me upon a bench by the hearth, nursing Bessie. She looked up expectantly when I entered, but I had little to tell her. The broken horseshoe, which track I intended to follow next day even though it would be Sunday, was my only discovery.
Chapter 4
Kate heard the news without comment. She had not expected, I think, when we wed, that she would be attacked in her house by those whom, in the course of my duties, I had provoked. And this assault was not the first. Would she have accepted my suit had she known what might follow? I sat beside her upon the bench and, in answer to my unspoken question, she rested her head upon my shoulder.
I awoke in the night to the sound of rain upon our bed-chamber window. I was at first pleased to hear this, but as I collected my wits I realized that the shower would obliterate the tracks I hoped to follow come morning. This was no misty drizzle, but a cloudburst, and it was not over and done with quickly. A gentle rain yet fell when Kate and I left our bed at dawn.
I went immediately to our door and walked out into the street, where the evening before I had discovered the track of a broken horseshoe. No trace of the mark remained. There was nothing to follow, no way to discover where the villains had gone once past the marketplace.
I was sure they were of Abingdon, or thereabouts, and was determined to seek them. But not alone. They had proven what villainy they would do. After mass I would seek Arthur at the castle and require him to accompany me.
