by Maureen Ash
“From what I have been told,” Gytha remarked in her brusque manner, “it would have been better if this woman, Edith, had taught him how to fend for himself instead of cosseting him. Perhaps now he will learn to do so.”
**************
The days sped by as the stitchery in the workshop was brought up to date and Edith found time to return, for an hour or two each day, to her scribing exercises. Humbert came once a week to give her a lesson and examine the phrases she had copied from samples he had given her. The monk had encouraged her attempts to write in English and helped her with the spelling of words. She was making progress and was now able to write short sentences. The accomplishment gave her great pleasure, and strengthened her desire to become completely literate. Once she was competent enough, she decided, she would ask Humbert to help her translate some of the shorter Latin passages from the bible into English and then she would write them down so they could be copied onto small tapestries—perhaps underneath the depiction of a saint—which, she was certain, would sell well to the goodwives in the town.
One evening about a month after their return to Rochester, and as she was practising writing some words on the wax tablet Humbert had loaned her, her thoughts drifted once again, as they often did, to Leofwine. She had not seen him since the day he and Ugg had escorted Edith to Rochester castle gaol, and their leave-taking had been brief.
“I am to return to Dover as soon as I leave here,” he had told her, “and it may be some time before I see you again, for it is rumoured that Rufus intends to invade Normandy in a few months time and, if he does, it is most likely I will be included in the force that accompanies him.”
“May God keep you safe, Leofwine,” Estrid told him with heartfelt sincerity. “We shall all miss you.”
No more had been said and he had mounted his horse and ridden out of Rochester. Her last words to him had been true ones; she did miss him, and sorely, and, for a few moments, wondered if she had been right to refuse his offer of marriage. But then she recalled those days after her husband, Leif, had died in the battle against the Normans and how great had been her anguish, and of how her son, Godric, had spent all of his life without a father. She shook her head slightly; she had made the right decision. She would always cherish Leofwine, but she could never marry him.
As she picked up her stylus to continue her scribing practice, there was a knock at the door. It was Humbert and, in his arms, he was carrying a parcel wrapped in fine linen.
“I have come to bring you this,” he said, placing the bundle on the table. “It is from the king, sent by messenger to Bishop Gundulf for passing on to you.”
“What is it?” Estrid asked, eyeing the parcel.
“A gift from Rufus to show his pleasure at the success of your investigation.”
She looked at the monk in surprise. “I wanted no payment from him, nor expected any.”
“He knows that, but still wishes you to know that he values your efforts, and that is why he has sent it.”
She unwrapped the bundle and caught her breath as the contents were revealed. First of all she extracted a small silver box with two compartments, one containing a silver ink bottle, the other filled with clean white sand for drying the ink of scribed words. There was also a bundle of quills, all stripped of their feathers and sharpened, and two small knives to hone more as they were needed. Finally there were a dozen pages of parchment, all of fine vellum, and a wax tablet bound in leather along with a bone stylus flattened at one end to wipe the tablet clean when the information it contained was no longer needed, and which would replace the one that Humbert had loaned her.
“How did Rufus know I have need of scribing tools?” Estrid asked suspiciously. “Did you tell him?”
“I may have mentioned to Lord fitzHaimo that I am giving you lessons in writing,” Humbert admitted, his eyes sparkling with delight as he watched her finger the softness of the vellum.
After a few more moments of admiration of the set by both of them, the elderly monk fell silent and Estrid looked at him in surprise. He was usually so garrulous it was unlike him to be completely quiet.
Finally, after folding his hands in the sleeves of his habit, he did speak again, his countenance now serious. “The reason Bishop Gundulf sent me here this evening was two-fold,” he said. “The one part was to bring you the king’s gift, but the other was to ask if you would be willing to grant him a boon.”
The statement took Estrid completely by surprise and she listened in astonishment as Humbert hastily explained what the favour was to be. “There has been a murder at the nunnery Bishop Gundulf recently founded in Malling. A few days ago, a young novice was found stabbed to death in the grounds and no trace can be found of the perpetrator. Since it is a community of women, it is difficult for any male, even a priest, to interrogate the nuns, and he wondered if you would be willing to carry out the questioning.”
Estrid did not answer him immediately. Gundulf was, in essence, asking her to conduct another murder enquiry and she was uncertain as to whether she wished to do so or not. She had not had any choice with the first one that had confronted her for she had carried it out through desperation to save her son. And this most recent investigation had been at the behest of the king and, again, she had not really had any other option but to obey his command. But a third…?
She pondered for a moment. She owed Gundulf much; not only was the largest part of her income derived from the commissions he gave her, he had been a good friend to all of her family, and had even, at the time, helped to prove her son, Godric, innocent of the crime with which he had been falsely charged. And he had given permission for Humbert to give her scribing lessons and to assist in this latest investigation. But even so, she knew the bishop well and, because of that, was also aware that he would not want her to consent out of gratitude, but only if she truly wished to become involved. With that aim in mind, she looked into her heart to find the solution to her quandary.
She had to admit she was good at deciphering riddles but, until Godric had become ensnared in a murderous one, they had only been light-hearted guessing games she had played with friends and family. These she indulged in willingly, for she enjoyed the challenge of trying to solve the puzzles. Now she asked herself if she had, despite the danger that had confronted her, found satisfaction in untangling the mystery of Alfreda’s death, a victim of no personal importance to her. Examined in retrospect, she realised it had been rewarding. Not only had she brought justice to the girl who had been killed, but saved those who were innocent from being accused of the crime, a most fulfilling outcome and one that had given her a sense of achievement.
Her dilemma resolved, she looked up at Humbert and, with a small smile, gave him her answer, “You may tell Bishop Gundulf that I am willing to do as he asks.”
Author’s Note
The setting for The King’s Riddle is an authentic one, as are some of the characters. As well as Rufus – King William II - Gundulf was bishop of Rochester during this period, and Robert fitzHaimo was one of the king’s close companions. The personalities of these individuals have been derived from conclusions drawn from annals of the period.
In addition, the open-air assemblies called motes, or meetings, are a component of English governmental history, for they were to become the precursor of our modern parliament.
‘Wod’ bread is also factual. When grain stores dwindled as harvest time approached in this era, people would gather hedgerow herbs and other plants to supplement their diet, including poppies, hemp and darnel, all of which have hallucinogenic properties. The eating of a bread made from these ingredients would make one, in modern parlance, ‘high’, but in former times was called ‘crazed’ which, translated into Old English, is wod.
Bibliography:
William Rufus by Frank Barlow, University of California Press
The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle
The Beginnings of English Society by Dorothy Whitelock, Penguin Books Ltd.
English Society in the Early Middle Ages by Dorothy Whitelock, Penguin Books Ltd.
William the Conqueror, by David C. Douglas, University of California Press
The Year 1000, by Robert Lacey and Danny Danziger, Little, Brown and Company
