Maureen Ash - Death of a Squire

Nicolaa paused, her hand on the leather pull strap that served as a handle. “Yes, but do it discreetly. If the murderer is not of the village or to be found amongst the outlaws in Sherwood, it will do no harm to let him believe we do not intend to look further afield. Confidence often brings a loose tongue; such a false supposition may prompt someone’s to wag with a freedom that has been guarded up until now.”

Bascot nodded his assent, then followed her through the door and down into the hall.

The evening meal in the castle hall that night was not an elaborate affair even though there were many guests present. Entertainments and all the special viands and dainties that had been, and were in the process of being, prepared would be kept for the king’s arrival. Bascot sat at the table reserved for the household knights, just a little below the dais, and studied the guests. Gerard’s brother William was seated on the sheriff’s right hand, with Nicolaa and de Humez on his left. De Humez’s wife, Nicolaa’s sister Petronille, had not accompanied her husband to Lincoln for the festivities, having been confined to bed with a painful ulcer on her leg. Farther down the table were de Humez’s daughter Alinor and his son’s betrothed, Alys. The boy himself, Baldwin, had retired to bed early. He was of a sickly disposition and needed constant bed rest to maintain his strength.

The high table was being waited on by William Camville’s squires, since many of those belonging to the Haye household had been sent some days before to accompany Gerard and Nicolaa’s son, Richard, on his journey to meet King John and form part of the entourage that the king would bring with him to Lincoln. Bascot noted that the two eldest of William’s squires, Alain and Renault, had been given the privilege of serving their master and the sheriff, and both young men were performing their tasks with considerable attention to detail. Alain, especially, took great care to move forward at the correct moment from his place at his lord’s elbow to remove William Camville’s empty trencher and replace it with another for the next course, while Renault, serving Gerard, ensured that the sheriff’s wine cup was constantly refilled. At the farther ends of the table the two younger squires, Rufus and Hugo, were serving the rest of the company, including the ladies. Osbert and the other pages, along with the few that still remained in the Haye household, were kept busy bringing the various dishes and flagons of wine to the board for the elder boys to serve. All of them seemed to be well trained in their duties and the meal flowed smoothly through the various dishes of spiced herring, coney pottage and roast venison. Broth containing onions, garlic and peas was ladled out with correctness, as was the final course of stewed plums, platters laid with segments of cheese and dishes of the recently gathered nuts. Once the spiced wine was served, the boys could relax a little, but not leave their post. They would stay until dismissed and only then could they go and satisfy their own hunger.

Bascot, as he ate the meal Gianni served him, took the opportunity to study the young people at the table above him. Hubert, had he been alive, would have been up there tonight, taking his place alongside the others of William Camville’s retinue. Was he missed, or did his absence bring relief to the young men who had been so outspoken of their dislike of him? Did the other squires and pages, as Bascot had felt, know more of his death than they had told, or was it merely his own fancy that they were keeping something back? Perhaps he and Nicolaa were wrong; perhaps the boy had been led to his death by his inclination for lechery alone and not for any other reason. He returned his attention to his trencher, trying to quell the anger that rose whenever he thought of the outrage of secret murder. To take another’s life by stealth was an abomination, an affront to heaven. Death, when it came, should come cleanly, at the behest of God, not man. With a sudden surge of distaste, he motioned for Gianni to remove his platter and refill his wine cup.

In a fine stone house fronting on Mikelgate, Melisande Fleming sat in front of a fire, sipping from a chased silver goblet. She was a woman of middle years, well fleshed, with heavy dark brows and an inordinate pride in the beauty of her hands, which she kept white and supple by the application of an unguent obtained from a local apothecary. Now, she moved these expressively as she spoke to the man seated on a stool opposite her.

“You are sure, Copley, that the Templar will look no further into the death of the squire?”

Copley, the agister, shook his head with certainty. “No, he will not, cousin. He seemed satisfied with the tale of the village girl. Whether he believes Alwin killed the boy himself, or locked the gates and let outlaws take the lad’s life, I do not know, but I am sure that he thinks it to be one or the other.”

Melisande nodded in satisfaction. She had been in some disquiet about the matter for she held the post of chief forester over the royal chase that lay to the west of Lincoln, and within which the private chase of Gerard Camville was enclosed. She had purchased the appointment after the death of her husband two years before. It was a lucrative office, one that her husband, a goldsmith, had retained for some years, and she was loath to put the security of it in jeopardy. It was not unusual for a woman to hold the position, but she had needed to employ a deputy for the actual work and Copley, a distant relative by marriage on her mother’s side, was the one she had chosen. He was a pliable man, fearful of losing her favour-and the generous supply of wine she granted him as part of his remuneration-and was ever amenable to do her bidding, especially in the matter of extracting extra fees from the hamlets in her jurisdiction. She did not want the sheriff’s attention drawn to affairs that were within her writ.

“You must ensure that the matter stays as it has been left, Copley,” Melisande said firmly to the agister. “Keep the villagers in their place and let them know that any further speech with the Templar would be unwise. Remind them of the need for pasture and pannage for their beasts-and so for their own bellies-and that the rights to these can be granted or taken away.”

She made a graceful gesture of smoothing her skirt of heavy velvet with the tips of her fingers, then gave her kinsman a smile that barely curved her lips. “Hunger is not a pleasant thing, Copley. Nor is thirst. I am sure that by threatening the villagers with the former, you will ensure that you need never experience the discomfort of the latter.”

The agister ducked his head miserably in compliance and drank deeply from his wine cup.

Bascot did not sleep well that night. The temperature had dropped at nightfall and the small chamber he shared at the top of the old keep with Gianni was frigid, despite the brazier that burned in one corner. The Templar had seen the boy well wrapped in his blankets and Ernulf’s hat before snuffing the candle, but while Gianni’s breathing soon dropped into the gentle regular sound of sleep, Bascot found himself still wide awake.

He had removed his eyepatch as soon as the chamber was in darkness and now he rubbed the empty socket, a habit he had acquired when alone and tired. The movement gave some lessening of the tension he felt and allowed a light slumber to overtake him, but it was filled with disturbing dreams and he awoke in moments, feeling the sweat that had broken out on his body chill like ice inside his clothes.

He knew the reason for his wakefulness. After the evening meal in the hall was over, he had paid a visit to the castle chapel where Hubert’s body was laid out to rest until a relative should come to claim it. Nicolaa de la Haye had told him that a messenger had been sent to the squire’s mother-his father was dead-and the mother had sent the envoy back with news that the boy’s uncle would be coming to take her son’s body home.