Mel Starr - The Unquiet Bones

Lady Joan was, of course, seated next to Sir Charles de Burgh at that Ember Day supper. As it was a fast day, the meal was simple: bread, fish, glazed eggs, and a tart of currants. I peeked at Lady Joan and her companion frequently during the meal and was annoyed to see them apparently enjoying each other’s company.

I visited Lady Joan twice each day, as was my practice, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, but saw Sir Charles only rarely. When I did converse with him I discovered that his conversation was pleasing, his manner polite, his face handsome, and his shape manly. I began to dislike him.

As I was Lord Gilbert’s guest, I attended mass with him and his family, rather than attending his nearby Walford village church. Sir Charles and Lady Joan sat together — Lord Gilbert had installed benches in his chapel — and conversed rather more freely than I thought meet throughout the service. This they continued at dinner. They were yet deep in conversation when I called at Lady Joan’s chamber at the ninth hour to again inspect her wrist. What they found to speak of I know not, but truth to say, Sir Charles surely had Lady Joan’s ear.

While I attended Lady Joan, Sir Charles busied himself at the window which looked out across the meadow and the barbican. A distant ruckus penetrated the apartment, and Sir Charles craned his neck so as to look to his left and observe the barbican and the tumult there. Lady Joan and I looked up from her wrist as Sir Charles turned from the window.

“The entertainers have arrived, I think,” he said.

“Ah…yes…” Lady Joan responded. “My brother was so taken with their performance last spring that he engaged them for the feast tomorrow.”

“These entertainers,” I asked, “what do they do? Are they musicians?”

“Oh, no…well, one plays a pipe. They are acrobats and jugglers and the like.”

“When did Lord Gilbert see them first?”

“’Twas Whitsuntide, I think. They set up in Bampton town market. Lord Gilbert brought them to the castle next day.”

Sir Charles had left the window, so I replaced him there and bent my head so as to see the barbican and the bridge. I caught a glimpse of the thick-necked wrestler as he disappeared from view across the moat, leading a horse which pulled a cart full of the troupe’s possessions. The horse was large and strong, a destrier worth?40 or more. Tossing knives into the air, wrestling all comers, and doing marvelous acrobatic tricks must pay well, I reflected.

“I was told,” I remarked with as little concern in my voice as I could restrain, “that there was some unpleasantness when this troupe left Bampton.”

Lady Joan seemed surprised at my remark, but answered plainly enough. “The leader lost two of his performers, I think. In the morning, as they were to depart, a lad and a lass were gone; they had run off in the night, I believe. The lass was said to be the leader’s daughter.”

“They ran off together?” I asked.

“’Twould seem so.”

“I wonder how they escaped the castle at night, with the gate closed and the portcullis down. The porter heard nothing?”

“No. My brother questioned him quite sharply, but he was not found to be at fault in his duty. He was old, and could neither hear nor see so well as a youth.”

“Hmmm…is that why Lord Gilbert put Wilfred in the post?”

“I think so, perhaps.”

“They are not the first,” Sir Charles chuckled, “nor will they be the last, to run off to begin a life together.”

I agreed, excused myself, and wondered if there was yet another set of bones to discover.

A horn awakened me at midnight and I tottered sleepily to the chapel for Angel’s Mass. It seemed to me I had barely returned to sleep when another blast awakened me for Shepherd’s Mass, at dawn.

The dawn was foggy and dim, but by the fifth hour an occasional glimpse of blue promised clearing sky and a fine day to celebrate our Savior’s birth. I looked forward to the feasting which would come, but not, I admit, to the other business now thrust upon me.

For without my contrivance Lord Gilbert had set before me the opportunity, if I acted wisely, to settle the business of three murders; or four, if the missing lad be added to the list.

I spent most of Christmas morning inventing and casting aside stratagems while staring out my chamber window. Once, through the fog, I watched a doe step from the forest to test the misty meadow. She found it unsatisfactory, and soon turned back into the trees and was gone from sight.

Shortly after the cautious doe slipped back into the forest I heard the horn again, this time announcing dinner. The great hall was filled when the company was gathered, warmed by both the Yule log blazing behind Lord Gilbert, and the swarm of guests. The hall was hung with holly, ivy, and pine boughs from the nearby forest. Indeed, these decorations had been accumulating since St Catherine’s Day, before I arrived at Goodrich. Although, of course, no holly was permitted in the hall ’til Christmas Eve, when the great Yule log was lit.

I wished to enjoy myself, but my stomach was knotted, for at the far end of the high table Lady Joan and Sir Charles were in animated conversation, oblivious to all others in the hall. This time she did not look up to observe me when my eyes fell on her. And at the far end of the hall, seated with invited tenants of Lord Gilbert’s Goodrich holdings, I saw the troupe of entertainers.

The wonderful feast and convivial atmosphere were lost on me. Wherever I looked there was a scene to cause me disquiet. Should I gaze to my right, past the Christmas Candle placed before Lord Gilbert and Lady Petronilla, I saw Lady Joan and Sir Charles. When I looked out across the hall I saw the entertainers. So I spent most of the meal turned to my left, observing closely the stonework of the inner wall.

But I do remember the meal. No worry puts me off my hunger for long, and Lord Gilbert’s cooks excelled in their work for the holy day. Lord Gilbert’s chaplain began with the Pater Noster, and a page entered carrying aloft a boar’s head on a platter. This he set before Lord Gilbert and Lady Petronilla, to much mirth and applause.

The first remove followed, and I permitted myself a portion of each dish: there was beef in pepper sauce, roasted capon, a pea and barley soup, and Lombardy custard. The subtlety was a miniature forest of whipped butter and honey.

My table companion, Sir John Withington, proposed a toast to Lord Gilbert between the first and second removes. His words met with hearty approval, for the largesse shown, and yet to come. Those at the high table lifted cups of wine, and the commons in the hall raised their mugs of ale, to drink to the health and long life of Lord Gilbert Talbot.

The second remove included venison, both roasted and in frumenty, roasted cranes and peacocks, a meat and fruit tart, and leech custard of dates and wine. I do not remember the subtlety, because of what occurred next.

Between the second and third removes Lord Gilbert made a dignified speech welcoming all to his table and celebration. It was a speech he had made many times at Christmases past, and it evoked little comment, but polite applause when he had done.

I was idly gazing out over the throng — the high table was on a platform raised perhaps one foot above the floor of the hall, permitting anyone seated there to see and be seen — when the applause for Lord Gilbert’s oration, which had nearly died, rose to a new crescendo. All eyes seemed directed to the opposite end of the high table, so mine were drawn there also. Sir Charles de Burgh was standing at his place. As I watched, he smiled and held before him a pear studded with cloves. All who saw this act, including me, knew what it meant, and what he would do with it next.