by Maureen Ash
Bascot stood up and William’s horse shied at his unexpected appearance. The sheriff’s brother cursed as he fought to bring his mount under control, then changed to an oath of surprise when he realised what had caused the animal’s alarm. Wrestling the startled steed to a halt, he stared at Bascot as de Humez and the rest of the hunt streamed past him.
“De Marins! What are you doing here? Did you sight the stag? Are the dogs still on its trail or have we lost him?”
Suddenly he saw the shaft of the arrow protruding from beneath the fold of Bascot’s cloak. “My God, you’ve been pricked. How badly are you hurt?”
William slid off his horse in one motion and ran towards Bascot, bow still in hand. As he did so the two squires, Alain and Renault, came crashing with their horses through the woods a little distance from where the main body of the hunt had come. Seeing their lord dismounted and running towards Bascot, they came to a standstill. Behind them, from the woods to the south, straggled a few men on foot: a couple of huntsmen and the two foresters, Tostig and Eadric.
“I am not badly wounded,” Bascot assured William. “A scratch, nothing more.”
“Thanks be to God for that,” William replied. “Someone must have loosed at the stag and found you for a mark instead.” He shook his head. “You should know better, de Marins. A hunt is a dangerous place not only for the quarry, but also for the hunter. Even kings have been brought down by a stray arrow, unwisely loosed.”
“I do not think this one was short of its target,” Bascot said, pulling the shaft free of the cloth in which it was imbedded. “Had I not turned when I did, it would have taken me full in the chest.”
“Even so, de Marins, it does not mean that it was intentional. The stag passed this way just moments ago, did it not? No doubt one of the others misjudged the distance and let loose beforetimes.”
“I think not, my lord,” Bascot insisted.
William looked intently at the Templar. “Do you have some reason for believing so? Did you see who aimed the shaft?”
Bascot shook his head.
“Then…?”
“It is the direction from which it came, my lord. Your hunting party approached from the south, did it not?”
“Yes.” William’s face was beginning to show annoyance that the Templar was not making himself clear. “My brother was after boar. We had no beaters with us for deer, but a stag came across our path. Myself and a few others went after it while Gerard stayed with the pig. But I do not see…”
“My lord Camville,” Bascot said, “I was on the other side of the wall when the arrow was loosed. Unless that shaft can miraculously change direction or penetrate solid wood it could not have been loosed at the deer.”
“You mean…” William’s face drew down in consternation as he realised the import of what Bascot had said.
“Exactly, my lord. It was fired from the north, not the south. I was at the edge of the wall and the arrow came from behind its protection. The deer could not have been seen from there. I was the quarry, not the stag.”
Ten
Later that afternoon Bascot attended the Camville brothers in the sheriff’s private chamber. It was a larger room than the one his wife used as her own, filled with spare boots, tunics, assorted bits of tack and a sleeping bench fitted with a well-padded mattress and bolster. Nicolaa was also there, seated on a stool near the fire that blazed in the hearth. The two brothers were on their feet, William leaning negligently against the window embrasure while Gerard paced the room in his restless fashion. The excitement generated in him by the hunt was still evident, seeming to roll off him in waves as he trod from one side of the chamber to the other. It had been he who had slain the boar, driving his spear deep into the animal’s throat after it had killed two lymer hounds and sliced open the leg of one of the huntsmen. Now the beast was being skinned and prepared for the evening meal.
The stag that had inadvertently strayed into the path of the boar-hunting party had also been brought down, finally taken when its strength had given out and the dogs, attacking in a pack, brought it to its knees. The sheriff had good reason to be pleased with the day’s work, but the news of the arrow shot at Bascot had tempered his good humour with anger. His broad face wore a bellicose scowl as he listened to Bascot explain, as he had to the sheriff’s brother, how the arrow could not have been loosed from the direction of the hunt party, and also of the other marks on Hubert’s throat and how he believed that the boy had first been rendered unconscious and then carried to the tree where he had been strung up.
“You are sure you are not mistaken about the arrow being loosed at you with purpose, de Marins?” Nicolaa asked, concern in her tone. “It is not uncommon for a shaft to find the body of a man instead of a beast during a hunt. All is such confusion once the quarry is sighted.”
“I wish there was some doubt, lady,” Bascot replied, rubbing the spot where the castle leech had washed the small injury he had sustained with wine before binding it tight with strips of linen. “Only the hand of the Devil could have sent that arrow from the south. Otherwise, it would be impossible.”
“If it was the Devil, then he certainly flies high. The wall behind which you were standing is at least twice the height of a tall man and you were only a couple of steps away from its shelter.” William pondered what he had just said. “Who knew you were going there this morning?”
“No one except my servant,” Bascot replied. “I have questioned him. He did not tell anyone where I was.”
“He is mute, is he not?” William asked.
“Yes, but he can make himself understood by gestures for simple communications. For anything of greater import, I have taught him the rudiments of his letters and, if need be, he can write down what he wishes to impart and show it to someone who is literate. But he assures me that no one spoke to him from the time I left until I returned. He stayed in our chamber, later got some food from the kitchen and returned to our room to eat it. It was there I found him when I got back.”
“Then, if this arrow shot was not chance, someone must have been watching you, seen you enter the forest and followed you to the spot,” William mused.
“Or have already been in the woodland when I arrived,” Bascot replied.
“You say you found traces that Hubert may have been attacked there, then taken to be hanged from the oak?” It was the first time that Gerard Camville had spoken. His voice was harsh.
“I believe so, yes,” Bascot replied.
“Then it may be that you found something you were not meant to discover.” He turned away to pace again. “If this is the work of those villagers, they will hang for it. And higher than they hanged my brother’s squire.”
“If de Marins has found out something important enough to be a threat to the murderer, what is it?” Nicolaa said in a voice that was calm by contrast to her husband’s. “You are sure there was nothing else to be found?”
William answered the question. “No, there was not. We scoured the ground all around for some distance into the forest. No tracks, no disturbances, nothing.”
“Well, it is a certainty that it was not an outlaw that fired the arrow at de Marins, for none would have dared to come so close with a hunting party in the woods. So it seems we must look for someone other than a brigand as the culprit. And it also appears the attempt on your life must be linked to the death of the squire in some way. If, as my husband says, you were not meant to discover those marks by the old lodge, what do they signify? It seems to matter little that Hubert was attacked and rendered unconscious in one place but finally killed in another.”
“Perhaps the murderer was disturbed in his act,” Bascot mused, “and had need to move away from the area. If the boy were partially strangled, it would be easy to smother him in such a state. Then it would be possible for the one deed to be done early in the evening and to hide him before hanging him some hours later. That would provide a reason for my finding the tracks to be incriminating.”
“In w
hat way?” William asked.
“I don’t know,” Bascot admitted. “I don’t even know if I am right.”
The group fell silent. Gerard refilled his wine cup from a flagon standing near the hearth then offered it to his brother. William shook his head in refusal.
Finally Nicolaa spoke. “However distasteful, what we must consider is that the person who loosed that arrow at Bascot could have been one of your hunting party, Gerard. The arrow had the mark of our own castle fletcher on it. All those engaged in the hunt used his arrows.”
Her husband grunted but he let her go on. “According to what you and William have told me, all was confusion once the stag was sighted, your party splitting into two, some staying with you to bring down the boar, the others following William after the deer. Any of the men that were with either group could have slipped away, circled around the lodge and fired at Bascot, then rejoined whichever company was nearest.”
Bascot shook his head. “No, lady. All of the hunters were ahead of me when I left the bailey. I followed in their wake. None would have known of my presence in the wood. They had all left before me.”
“No, de Marins, all did not,” Nicolaa said quietly.
Bascot’s head came up sharply and he saw looks of discomfiture on the faces of the two brothers as Nicolaa went on, “My sister’s husband, Richard de Humez, left after you, along with Alain and Renault. They were late rising and caught up with the main party a short time later. From what you say they must have been only a small way behind you, may even have seen you mount your horse and ride through the gate on their way to the stables.”
“It couldn’t have been de Humez,” William said abruptly. “He was behind me when we came into the clearing, went past me on the chase for the stag.”
“Was he with you when you left Gerard?” Nicolaa asked.
William thought for a moment. “I’m not sure. He must have been.”
“Did you see him just before you reached the place where the old lodge stands?” Nicolaa persisted. “Or before that, as you rode after the stag?”
“God forfend, Nicolaa, you know how it is in a hunt,” William expostulated. “You are keeping your eye on the dogs and the quarry, not looking to see what a rider behind you may or may not be doing.” He banged his wine cup down on the table. “I do not like de Humez, but it will be a sorry day for your family, and mine, if he is found to be implicated in this crime.”
“He may not be, William. It may have been one of your squires instead. Would you rather the shadow of guilt was cast on your own household?”
The sheriff’s brother gave a groan at Nicolaa’s words and he rubbed his hand across his brow in exasperation. “By your reasoning, I myself could have loosed the arrow. Or any of the others engaged in the hunt. I did not hear de Humez or either of my squires mention they had seen de Marins on his way into the woods earlier that morning, but they could have done so, to any one of us, or just in general conversation.”
“What you say is true, William,” Nicolaa replied. “And we have a scant few days before King John arrives to learn the truth of this matter. We must try, in that short time, to discover what is at the back of this boy’s death and if it is something that might threaten the king, even if that threat comes from someone within our own households.”
She turned to Bascot. “De Marins, where before I told you to be discreet and take your time, we must now have you investigate in the open and with haste.” She looked up at her husband. “Do you agree, Gerard?”
The sheriff nodded, the thin line of his mouth compressed with distaste. Nicolaa stood up. “The boy’s uncle should arrive either today or tomorrow. Question him, de Marins-find out if he has any knowledge of his nephew being privy to a plot against the king. And question Alain and Renault again-see if they told anyone that you were in the forest ahead of them.” She glanced once again at her husband. “I will speak to de Humez.”
Bascot got up from the stool on which he had been sitting and went to the door. As he reached to open it, Gerard Camville spoke behind him. “Let us pray for God to be kind. It may still be that it was outlaws who killed the boy. If that is found to be the answer I will be pleased.”
As he shut the heavy door behind him Bascot was not sure if the sheriff’s last words had contained an expression of hope, or a threat.
Eleven
The next day the weather remained clear and cold. After the morning meal was served and eaten, a small party left the castle bail by the east gate and crossed the old Roman road of Ermine Street and entered the grounds in which the cathedral stood. Alinor had decided that a visit there would please her little brother, Baldwin, and she had asked Alys to accompany them with Alain and Hugo as escort. At the last moment, Alain had been called to attend William Camville and Renault had offered his company in his stead. As they were leaving, the page Osbert, who had taken a liking to Baldwin, asked if he could go with them. The girls had agreed and, with Baldwin seated on a small pony so that the short journey should not tire him, they had set off.
Baldwin was excited at the outing. It was not often he was well enough for more than a simple stroll in the orchard behind the fortified manor house, which Richard de Humez favoured as his primary residence, and he had begged his father to be allowed to come to Lincoln, excited at the prospect not only of seeing the king, but of visiting the cathedral. The nature of his illness, which seemed mostly to be a shortness of breath that made him weak, had caused him to be of a studious bent. He was also very devout, an instinct perhaps born of the dim realisation that it could be possible his illness would not allow him to live long enough to make old bones. With his sparse dark hair and narrow pinched face he already had the look of one older than his years. When they had arrived in Lincoln, he had gone up to the top of one of the castle towers and looked longingly at the bulk of the cathedral, its spire rising straight up into the sky beyond the castle wall, as though reaching for heaven. Perhaps it had been this excitement that had brought on a bout of his illness, for even while he had become entranced at being so near his objective, his breathing had become shallow and his throat had begun to constrict, shutting off life-giving air. He had been immediately put to bed and given a soothing drink containing poppy seed juice to calm him. A leech had been called and, after letting blood from Baldwin’s arm to restore the balance of the humours in his sickly frame, had ordered that he be kept in bed until he recovered.
That had been the day after they had arrived, almost a week ago, and now he was, if not fully recovered, at least able to stand and walk a little way without discomfort. It had been Alys’s idea for him to ride the pony and he was grateful to her for the suggestion. She had been his betrothed for many years now, since almost before he could remember, and she was dear to him, for she treated him in much the way his mother did, and with a sisterly affection that Alinor, for all that he knew she loved him, was not gentle natured enough to display.
As they crossed the broad swathe of road that was Ermine Street, a few flakes of snow fluttered through the air. The party were all well wrapped in cloaks, especially Baldwin, but still they felt the cold chill on the air, and when the cathedral bells rang out the office of Tierce, the sound seemed to shatter before it reached them, as though the bells themselves were frozen.
Renault was leading Baldwin’s pony, with Osbert striding along beside. Alys and Alinor followed, matching their steps with each other as parishioners on their way to attend Mass thronged through the gate with them. Hugo brought up the rear, his attention seemingly focused within, a frown between his heavy straight brows. The crowd around the group was thicker than usual. Word had just reached the city that Hugh, Bishop of Lincoln, who had taken ill in London some two months before, had fallen into a decline and was feared to be near death. Hugh of Avalon was a much-loved cleric, not only for his warmth and piety, but also for the many good works he had sponsored since he had taken over the bishopric fourteen years before. He had caused lazar houses to be built, taken care of the
poor, and cajoled prominent citizens into helping rebuild and improve the fabric of the cathedral, badly damaged in an earthquake in 1185. His demise, if it came, would bring sorrow to all his flock, not only to the high born, but to the low as well.
Now the people of Lincoln were assiduous in attending Masses all over the city, sending up their prayers for the bishop’s recovery, fervently hoping that God would hear their pleas and save the saintly Hugh. As the little group went into the cathedral to stand with the rest of the congregation, all of the party were conscious of the seriousness of the occasion, and stood quietly as Mass was celebrated and God beseeched to turn His merciful eyes upon the good bishop. Afterwards, they drifted out into the cathedral grounds and, with Baldwin mounted on his pony, went to purchase cups of hot spiced wine from one of the stalls on the far side of the grounds. Alongside the wine stall was a vendor selling roasted chestnuts, his wares smoking tantalisingly on a grid above a brazier of charcoal. Renault bought enough for them all to have some. Washed down with the wine, they brought a warm glow to the innards.
