Mel Starr - Rest Not in Peace

“Nearly finished. What remains will cause you little distress.”

The small linen patches I had placed upon the table had unrolled. I took one, rolled it tightly again, told William to remain motionless, and as gently as I could I thrust the linen up one nostril as far as it would go. The squire gasped once, but was perhaps relieved that this measure was not so painful as placing his nose in its proper place had been.

I prepared the second linen plug and as I was about to shove it into the other nostril saw a small drop of blood drip from the offended orifice. The linen would end the flow, slight as it was, so I did not hesitate but pushed the linen into the empty nostril.

“You must leave these plugs in your nose for a fortnight,” I said, “and even a few days longer if you can bear it. This will ensure that your nose will remain in place until the swelling has subsided and it has begun to knit. If I were you, I’d avoid any words or actions which might provoke a strong man to strike a blow… until well after Lammas Day, at least.”

I might have left the youth some crushed lettuce seeds to help him sleep, as his pain would likely keep slumber distant for a few days, but my supply was low and could not be replenished until the new-grown lettuce was gone to seed. Before I left the chamber I had another question for William.

“I have spoken to Sir John,” I said. “I asked him why your jest provoked him to strike you.”

“What did he say?” William asked.

“Nothing. He would not speak of the matter. Can you guess why he would not?”

Robert, who had returned to his seat after assisting me to restrain William, spoke. “Don’t need to guess.”

I said nothing, but looked from Walter to Robert, awaiting the enlightenment I felt sure would come. It did. Silence is occasionally better than a question.

“Sir John thinks much of m’lady,” Robert said.

“The Lady Margery?” I said.

“Who else?” he replied.

“Not Lady Anne? I thought ’twas Sir Geoffrey who had caught Lady Margery’s eye.”

“He has, and likewise. But just because a lady seems to choose one doesn’t mean another mightn’t have an interest.”

I looked to William. “Did you know of this? That Sir John was enamored of Lady Margery?”

William shook his head, “No,” and instantly regretted the action. His nose flexed slightly upon its unsteady base and he grimaced in pain.

“Who else knows of Sir John’s infatuation with Lady Margery? Does Lady Margery know?”

“Don’t know. He didn’t speak of it.”

“Then how did you learn of this?”

“He’d had much wine once, and I saw him leering at m’lady. Asked him what he was about, and did he not know that if Sir Henry saw him he’d likely be sent from the household.”

“What did he say?”

“Said he cared little for what Sir Henry might think, and for me to hold my tongue. I did so. Sir John is a powerful man and I did not wish to offend him.”

The lad had William’s nose before him as evidence of what an angry Sir John Peverel might do to an unwitting squire.

“Why do you speak of this now?” I said. “Do you not fear what Sir John may do if he learns that you have spoken to me of this?”

“Nay. Now Sir Henry’s dead what matter if all the world knows of Sir John’s hidden desire?”

I admonished William again to take care for his nose, surely unnecessary but probably expected, and departed the chamber more confused than when I had entered. I had expected that the more I could learn of Sir Henry’s family, retainers, and servants, the closer I would come to finding a murderer. But the opposite seemed true. The more I learned, the more perplexed I became. I sought the solar and Lord Gilbert, but he was absent.

“Gone to the marshalsea with Sir Roger,” Lady Petronilla said. “A pleasant day for a ride in the forest, he said.”

I found Lord Gilbert and the sheriff preparing to mount their beasts before the marshalsea. My employer turned from the stirrup and, one eyebrow raised, asked of my patients.

“Sir John will live, I think, and I have set William’s nose straight. He will appear no worse for wear in a month, so long as he does not provoke Sir John again.”

“Why did his words do so yesterday?”

“’Tis that I would speak to you about.”

Lord Gilbert looked to Sir Roger and I saw the sheriff nod. “Tell a page to saddle Bruce. You will ride with us this morning and tell us what you know. We’ll wait here for you.”

Bruce is an ancient dexter, given to my use as part of my service as bailiff of Lord Gilbert’s manor at Bampton. The beast carried Lord Gilbert into battle at Poitiers eleven years past, and is now doubtless pleased to spend most of his days in the meadow west of the castle, or munching oats in the marshalsea. I rarely need use of the beast, and being untrained to the saddle am not a skilled rider. But Oxford is a long walk from Bampton and Bruce has carried me there and back often. Perhaps he thought that our destination this day also.

When Sir Roger and Lord Gilbert saw Bruce led from the stables they mounted their horses and I clambered upon Bruce’s broad back. Lord Gilbert led the way under the portcullis. Wilfred tugged a forelock as we passed. Iron-shod hooves clattered across the drawbridge and we were soon upon Mill Street, where Lord Gilbert turned his mount toward the forest and Cowley’s Corner.

“You’ve set William’s nose straight, then?” Lord Gilbert said as we rode easily toward the wood.

“Aye. A painful lesson, but such are not soon forgot.”

“Just so,” Sir Roger laughed.

“You wished to tell us of Sir John’s wrath,” my employer said, “and why William’s words goaded him to strike the lad.”

“’Twas Robert told me that the Lady Margery has more than one admirer.”

Lord Gilbert’s eyebrow lifted under his cap, as I knew it would, and he cocked his head toward me, awaiting explanation.

“Sir John also holds the lady in much esteem.”

Lord Gilbert sighed and glanced to the sky. “Had I known of the disorder in Sir Henry’s household I would never have extended an invitation for him to visit. Well… too late for second thoughts now. So two knights wished the Lady Margery free of her husband?”

“But Sir John had kept his desire for the lady to himself, but for a drunken leer when Robert saw,” I said.

“Did he not know,” Sir Roger said, “that Sir Geoffrey wished also to supplant the lady’s husband?”

“He did,” I said. “All the household seemed to know, including, I believe, Sir Henry.”

“Are not Sir John and Sir Geoffrey friends?”

“So they seem,” I said.

“’Twould not be the first time friends have fallen out over a lady,” Lord Gilbert observed.

Sir Roger went to the heart of the matter. “Now you have another who might have wished Sir Henry dead.”

We rode through the forest in silence for a time, each considering in his own way the events of the past few days. Lord Gilbert soon tired of this, being a gentleman and thus easily bored. He spurred his beast to a gallop and Sir Roger and I did likewise to keep up. We thundered past Cowley’s Corner and toward Alvescot, frightening squirrels and jackdaws, for better than a mile before Lord Gilbert drew upon his reins and brought his steed to a walk. I was much relieved. Teetering upon Bruce while the horse is in full gallop is akin to riding upon a cart with square wheels.

Lord Gilbert had slowed his mount because of a path through the wood leading from the road which he wished to follow. The way was narrow, just a track cut through the forest for use of the verderer, so we went in single file. Conversation was then shouted rather than spoken, especially if Lord Gilbert wished to address me, as he led the way and Bruce and I were in the rear.