Mel Starr - A Corpse at St Andrew's Chapel

I went to my bed, intending to rest for an hour or two, but found sleep elusive. I thought I now knew the poacher’s identity. But how to catch him at his work? And Emma atte Bridge had seen me across the meadow from her toft. The thought troubled me. The Angelus Bell intruded upon my contemplation before I could fall to sleep.

I awoke a short time later but little refreshed and no nearer a plan to apprehend either Thomas atte Bridge or his brother’s slayer. I awoke confused, weary, and feeling quite incompetent.

I had no wish to sit again all night in the forest awaiting Thomas atte Bridge. If it was fresh meat being roasted which I smelled this morning, then the fellow had eluded me in the night. Or perhaps ’twas meat he took earlier, and he had not been abroad in the night at all while I waited, cold and stiff, between the roots of the old beech.

If I took my place this night at the root of the beech it might be that Thomas would choose not to appear, or perhaps take another way. Could he be warned that I had found his path? And he had meat to roast. He would need no more for several days, perhaps.

I had no desire to spend another cold, uncomfortable night in the forest. I knew a better way.

I called at the kitchen for my morning loaf and ale. Did the cook look askance at me, or was it my imagination? I ate hurriedly in my chamber. I had a plan, and was impatient to set it in motion.

Wilfred tugged a forelock as I passed the gatehouse. I set my feet toward Alvescot and shortly after passed the beech where I had spent an unprofitable night. Did my scheme succeed, I would not need to visit the place again.

The door to Gerard the verderer’s hut lay open to the warm June sun, but the forester was not there. He was, his wife explained, at work in the forest north of town with his sons and brothers.

I was but a few steps from the village on the road north to Shilton when I heard axes ringing through the forest to the west of the road. I picked my way through the wood and found the verderer sitting on a rotting stump from which place he directed the felling of a medium-sized ash. This was the second tree to fall this day. A few paces beyond lay another ash, already down.

Gerard stood when he saw me approach, and greeted me warmly, as a man might to one who had saved his life. He had no sooner spoke words of greeting than the second ash began its plunge to the forest floor. I waited until the crashing and splintering of branches was complete to reply.

“Good day…Are you well?”

“Aye, well as may be.”

“The weakness on your left side — it troubles you as before?”

“Aye. No change there. Won’t ever be, I think.”

“There is a matter regarding Lord Gilbert’s forest I must discuss with you. Pray, return to your seat.”

I motioned to the stump. Gerard’s sons and brothers ignored me and went to trimming branches from the fallen trees. Gerard saw me watching the work. Perhaps he worried that I might accuse him of abusing Lord Gilbert’s forest. He explained what he was about.

“’Tis a wondrous thing, is a tree. These two will provide timber should Lord Gilbert need more, an’ t’branches will warm him in t’castle an’ us in our huts next autumn. From t’stumps coppiced shoots will soon rise. In a few months they’ll be large enough for arrows. T’Frenchies will want war again soon enough. ’Twill be well to have shafts ready. An’ we allow some of t’coppiced poles to grow, they’ll make anything from rafters to plow hafts.”

“Aye,” I agreed. “God designed well a world for men to prosper in. And he did well to provide Lord Gilbert with a verderer who knows his business.”

The old man beamed.

“Can’t work as once,” Gerard admitted, “but know as what’s needful an’ can see others do it. Trainin’ Richard,” he nodded toward his older son, “to take me place when I’m gone.”

“Unless you allow some tree to drop on you again, you should live for many years.”

The forester removed his cap and rubbed his head absently. The scar I made when I repaired his broken skull was visible through his wispy, thinning hair. “Keep me distance, now,” he assured me. “But you’d not come ’ere to discuss me ’ead.”

“Nay. I have other business. There is, I am sure, a poacher at work in Lord Gilbert’s forest.”

Gerard’s eyes grew wide. He lifted his hands to protest, the right hand higher than the left. He thought I was about to accuse him of malfeasance, for it is a verderer’s business to seek out those who violate forest law.

“I do not charge you with incompetence,” I said, before he could protest. “But I will have you and your sons patrol the forest carefully. You have seen no sign of snares, or the taking of a deer?”

“Nay. Don’t get through t’woods so easy meself anymore, but the others,” he nodded toward his sons and brothers, “go ’bout regular, like. They’d tell me straight away did any poacher leave sign in t’woods.”

“Require of them special vigilance, for there is surely a poacher at work. But I must have evidence before I can charge the man at hallmote.”

“You know who the fellow is?”

“Aye, I think so. But I cannot charge him with the little I presently know.”

Gerard took personally the idea of a poacher loose in the forest. It was his responsibility more than mine to apprehend such a miscreant. That I had learned of activity in his forest of which he knew nothing was a blow to his pride. I knew he would be diligent in seeking the evidence I needed.

My head was aching again when I completed the return journey to the castle. Valets were preparing the hall for dinner, for which I had little appetite. I went to my chamber and mixed a draught of ground willow bark and hemp seeds in a mug of ale.

Dinner this day included a first remove of coney pie, as if the cook wished to mock my inability. I could not prove a poacher. I could not find a murderer. I could not find a wolf, was there a wolf to find. Nor could I find a reason why Henry atte Bridge would slay Alan the beadle. But he did. Of this I was certain. ’Twas the only sure thing in my life. Aye, I could not find a wife, either.

I mixed no lettuce in my ale, but the willow bark and hemp seeds, my lack of sleep, and food in my belly all combined. I went to my chamber thinking to rest briefly. I did not awaken until I heard through my closed door valets once again setting tables on trestles for supper.

I arose from my bed much refreshed. And for this meal there was a pike and roasted capon. No venison. No rabbit. My appetite returned.

My afternoon sleep was so deep I thought it might rob me of slumber that night. Not so. I climbed to the parapet and walked the castle wall ’til Venus appeared over the treetops to the west. Below me the marshalsea enlargement proceeded well. The new stables would be complete when Lord Gilbert returned to take up residence. But little else was well. Failure gnawed at me. I descended the steps to the inner yard, watched as Wilfred barred the gate and cranked down the portcullis, then went to my chamber.

I was sure that my heavy thoughts, combined with a long nap that day, would deny me rest. But perhaps the hemp and willow bark were yet effective. I slept soundly until from the church spire I heard the Angelus Bell announce the arrival of the feast day of Corpus Christi.

The procession began at St Beornwald’s Church at the third hour. Thomas de Bowlegh, by virtue of his age and tenure at St Beornwald’s, led the vicars, clerks and townsmen. He held the consecrated loaf high and set off down Church View Street for the marketplace. This could not have been an easy task for a man of his years. Try walking about for an hour with both hands held high above your head.