Mel Starr - Rest Not in Peace

I told Kate of the day’s events while we ate our supper, and concluded by saying that, unlikely as it seemed, Lady Anne may have had something to do with her father’s death.

“Perhaps she stuffed the portpain up a sleeve, before taking the spoons and knives,” I said. “When the page saw her with the silver his attention was drawn to the utensils and he did not notice the bulging sleeve.”

“You think she then gave the cloth to the squire… what is his name?”

“William. It may be. The sheriff believes it so, but ’tis all too simple, and who else would have known of their conspiracy?”

“Why would some other need to know of their connivance?”

“The message, slid under the sheriff’s door.”

“Oh, aye. Neither Lady Anne nor the squire would have done it were they guilty… or if they did, they would have named the other squire.”

“And I do not know of a certainty that the bloodstains on the linen cloth came to be there at Sir Henry’s death, or if the bodkin in the base of the lampstand was a murder weapon. ’Tis all conjecture, because we were directed to search the squires’ chamber.”

“How then will you find the truth of the matter?”

“It would be well if the Lord Christ would come to me in a dream and tell me how the felony was done and who did it, but that is unlikely.”

“How, then?”

“There is not yet enough information for anything but supposition. I must learn more of Sir Henry and his life, as well as his death. Then my speculation will be less flimsy, and I may discard unworthy theories until but one remains.”

“And then you will know who murdered Sir Henry?”

“Aye. When the impossible and the unlikely are all discarded, the felon will appear.”

“Well,” Kate said while munching thoughtfully upon the remains of her maslin loaf, “I think you can discard already thoughts of Lady Anne in collusion with her squire.”

“Why so? Not that I believe you to be mistaken. I have my own doubts, but I would hear yours.”

“The lass would not be so foolish as to return stolen silver in a cloth which could be identified with another used at the slaying of her father.”

“I agree. But perhaps she is weak-minded.”

“Have you seen sign of this?”

“Nay.”

“She does not behave oddly at table, or scratch herself when and where she itches, or speak foolishness out of turn?”

“Nay,” I replied.

“Then you must assume Lady Anne wise enough that she would not offer evidence of her guilt so carelessly.”

“I agree, but I have no other direction for suspicion.”

“Women can be as wrathful as men,” Kate said.

“I suppose, although their temper does not usually result in the use of daggers and swords, or bodkins, either, I think. I am confused. Do you now say that Lady Anne might have slain her father in a fit of anger?”

“Nay. A resentful woman will seek to destroy her enemy with her wiles rather than blades. Being the weaker sex, she must use her wits for lack of brawn.”

“So if Lady Anne is not stupid, you say she may be shrewd… enough so to devise ways to throw me and Sir Roger off her trail? But what I have learned points to her. How can that be shrewd?”

“There is another woman involved,” Kate said. “Do Lady Margery and Lady Anne seem friendly?”

“Ah, I see your point. They cast no daggers with their eyes when at Lord Gilbert’s table, but Lady Anne is Sir Henry’s heir by his first wife, Lady Goscelyna. If Lady Anne went to the scaffold for her father’s murder Lady Margery would not have to share the estate, such as it is.”

“Such as it is? What do you mean?”

“Sir Henry went to his grave in debt. His valet is unsure if his possessions are of greater worth than his debts.”

“So he was not likely slain for an inheritance.”

“Nay. Lady Margery and Lady Anne would know there would be little profit to balance against the risk of discovery. A wife who slays her husband is considered guilty of treason against him, and likewise a daughter, I believe.”

Kate shuddered. “They would be hanged, drawn and quartered?”

“That is a punishment reserved for men… but hanged, surely.”

“But the valet said that Lady Margery was displeased with Sir Henry?”

“He did.”

“And now she is free to wed some other. Perhaps you will not solve this murder until she takes another husband.”

“And that fellow will be the felon?”

“Or the reason for Lady Margery’s felony.”

Kate and I awoke next morn to the ringing of the Angelus Bell. Before I wed I was accustomed to seeking the church early on Sunday for Matins, but now that Kate and I have a babe we do not enter St Beornwald’s Church until time for mass. May the Lord Christ forgive my sloth.

After mass, and a dinner of porre of peas, I left Kate and Bessie and sought the castle. I wished to speak more with Walter Mayn, and found him just leaving the hall after his dinner.

I greeted him pleasantly, but the valet seemed reluctant to speak to me. Perhaps he feared that I had another unpleasant duty to assign to him. He was not far wrong.

“Have you spoken since yesterday to Lady Margery’s maids?” I asked.

“Nay.”

“Make a point of doing so today.”

“To what purpose?”

“Tell them that you believe the sheriff is about to seize Sir Henry’s murderer.”

“If they ask why I think so, what am I to say? Is it indeed so?”

“There are those more likely guilty than others, but if any ask of you how you know this, tell them only that Master Hugh has told you he has found grounds to accuse the felon. If you tell what I ask to Lady Margery’s maids, gossip will soon send the rumor to every corner of the castle.”

“That is all you wish of me?”

“Aye. For now. Set folk’s tongues to wagging and we will see where it leads.”

I suspected that Walter’s gossip would envelop the castle before nightfall, and so it did, but other complications also encompassed Bampton Castle that day.

King Edward requires that all men practice with the longbow of a Sunday afternoon, and as bailiff to Lord Gilbert it is my duty to see that the charge is carried out. I had assigned Arthur to setting up the butts in the meadow before the castle, and after I told Walter what I required of him I wandered back through the gatehouse to watch the practice and oversee the competition.

Lord Gilbert provides four silver pennies each week as prizes for those who show the greatest skill with the bow, and when he is in residence at Bampton Castle delights in personally awarding the coins to those who prevail over their fellows.

Three of the coins went to Bampton men, tenants of Lord Gilbert, but one coin went to Sir Geoffrey Godswein, Sir Henry’s knight. This was an oddity, as only the commons train to the longbow. Knights begin martial training with a sword when first they become pages, and then squires. How, I wondered, did a knight find such skill?

I was not alone in my curiosity, for as Sir Geoffrey let fly his arrows I saw others in the crowd of spectators whisper behind their hands. ’Twas nearly an admission of being baseborn that a knight would do this. I saw Lady Margery react with distaste when Sir Geoffrey seized a bow and took a place at the mark, and she scowled when he accepted Lord Gilbert’s penny and bowed to his host.

Walter had stood with others in Sir Henry’s service to watch the competition, and when the contest was done I sought him.

“None of Sir Henry’s yeomen or grooms or valets went to the mark today,” I said to him as we passed the gatehouse.

“Sir Henry was not one to set his men to archery as is Lord Gilbert.”