Mel Starr - Rest Not in Peace

But why, then, the note sending me and Sir Roger to the squires’ chamber? Isobel said that the squires did from time to time assist Sir John and Sir Geoffrey in apprehending those who may have sought more for their labor than the law allows. And it was William who learned of the plot against Sir Henry and warned him of the danger. Did the commons about Bedford learn that their plot was discovered, and who it was who had betrayed them? Was I then to be the unwitting tool of those who did murder, thinking if and when I seized William that I had collected a felon? If so, I have been a great disappointment to some man. Or men. They must believe me so dull of wit that I cannot follow a path so clearly set before me. Perhaps they are correct.

’Twas Walter who told me that Sir Geoffrey was outside Sir Henry’s door the night he died. ’Twas Walter who had access to the pouch of crushed lettuce seeds, and who could have increased Sir Henry’s dose. Walter was of the commons. He would not have run afoul of Sir Henry’s enforcement of the Statute of Laborers, but he knew a man who had. His own family had suffered, according to Isobel. Was this reason enough to do murder? Walter’s father had been fined many years in the past. But Walter had said Sir Henry was a good lord.

I had suspected at various times Squire William, Lady Margery, Sir Geoffrey and Sir John of doing Sir Henry to death, because with each I saw a motive. That Walter the valet might have done murder had not seemed likely, as I at first saw no reason he would do so.

I bid Isobel “Good day,” and sent her off to her duties with Lady Margery. From the hall I climbed the stairs to the solar, where I hoped to find Lord Gilbert. I did. He was alone.

My employer sat behind his desk, a parchment before him, but I think he did not heed the document, for his head rested in his hands. He saw my shadow in the doorway, looked up, and invited me to enter.

“What news, Hugh?”

“I had hoped to tell you the conclusion of the matter of Sir Henry’s murder this day, but I cannot.”

“When will you do so? Foolish question… I must not vex you about your duty. You know it as well as I do.”

“I believe that next week at this time I may know who has killed Sir Henry and Sir John.”

“Next week? One man slew both?”

“So I believe, but the evidence I seek I am not likely to find here. I must travel to Bedford.”

“But murder was done here. You think some man from Bedford came here, did the felony, and then returned to his home?”

“Nay. But the evidence I seek, if it is to be found, will tell us which of Sir Henry’s household did the murders.”

“Bedford is a long way — two days’ hard travel.”

“So I have heard. I will return in five days. One day at Bedford will suffice, I think. I would take Arthur with me.”

“Very well. ’Tis always good to have a companion when upon the roads. When will you leave?”

“This day.”

“Sir Henry’s manor was at a village near to Bedford. Wootton, I believe. What do you seek there?”

“Sir Henry did harm to many men in the course of his duties as a Commissioner of Laborers. But few traveled with him to Bampton.”

“You believe his office led to his death? You suspected Sir Geoffrey, I thought.”

“It may be that he is guilty. He had cause.”

“Aye. And with Sir Henry dead, he might assume the post of Commissioner of Laborers. Will you take Bruce?”

“Such a journey will be too difficult for the old horse, I think. You have several palfreys in the marshalsea.”

“Take whichever you wish. Just return with these murders solved.”

Such an admonition was unnecessary. I was as anxious as my employer to see the business ended. I bowed my way from Lord Gilbert’s presence and sought Arthur. The groom always seemed ready to travel when I needed his company, and when I told him to prepare two of Lord Gilbert’s palfreys for travel, and to tell Cicily that he would be away for five days, he smiled and set immediately to the work. I told him also to bring a sack with an old, worn cotehardie, and a tattered pair of shoes. Arthur lifted an eyebrow at this instruction, but he has known me for such a time that odd requests from me no longer surprise him much. I left the castle and hurried to Galen House.

Kate was not pleased that I would be away, but her displeasure softened when I told her that I hoped to learn the identity of a murderer by leaving Bampton for a few days.

“A murderer?” she said. “You believe one man killed both Sir Henry and Sir John, then?”

“I believe it possible… no, I believe it likely.”

“Then godspeed, husband. I am pleased that Arthur will accompany you.”

“He is a good companion, and no fool. And has an arm as thick through as a gate post.”

I took Kate in my arms, kissed Bessie upon her head, and returned immediately to the castle. Arthur had two palfreys saddled and ready, the grey which he often rode, and a chestnut mare which Lord Gilbert had recently purchased. We would seek an inn at Oxford for our dinner, and continue east until we might find an abbey or priory where we would be made welcome when night fell.

Our beasts were well rested and young, so we passed Osney Abbey and entered Oxford by way of Bookbinders’ Bridge by the time our stomachs demanded dinner. We left the palfreys at the stables behind the Fox and Hounds, with instructions that they each be fed a bucket of oats, while we entered the inn and consumed a roasted capon and several maslin loaves.

Days in late June are warm and long. I nodded drowsily upon the mare as she carried me from Oxford across the verdant countryside. Men, and women also, were busy in the fields. The last of the hay was being cut, and as men swung their scythes, their wives turned the hay so it would dry evenly. In some fields hay which had been cut some weeks past was being raised into tall stacks. Children were busy in pea and bean fields, cutting thistles and dock, and in a few fields plowmen were at work behind oxen and horses, turning the soil for the second plowing of the summer.

We did not press the palfreys, the better to save them for the long day’s travel, and the next. Nevertheless, we found ourselves near to Buckingham when night drew nigh. Across a field from the road we saw an abbey, nearby a small village called Chetwode.

I pointed to the abbey rooftops, and told Arthur we would seek lodging there for the night.

Chetwode Abbey is a house of Augustinian Canons, and is not large or wealthy. We received what hospitality the place was prepared to offer, which was a bowl of pottage and a bed, and hay and a small measure of oats for our beasts. I think the abbot was not over pleased to learn that we would return to enjoy their hospitality in a few nights.

Next day, as we neared Bedford, I drew Arthur to the side of the road. The sack of his worn clothes I had slung across my palfrey’s rump. This I now took a few paces into a wood, and exchanged the old clothes for my fine chauces and cotehardie. Kate had not cut my hair for several weeks, nor had I trimmed my beard for many days, so with Arthur’s tattered garments I looked the part of an unkempt laborer seeking employment.

A half a mile beyond this place we found a lad weeding a bean field. I sent Arthur to ask him of Wootton. I saw the youth gesture in response, and soon Arthur returned.

“A mile ahead we will come to a way which leads to the manor of Lower Shelton, the lad said. A mile beyond that we will see a path which leads left to Wootton.”

The day was far gone when we came to the place where the path to Wootton diverged from the main road. I dismounted and told Arthur to do the same. It would not do to be seen entering the village upon two well-fed horses. Not if the subterfuge I had in mind was to succeed.