Mel Starr - Rest Not in Peace

I found the knight in conversation with Lady Margery. My appearance was not welcome. As I approached, the two ceased their talk and glared in such a manner as to bring frost to the hall windows. But a man whose position requires him to sometimes ask unwanted questions becomes immune to hostile scowls.

“Sir Geoffrey,” I said, “I give you good day. You awoke this morning to a sorry business.”

The knight said nothing, nor did his expression change. My view of Sir John’s death seemed agreed upon, so I continued.

“You saw his chamber, and his blood spattered upon the wall. He fought his assailant. Did you hear the struggle? Did Sir John cry out?”

“Nay. Heard nothing. I’m a heavy sleeper. Comes from seizing what slumber I could when marching to battle with Sir Henry, I suppose.”

“Who of Sir Henry’s household disliked Sir John?”

“Bah,” Lady Margery snorted. ’Twas most unbecoming of a lady. “There was no affray in Sir John’s chamber last night. You seek to persuade us there was, so to disguise your incompetence.” And with that indictment she stood and stalked toward the stairs. But before she reached the end of the hall she turned and spoke again.

“Lady Anne saw a rat this morning running from the brew house. You would be more observant of your duty as Lord Gilbert’s bailiff were you to lay traps than to seek murderers where none are so as to hide your unfitness for your position.”

And with that she lifted her nose and walked off toward her chamber. I looked back to Sir Geoffrey. His face remained inscrutable.

“Lady Margery,” I said, attempting to be as tactful as possible, “is not schooled in herbs nor surgery, and so is mistaken about Sir John’s death. He was slain last night. Of that there can be no doubt.”

“Then why, if he fought his murderer, did I not hear? I sleep soundly, the walls are of stone, and the doors to the chambers of oak, yet it seems a man in such circumstance would have shouted loudly in his distress. I believe Lady Margery speaks true. You seek to cover your failure. I will speak to Lord Gilbert about this. Lady Margery wishes to be away from this place, and I agree ’tis past time we were gone… before you slay another of Sir Henry’s household with your incompetence.”

“Sir Roger requires that Lady Margery remain in Bampton until I have found a murderer… or two murderers.”

“Hah. We should then never leave, for there are none. And were there felons to seek in Bampton Castle, you are not such a one as could discover them.”

Sir Geoffrey rose from his bench and stalked off haughtily. For one baseborn he has mastered arrogance. I contemplated telling the fellow that my father had been a knight, but considered that if a man must tell another that he is of high birth, his manner must not reflect it, and so held my tongue.

But about one thing Lady Margery was correct. If rats had invaded Bampton Castle ’twas my duty as much as any man’s to see that they were caught. I left the hall to visit the fewterer. Lord Gilbert’s hounds would be of no use catching rats, but there were terriers in the kennels, useful for such a purpose. I could not spend all of my waking hours seeking murderers when there was other castle business to be done.

A man who seeks felons must find evidence of guilt where he can. But what if the evidence is flawed? I mistrusted Sir Geoffrey’s words. Perhaps he did hear as Sir John was slain; mayhap he even heard the dying man call out a name. Or perhaps he was the felon, although no man, nor woman either, had spoken of bad blood between the two knights, nor had I witnessed any strife between them.

And what of Walter? He said that he had placed only a thimbleful of crushed lettuce seed into Sir Henry’s wine, but what if he lied? How was I to know? And if he did speak falsely, why would he do so? Did he hold some murderous grudge against Sir Henry? If so, no man had spoken of it.

Squire Robert claimed that he sat wakeful all last night, keeping William company in his distress. How could I learn if this was true?

In the matter of Sir Henry’s death all men proclaimed innocence and ignorance, but one, or perhaps more, lied. So it had come to this: that I must trust no man, and assume all were dishonest until I could prove them otherwise. When I had proven the honesty of all but one or two, those must be the felons. But confirming the truthfulness of the innocent may be as difficult as finding out the guilty.

I returned to the solar. Lord Gilbert must know that, with Sir Roger away, his guests were considering departing Bampton.

“Hah,” he said when told. “I’m of two minds. I’d be pleased to see them away, and be rid of the lot. But Sir Henry, for all of his faults, was a valiant knight and ’twould be a disservice to him to allow his murderer to escape justice. Be at ease. I will speak this hour to Lady Margery and whether she likes it or not she will remain my guest until you have found who murdered Sir Henry. How much longer, you think?”

“I cannot say, m’lord.”

“Well, do be quick about it. Lady Margery and I think alike. We would both prefer her gone from here.”

Lord Gilbert’s kennels lay beside the marshalsea. I found Gerald the fewterer brushing matted fur from one of Lord Gilbert’s hounds and told him to put his terriers to work near to the brew house and bake house. He tugged a forelock and promised to do so as soon as he had completed the task at hand.

The gloomy weather was beginning to lift. The sky was yet clouded, but here and there a glimpse of blue sky was visible as the wind from the north broke and tattered the clouds. The breeze would soon dry the roads, and I might enter Galen House this evening with shoes free of mud.

The thought of my home was appealing, and as I had no plan in mind to advance the search for Sir John’s murderer, I set out for Mill Street.

Shill Brook ran high, its water muddy from the dirt of the fields washed into its flow by the recent rain. Too much water obscured the stream bed. So it was with the murders in Bampton Castle. There was evidence everywhere I looked; so much that it seemed but to obscure the truth of the matter.

Kate was eager to learn of Sir John’s death, and when I told her of the business she cast her eyes down to her hands, which lay folded in her lap, and said, “So much evil is come upon the castle. Who next will die, I wonder?”

Here was a thought that I had not entertained. Resolved as I was to find who had murdered Sir Henry and now Sir John, I had not considered that there might be others in Sir Henry’s household whose lives were at risk. But how could I know who these might be if I did not know why Sir Henry and Sir John had been slain, so as to seek some commonality?

“You believe two deaths may be followed by a third?” I said. “Why do you say so?”

I wondered if the Lord Christ had given my Kate some insight which He withheld from me, or if she saw matters in Bampton Castle more clearly from watching from a distance.

Kate shrugged and pursed her lips. “No reason,” she said. “But my father says misfortunes always come in threes.”

I had no wish to contradict my father-in-law, and as he had the wisdom of years, considered that he might speak true. I made no reply, but thought on this new and unappealing notion. Was there another man, or perhaps a woman, lodged in Bampton Castle, whose life was in danger? So far death had come only to Sir Henry and a knight in his household. Did danger lurk within the castle walls for Lord Gilbert and Lady Petronilla and their retainers also?

I had thought that Sir Henry’s death involved some dark matter within his household; his debts, perhaps, or his unhappy wife and daughter foremost in my considerations. But what if none of these were so? Perhaps some other wickedness was hidden in Sir Henry’s retinue.