Mel Starr - The Unquiet Bones

Wretched as the weather was, the next dawn I could no longer hesitate. I garbed myself in my heavy cloak and, the blue cotehardie over my shoulder, made my way to the castle. This journey was becoming tiresome, especially on such a wet, cold, gray morning. I could be sitting before my fire, such as it was, keeping warm, waiting for paying patients. Instead I prowled the country for Lord Gilbert, to his benefit, not mine.

No, I decided, that was not entirely correct. It was Lord Gilbert who gave me my position, and he charged little enough rent for my lodging. And justice — would that not benefit all of God’s creatures? It would, if I, or anyone, could deliver it.

I hesitated at the bridge over Shill Brook to consider these thoughts and admire the stream as it made its way down from the mill between snow-covered banks. There is beauty in even the harshest of things, although it is difficult to appreciate esthetics if one’s feet are wet with congealing slush, one’s stomach is nearly empty, and one’s back is bent under a heavy load — as was, I suspect, the case with the old man who crossed the bridge behind me, heading toward town and the market square under a large sack of something I expect he hoped to sell.

Wilfred greeted me with a puzzled expression, due, no doubt, to the elaborate cotehardie I had hanging from my shoulder. John was called, and the chamberlain took me to the solar. I was barely in time. I had heard hounds barking with excitement as I approached the castle. Lord Gilbert had guests, and was about to go hunting. If he and his friends succeeded, a stag would be added to the fare at their table this evening.

“What, then, Hugh? You have news?” Lord Gilbert spoke to me, but his attention was given to his chamberlain and sartorial preparations for the hunt.

“I found this yesterday.” I held the cotehardie before me. “Have you seen a gentleman wearing such a garment?”

Lord Gilbert peered over his shoulder, then, eyes wide, turned to me and grasped the cotehardie. “How came you by this?’ he asked as he inspected the stained fabric. I told him of the foraging hogs, and the accidental uncovering of the cotehardie.

“It is Sir Robert’s,” Lord Gilbert declared softly. “Some harm has come to him…as we feared. He would not have discarded this for the heat, or forgotten it in such a place as you describe.”

I agreed with his assessment, showed him the small slit in the front of the garment, and told him then of the woodcutters and my charge to them. “But I have other news as well, regarding Margaret…the girl found in your cesspit.”

“Ah…have you found a killer in our midst?”

“No. Not yet.” I told him of my interviews in Burford.

“Hmm. I believe the suitor the most likely assailant,” Lord Gilbert grunted. “He had cause and occasion.”

“This is so,” I agreed. “But this is little enough to hang a man.”

“Perhaps,” Lord Gilbert frowned.

“If we hold our peace,” I added, “some other fact which now escapes us may be introduced which will assure an accurate charge, either against Thomas Shilton, or another.”

Lord Gilbert scowled in my direction. “You suggest we do nothing, then?”

“I do…for now. Although there seem to be grounds for suspecting Thomas, I do not wish to be party to a trial on such tenuous evidence.”

“You think the fellow guilty?” Lord Gilbert challenged.

“I am of two minds. The circumstances point to him above others, but I have met him, and cannot view him as capable of such as was done to the smith’s daughter.”

“Perhaps you are too trusting.”

“Perhaps. But I view that as a better fault than being too cynical.”

“Hmm. Perhaps. You have done well. I will trust your judgment in the matter. But what,” he held out the cotehardie, “of this?”

I suggested he dispatch men to search the woods where I found the cotehardie.

“I shall go. The hunt can wait.”

“What of your guests?”

“They may come, as well. Sir John knew Sir Robert…although I cannot say they were friends. He may find this quest an interesting diversion from pursuit of a stag.”

Lord Gilbert commanded, and it was done. A short time later four horses and twelve men gathered at the gatehouse. I was pleased to see Bruce among the horses. His presence meant, I presumed, that I would not walk. I am no aristocrat, but I would not go to the search afoot with the commons.

Among the villeins and tenants gathered for the search, I recognized Alfred. He touched his hat and bowed as if I were a duke.

“How do you do?” I asked. “Are you well?”

“Oh…aye. I can do a day’s work well as any man. Though, mind you, ’tis well I’ll walk today.” He nodded toward the horses, stamping their impatience near the gatehouse, blowing steamy vapor into the cold morning air. “I am not suited yet to ride a horse.” He chuckled at his own expense.

“That will pass. It has been, what, five weeks since the surgery? I think by Candlemas your restoration will be complete.”

“’Tis well enough as is. For that I am much in your debt.”

“You must thank God also. He it is who gave me the skills to aid you. He is the Lord of healing, for when we poor surgeons have done our best, recovery is in His hands.”

“Aye. That I do. Every day.”

Lady Petronilla and Lady Joan appeared at the entrance to the castle screens passage and walked toward the assembly. Richard, Lord Gilbert’s two-year-old son, toddled along in their wake, accompanied by his nurse.

“Master Hugh will guide us,” Lord Gilbert nodded toward Bruce. The old horse had caught some of the sense of excitement, and stamped his forefeet with as much enthusiasm as he was able. “Lead on, Master Hugh.”

I managed to mount with some grace. I was becoming accustomed to the solid platform Bruce provided. I glanced toward the women to see if I was observed. I was. The fair Joan dipped her head in acknowledgment. I smiled — raffishly, I hoped — however, I do not do raffish very well. I have never been accomplished in courtly uncourtliness. One must, I think, be born to it.

I turned my attention to Bruce and the open gate. As I did I caught, from the corner of my eye, the broad face of Lord Gilbert, his gaze fixed upon me. He had certainly observed my wandering eyes. Well, he must know that Joan had caught more eyes than mine, and in his presence as well. I led the troupe out the gate, across Shill Brook, and north on the road toward Shilton and Burford.

I found the coppiced woods, where Lord Gilbert exercised the rights of nobility and directed the search. This investigation was made more difficult by the crusty layer of sleet and snow now covering the fallen leaves and forest floor.

The band of searchers swept north, then south, penetrating with each sweep deeper into the forest. As we drew away from the road I began to hear the dull thuds of distant axes. This sound grew louder, then abruptly stopped.

Lord Gilbert’s crew was a noisy bunch, breaking through thickets, scattering leaves and snow with poles broken from coppiced stumps, and shouting back and forth across the advancing line whenever an object of interest appeared. I theorized that, between blows, the woodcutters heard our approach and decided to pursue their work in some other part of Lord Gilbert’s forest.

Then, through the trees, which were beginning to open as we left the coppiced area and drew closer to native growth, I caught a glimpse of white against the gray and brown background of thick oak trunks. My patient, I guessed.

Lord Gilbert was in the midst of the pack of searchers, wet to the knees — as were we all — when I approached him.

“What, then, Hugh? Have you found something?”