Mel Starr - The Unquiet Bones

“No. Listen — ” He stopped his exploration of a hummock of leaves and snow, which he had been vigorously prodding with the point of his sword.

“I hear nothing,” he replied after a brief silence.

“That’s it; did you not hear the woodcutters a short time ago? They have ceased their work.”

Lord Gilbert caught my meaning. “Heard us, have they?”

“No doubt.”

“You think they may have knowledge of this matter?”

“I do…but they will hesitate to say so. They might have found other garments and fear an accusation of theft.”

“They have no doubt vanished,” Lord Gilbert shrugged.

“I think not. I saw one observing us through the trees but a few moments ago. If we go around that copse,” I pointed to a thicket to the south of our search, “we may come up behind the fellow. He’ll not see us coming, or hear us, if that lot,” I nodded toward the search party, “persist in the noise.”

They did persist, and but a few minutes later we rounded the copse and found our quarry hunched behind the stump of a great fallen oak, watching with rapt attention the overturning of the forest floor.

“Good day,” Lord Gilbert announced our presence behind the fellow in a booming voice. Lord Gilbert was well-practiced at a booming delivery. Most nobles are.

The man jumped and turned so quickly, his feet left the ground. His head, I thought, will ache after that move, for the man was indeed my patient.

“Why, it is Gerard, my forester,” Lord Gilbert exclaimed in a friendly tone. “You see us engaged in a search of the forest,” Lord Gilbert continued conversationally, as if unaware that his greeting had nearly caused the man’s heart to fail him. “Perhaps you may assist us.” Lord Gilbert’s tone shifted slightly at this last remark. The message was clear: “You had better assist us, if you can.”

Gerard stood silent, shaking, from cold, or fear, or both. I thought he might remember more if he feared less, so I sought to allay his concerns. “I showed you a cotehardie on Saturday,” I said, and pointed to the garment swinging from Lord Gilbert’s left hand. Lord Gilbert still held his sword in his right hand. Certainly this contributed to Gerard’s unease. “Have you remembered finding any other clothing in the woods hereabouts since then?”

“Nay…no clothes.”

I detected his meaning, and I think Lord Gilbert did as well, for he turned quizzically to me as I spoke again. “What, then? Have you found other than apparel?”

The woodcutter looked about him as if he sought some refuge, or a path of flight through the forest. “What, then?” Lord Gilbert echoed. His voice had gone to booming again.

“A…a dagger, m’lord.”

“A dagger!” The booming intensified, doing the woodman’s headache no good, I thought. “Why did you not tell Master Hugh of this Saturday?”

“I did not ask him,” I interceded. “I asked if he had found other clothing. Had you?” I turned to Gerard and tried some booming myself. Not being practiced, I was not so proficient as Lord Gilbert. “The truth, now!”

“Nay…nothing…just the dagger.”

“Show us,” Lord Gilbert demanded, “where you found this dagger. And where is the weapon now?”

The woodcutter nodded in the direction of the search party, the raucous exploration drawing ever nearer. “Over t’the coppicing.”

“Show us,” Lord Gilbert ordered.

Gerard peered about him once more, then turned and led toward the searchers and the road. Lord Gilbert’s men quieted as first one, then another, saw us approach, following a stranger with a bandaged head. The forester strode through the line of searchers to an area already covered — not far, I saw, from the general area where I had recovered the cotehardie.

He stopped twice to get his bearings, then walked in a serpentine pattern, scanning the ground before him and to either side. A few more twists and turns and he stopped. By this time the entire search crew, gentlemen and villeins, had stopped their work to follow, either bodily, or with their eyes, our progress through the fringe of coppiced woods.

“Here,” he said finally, pointing to the ground.

“You are sure?” Lord Gilbert asked.

“Aye. We was cuttin’ poles from the coppice. There.” The forester pointed to a stump where half a dozen poles had been sliced from the new growth.

“We was draggin’ t’poles away an’ seen somethin’ shine. ’Twas a dagger. Right there it lay.”

“Where is it now?” Lord Gilbert returned to booming. “Walter it was who saw it first. He’s got it.”

“Walter? Was he one of those who brought you to me with a smashed head?”

“Aye, me son.”

“Was he cutting wood with you just now?”

“Aye.”

“Where will we find him?”

“We didn’t know who t’owner was…didn’t know ’twas important.” The woodcutter’s voice wavered as he spoke.

“Calm yourself, man,” Lord Gilbert responded. “But I’ll have that dagger. Where is your son?”

“He’ll have gone home.”

“Alvescot?” Lord Gilbert asked.

“Aye.”

Lord Gilbert turned to me. “Gerard was often a winner at the butts of a Sunday afternoon. Why,” he turned to his forester, “do we not see you at the competition now?”

“Me eyes…they’ve gone cloudy, like.”

“Is that why you crept closer to see what we were about?” I asked.

“Aye.”

“Hugh, you and Sir John and his squire will come with me to Alvescot. The rest of you,” he turned to the silent throng about us, “stay at your work until dark. If you find anything out of place, bring it with you when you leave. There will be food for you all at the castle this night. John,” he addressed his reeve, “I leave you in charge. Gerard, come along.”

Gerard was the only one of our group not mounted. I offered to seat him behind me on Bruce, but he declined. He was a wirey fellow, and kept good pace, though he limped on the weak left foot he had complained of. We crossed a corner of the woods, thinned where Gerard and his fellows had been at work, and found a track which shortly led us to Alvescot.

The village seemed deserted, but was not. I saw a corner of oiled sheepskin lifted as we passed the first hut. The hamlet comprised but eight or ten occupied dwellings. Alvescot was, I saw, a village the plague had struck hard. There were as many dilapidated, unoccupied huts as those yet tenanted, and the church was in poor repair.

Gerard stopped our party before a domicile which showed signs of occupation and shouted for his son. Walter must have been at the door, for it opened immediately. I recognized the man who stepped out into the dying light as one who had brought Gerard to me and waited outside Galen House for the result of my work.

“The dagger you found in the woods,” Lord Gilbert said without introduction. “I would have it.”

Walter looked at Gerard, who shrugged, bit his lip, but remained silent.

“Well, go on, man…we know you have it,” Lord Gilbert growled.

“Yes, m’lord.” Walter bowed and retreated to the dim interior of his hut. I heard a brief conversation, and a woman’s muffled cry. There followed the sound of furnishings being moved about, then silence until Walter reappeared. He held a small, jeweled dagger before him in both hands. He lifted it to Lord Gilbert as if in prayer of supplication.

I did not wish to appear overly inquisitive, so restrained my impulse to peer over Lord Gilbert’s shoulder at the weapon. But as Bruce sidled forward a step or two, I caught a glimpse of the dagger as Lord Gilbert turned it in his hands. The blade was no more than eight inches long, but appeared sharp and well-kept. The hilt was gilded, and encrusted with jewels: not many, nor did they seem large, but gems on any such weapon pointed to ownership by a gentleman.