Mel Starr - Rest Not in Peace

Sir Roger was in attendance with Lord Gilbert and Lady Petronilla, enjoying wine and conversation, when I arrived at the chamber. Lady Petronilla excused herself and Lord Gilbert called for a sergeant to bring Squire William to us.

The youth’s eyes were turning black from the blow he’d taken, and his nose was swollen and askew, clearly broken, if no longer dripping gore. William eyed us cautiously from the slits his eyes had become. Lord Gilbert and Sir Roger sat facing the lad, arms crossed, intent but waiting. Waiting for me.

“You might have killed Sir John,” I began.

“He will live?” the squire asked.

“Aye, most likely.”

I thought I saw regret flash across William’s battered face. Not regret that Sir John might perish, but that he might not.

“Why did you thrust a dagger into him?”

“Because he first attacked me.”

“You speak of your nose?”

“Aye. And when he struck me down he drew his dagger and would have plunged it into me was I not too quick for him.”

“He knocked you down,” Sir Roger asked, “then made to stab you whilst you were on the ground?”

“Aye… but I saw him coming and rolled away.”

“Then you drew your own dagger?” I asked.

“Aye. I’d got free of him, but he came for me again, so I took a swipe at him with my dagger as I twisted away. Made him back away, an’ I was able to get to my feet.”

“That’s when we came upon you and stopped the fray?” Lord Gilbert asked.

“What did you do to cause Sir John to smite you so?” I asked.

“Didn’t do anything,” William replied.

I saw one of Lord Gilbert’s eyebrows rise, as is common when some matter strikes him as curious. “If you did nothing, then you must have said something,” Lord Gilbert said. “A man will not aim such a blow at another for no reason.”

I realized that Lord Gilbert had chanced upon the cause of the fray when William made no reply. For him to do so would mean that we who interrogated him might learn a thing he wished us not to know.

“The fight was near to the marshalsea,” I said. “Were you and Sir John going to attend your horses?”

“Aye. They’d not been exercised since day before Sir Henry died. We thought to go for a gallop.”

Men who dislike each other would not agree to a companionable ride through the countryside. Something went seriously awry between Sir John and William between the time they made plans to ride and their approach to the stables.

“Is Sir John an irascible fellow?” I asked.

The squire shrugged. “Never seemed so,” he said.

“Then you must have said something objectionable. What was it?”

William was again silent. Sir Roger responded.

“Say what Master Hugh requires, else you will return to the dungeon ’til your tongue is loosened.”

“I don’t remember my exact words,” he said.

“Nonsense,” I replied. “When a man says a thing which causes another to strike him to his knees, he is not likely to forget what he said which brought him two blackened eyes and a broken nose.”

“Broken? My nose is broken?”

“Aye,” Lord Gilbert said. “All askew. Now answer Master Hugh.”

William tenderly touched his nose, discovered the truth of Lord Gilbert’s assertion, then spoke.

“Can it be set right?” the squire asked.

“Aye,” I said. “I will deal with it when you have answered our questions. If you will not, then you may go through life with a nose seeking scents to the sinister side, and through which you may never breathe properly.”

William was, I knew, smitten with Lady Anne, and reports said the lass wished to wed the youth. Would she do so had he a disfigured face and a nose which would draw laughter behind upraised hands? I believe William considered these same thoughts.

“’Twas meant as a jest,” the squire finally said.

“What was? Your words to Sir John?” I asked.

“Aye.”

“What did you say that he took amiss?”

“We spoke of horses… I said ’twould not be long before Sir Geoffrey would be riding Sir Henry’s mare.”

“You did not see that Sir John would see this as an insult to Sir Geoffrey and Lady Margery?” I said.

“Nay,” the squire said ruefully. “All know that Sir Geoffrey and the Lady Margery…”

William’s voice trailed off. I prodded him to continue. “‘Sir Geoffrey and Lady Margery’ what? It would be well if I could restore your nose as soon as possible. A broken nose left crooked for too long can sometimes not be made right.”

William gingerly touched his swollen nose, grimaced, then continued.

“That Sir Geoffrey and Lady Margery would wed if she was free of Sir Henry.”

“All knew this? Did Sir Henry know?”

“Think so. If he didn’t, he was the only one, man or woman, on his estate who didn’t.”

“What else do folk know? Did Sir Geoffrey and Lady Margery connive in Sir Henry’s death?” Sir Roger asked.

“Oh, nay. Surely not,” William replied.

“Then how did they expect Lady Margery to be free of Sir Henry?” Lord Gilbert asked.

“Lady Margery was to seek an annulment.”

“On what grounds?” Lord Gilbert scoffed. “That they had no issue? She had no funds. How would she gain the coin a bishop would require of her?”

“Don’t know what ground she was to claim. Did all work according to plan, she wouldn’t have needed grounds.”

“Oh?” I said.

“The Bishop of Lichfield is old and ill and will not live much longer. Lady Margery’s cousin is thought to have the see when the old bishop dies.”

“Ah,” Lord Gilbert said. “The new bishop would grant the plea of kinfolk.”

“So men said.”

“And this is why Sir Henry was distressed and lay awake nights?” I asked.

“Mayhap,” the youth agreed. “That and his debts.”

“The old bishop is dead,” Sir Roger said. “Word came to Oxford early last week.”

“Then Lady Margery will soon know if her cousin will receive the see,” I said.

“She may know already. Rumor in Oxford is that a scholar at Merton College will be elevated to the post,” Sir Roger said.

“Is Lady Margery’s cousin an Oxford scholar?” I asked William.

“Nay. He’s Dean of Hereford Cathedral, and not of noble birth.”

Here was interesting information. If Lady Margery hoped to be free of Sir Henry when her kinsman became Bishop of Lichfield, that hope was dashed. Did she know of this already? And did the news cause her or Sir Geoffrey to seek another way to dissolve her marriage?

“Will you set my nose right now?” William asked.

I looked to Lord Gilbert and saw him nod. “We have what we asked of this fellow,” he said. “Put his nose in place.”

“To do so will cause him much pain,” I said. “’Tis late, near dark, and I have no sedative herbs with me to reduce the hurt. I brought only instruments to deal with Sir John’s wound. I will return in the morning and set his nose right then.”

“But you said it must be done betimes or I may suffer the blemish all of my days,” the squire protested.

“Tomorrow will be soon enough,” I replied. “And you do not want me to tug your nose straight until you have swallowed a dose of crushed hemp seeds. You may trust my judgment on this.”

“What is to be done with the lad ’til then?” Sir Roger asked. “Back to the dungeon?”

Lord Gilbert looked to me with that curious, raised eyebrow, and waited for me to speak.

“I think William will not try to flee the castle in the night,” I said. “And if Sir John lives he’ll face no charge of murder in the King’s Eyre.”

“Very well,” Lord Gilbert said. “You may return to your chamber for the night. Where you spend the morrow will depend upon where Sir John’s soul may be then.”