Mel Starr - Rest Not in Peace

“Too poor to afford even a few pennies as prizes?” I ventured.

“Aye,” the valet smiled, “too poor to hand out even farthings.”

“What of Sir Geoffrey? How did a knight come by such skill?”

“Wasn’t always a knight, nor high-born, either.”

“How was it that he was elevated?”

“Was a yeoman in Sir Henry’s band at Poitiers. Just a lad, but keen to go to war. Went over with ’is father, who took sick an’ died before the battle.”

“Did he do some service for Sir Henry?”

Walter shrugged. “Guess so. He don’t speak much of it, nor did Sir Henry.”

“Do others of Sir Henry’s retainers know of Sir Geoffrey’s past? Does Lady Margery know?”

“S’pose so. Sir Geoffrey’s rank is known to most as has been in Sir Henry’s service, an’ Lady Margery ain’t always been a lady.”

“Oh? Her father is not a gentleman?”

“Nay. Wealthy, though. A cordwainer of Coventry.”

“If Sir Geoffrey did not speak of his origins,” I said, “why take a bow and enter Lord Gilbert’s competition and so make plain his family?”

“Pride, I’d say. Sir Geoffrey don’t like to be bested at anything. Sees a man doing a thing that he can do better, he’d not resist showin’ off.”

“Even if to do so would lift eyebrows?”

“Even so,” Walter shrugged again. “Mayhap that’s why ’e did somethin’ what made ’im worthy of bein’ knighted. Don’t always think things through before he acts.”

The valet may speak true, I thought. How many men would do heroic things if they first considered the risk of the deed which brought them glory? Perhaps this is why young men make the best warriors. They have less experience of the consequences of bold acts. Did the man who murdered Sir Henry think carefully of the possible result of such a rash act?

I bid Walter “Good day,” and set off for the solar, where I hoped to find Lord Gilbert and Sir Roger.

I did so. The two men and Lady Petronilla, having just arrived from awarding the archery prizes, were quenching their thirst with cups of wine. Both men had fought at Poitiers, I knew, when the French king had been seized and held for ransom. I thought one or both might have a tale to tell of Sir Henry or Sir Geoffrey. I asked, and the sheriff and my employer peered at each other thoughtfully for some time. Some silent exchange passed between them, then Sir Roger finally spoke.

“We were much inferior in numbers to the French, so Prince Edward placed us upon a hill. The slope was a vineyard, and the archers he placed hidden amongst the vines. We men at arms were at the crest of the hill, dismounted, ready to repulse the French from whatever direction they might come.”

“’Twas a perilous time,” Lord Gilbert added. “Had the French king any wit he would have come at us from the flanks. His numbers were such he could have divided his army and enveloped us.”

“But he rather chose to send his knights through the vines,” Sir Roger said, “up a narrow path which wound through the vineyard. I could scarce believe a king would be so foolish.”

“Our archers, hidden in the vines, waited ’til the French knights were nearly upon them,” Lord Gilbert continued. “At such close range their arrows could not miss, and flew with such force that a knight’s armor was of no more use to him than parchment.

“Some English knights became resentful that the battle might be won by archers before knights could seek glory or captives for ransom. An arrow does not take prisoners, but slays the man it strikes.”

I began to envision what might have happened. “Sir Henry was one of these?” I asked.

“Aye,” Sir Roger said, with a rueful grin, “as were Lord Gilbert and I.”

“Sir Henry had but a small retinue, but when he leaped over the dry moat we had dug at the crest of the hill his squires followed, all eager for glory before it escaped them.”

“Sir Henry was the first knight to attack?”

“Aye. When he set out for the grapevines we all followed, our blood being up and all unwilling to lose a chance for honor and to seize hostages.”

Lord Gilbert hesitated, then continued. “Not all of the French knights were dead or even badly wounded. No sooner had I got amongst the vines than I came upon a knight who had hid himself in the grapevines so as to avoid the arrows which had destroyed so many of his fellows. We fell upon each other with swords, but neither could deliver a telling blow for the vines which entangled us.

“While I was thus engaged another French knight, all in black armor and with a white plume upon his helm, came up behind me and delivered a blow which dropped me to my knees.”

“I was too far away to see,” Sir Roger said, “lost amongst the vines and dealing with my own foe, else I would have come to Lord Gilbert’s aid. But Sir Henry was fighting nearby, and saw him fall. Sir Henry left the knight he was battling and with a yeoman came to Lord Gilbert’s relief.”

“The knight that came upon me was a powerful man,” Lord Gilbert said. “He laid such a blow across my helm, I saw all the stars and planets. Sir Henry had the courage of two men, but the size of a lad. He was overmatched against two. ’Twas then that Sir Geoffrey — not yet Sir, only a yeoman then — notched an arrow and from no more than four paces away put shafts through the French armor and dispatched both. ’Twas unfortunate. Dead men pay no ransom.”

“Aye,” Sir Roger agreed. “And Sir Henry needed funds even then.”

“When I regained my wits the battle was nearly done,” Lord Gilbert said. “King Jean was taken, along with many French knights who survived the slaughter. Prince Edward saw me being assisted back to our lines, as I was yet unsteady upon my feet. He asked my state, and Sir Henry, whose arm I leaned upon, told him all. The prince asked for Geoffrey Godswein and when the fellow was presented to him, he knighted him then and there.”

“Along with a Welsh archer who had done him good service that day,” the sheriff added.

“So you see, I owed much to Sir Henry, who came to my aid, and to Sir Geoffrey, whose arrows may have saved us both.”

“You were pleased to award him a penny for his skills this day,” I said.

“Aye,” Lord Gilbert agreed. “He has had coins from me before.”

“Did he ask for it?” I asked.

“Nay. Said a knighthood was pay enough for what he’d done, but Sir Henry presented him with a few shillings — all he could afford, I think — and I gave the fellow two marks.”

“Sir Henry gave Sir Geoffrey a few shillings,” I thought aloud. “Did Sir Geoffrey think that enough for his service, or was he resentful that he received no more?”

“Ah,” Lord Gilbert said. “I see your point. The fellow seemed pleased with what he was given, then and now. And part of his reward was to enter Sir Henry’s service. He’s been under Bampton Castle roof for nearly a month, and if he’s wrathful about what he was awarded twelve years past, he hides it well.”

“We seek a man who wished Sir Henry dead,” the sheriff said. “I think Sir Henry was worth more to Sir Geoffrey alive than dead. Whom now will he serve? Will Lady Margery keep him in her retinue?”

“Walter, the valet, has told me that Sir Henry and Lady Margery quarreled.”

“Ha… what marriage does not have occasional dispute?” Lord Gilbert laughed. “The man who does not sometimes displease his wife has probably not enough spine to say ‘boo’ to a goose. And the woman who will not inform her husband when she is annoyed has not yet, I think, been born.”

“If two people can live together without occasional cross words,” Sir Roger said, “it shows a lack of spirit admirable only in sheep. Did the valet say what they argued about?”