Maureen Ash - Death of a Squire

The two men walked to the door and went out into the bail. Ernulf threw the iron bolt that locked the door from the outside. Pulling a wineskin from his belt, Roget took a large mouthful and passed the flask to the serjeant. Above them the sky was darkening into evening. The air was cold and clear. Around them the bailey was settling down for the night, and the muted sounds of servants finishing their tasks for the day drifted towards them-the clank of a bucket, the mournful protest of a cow being penned in for the night, the call of the castle guards as they changed shifts.

The captain took another swig from his wineskin, his brow furrowed in thought. “Something bothering you, Roget?” Ernulf asked.

“I am wondering how it came to be that it was Copley who caught the wolf’s head we have in there. The sheriff’s chase is not in his bailiwick, is it?”

Ernulf shrugged. “No, but as agent for the chief forester he has a right to be in any part of the woodland. All belong to the king, even Camville’s chase. And the chief forester is the king’s officer and so, therefore, is Copley.”

“I do not mean that, my friend. What I mean is that Copley is renowned for his love of wine, not for his attachment to duty. Not that I find fault with that, of course,” Roget’s mouth split in a wide grin, revealing teeth that were still sound, but gapped in places. “But does it not strike you to wonder why Copley, who finds it such a great effort to carry out his normal responsibilities, should suddenly engage in extra labour by patrolling a part of the forest where he has no reason to go? And then, while he is doing this, he has the great good fortune to stumble across an outlaw poaching the sheriff’s deer? It seems to me most strange.”

Ernulf pondered Roget’s words then reached for his companion’s wine and took a deep draught. “Strange it may be,” he said, “but I cannot see anything untoward in it.”

“Think, Ernulf, think! The sheriff looks for an answer to the riddle of who killed the squire. Lady Nicolaa also looks for this. They ask questions, set the Templar to ask more. Suddenly, they have the culprit-a brigand provided by Copley. That chien in there”-Roget nodded in the direction of the cell-“will hang for taking the sheriff’s deer. Once he is dead, it takes only a little step of the imagination for everyone to believe he also killed the squire. Who is to prove different?” Roget’s eyes sparkled as he propounded his theory. “It is a tidy answer. Me, I do not believe providence smiles so easily.”

“Nor do I, Roget,” Ernulf replied musingly. “Nor do I.” He handed the wineskin back to the captain. “I think I will have a private word with Bascot. And with Lady Nicolaa.”

The smell of blood hung in the air as Gianni passed through the western gate of the castle bail. Today was the eleventh of November, St. Martin’s day, and the traditional time of the year to slaughter animals too old or infirm to warrant being fed throughout the winter. Within the castle, in the town, and out in the villages dotted around the countryside, cattle, sheep and swine had been butchered during the last few days and their carcasses readied for preservation by salting or smoking. But first there would be a feast of fresh meat, to celebrate the saint’s day, and Gianni felt his mouth water at the prospect.

Resolutely he put the thought of food from his mind. He had met with no difficulty from the guards on the gate as he had passed through. There were many people coming and going-tradesmen, merchants, villagers, servants and a few guests-so that he had been able to slip past unnoticed. He set out towards the Fossdyke and, as he walked, turned over in his mind what he had heard that morning.

He had been present when his master had talked to the dark-haired young knight called Godfroi, and his sister, Marie, and had heard Bascot asking them if they had any knowledge of their half brother, Hubert, being involved in a plot to depose King John from his throne. Godfroi had been angry at the accusation, but the Templar had calmed him, saying it was a rumour that must be looked into before it spread and was acknowledged as truth. The girl, Marie, had added her plea to Bascot’s words and Godfroi, still surly, had assured the Templar that if Hubert had, by some chance, been involved in such machinations, then it was without the knowledge or agreement of the rest of his family.

“My brother and I are as loyal to the king as my father was to Richard, and Henry before him,” Godfroi had insisted. “Never has any of our family betrayed their liege lord, not even when Stephen took the throne from his cousin Matilda. We kept to the oath we had sworn to her father, and helped Henry retrieve his inheritance.” Marie had placed a hand on her brother’s arm, showing her support.

“And your kinsman, Eustace de Vescy-the boy spoke of his involvement, and that Hubert was privy to plans that were being made,” Bascot said.

Now Godfroi had laughed out loud, more amused than angry. “If de Vescy was ever forming such a plot-and I, for one, am sure it is untrue-such a great lord would hardly divulge his schemes to a stripling related to him only by the meagrest thread of blood. Were it not so serious, it would be laughable.”

Bascot had then sent Gianni to fetch more victuals from the kitchen. The Templar had met the brother and sister just after early Mass and they had taken seats in a corner of the hall to break their fast. Godfroi had proved to be a prodigious trencherman, especially when fuelled by anger, and he had quickly devoured all that Gianni had set before them, including the small loaf of fine manchet bread reserved for those of higher rank. Even though Marie had denied being hungry, Bascot hoped that another plate of food might tempt her to take some nourishment.

It was as Gianni was returning from the kitchen that he heard something that had interested him. He was in the covered walkway that connected the building that housed the cook’s ovens with the great hall, and had been forced to step aside into the entryway to wait for a gap to appear in the press of servants running to and fro with platters of food. A little way behind him, two merchants of the town had been standing, conversing quietly in low tones. Presumably they were there on matters of supplying provisions to the castle and were waiting to speak to the Haye steward. At first Gianni had taken no notice of them, but then the context of their discourse had intrigued him and he had edged closer, hoping to hear more, counting on the dense throng of scurrying servants to conceal the fact that he was listening. He had stood some minutes thus, then slid silently away before his eavesdropping became obvious.

Now, as he crossed the Fossdyke, dodging carts laden with supplies and mounted travellers bound for Lincoln or the Torksey road, he ruminated on his decision to leave the castle without his master’s knowledge. It was the first time he had ever done such a thing, and was an action he had never even once contemplated from the day the Templar had rescued him from starvation. But his reasons were simple. He knew that his master was beginning to feel a desire to rejoin the Templar Order. When Bascot had returned to the castle after spending the night at the preceptory, it was obvious how much he had enjoyed the visit with his former comrades. He had spoken longingly to Ernulf of old friends he had met and the battles they had discussed. At first Gianni had been angry and felt betrayed, but he had not let it show, for he knew that would hurt his master and be harsh repayment for all the largesse the Templar had bestowed on him. But, if his master should go back to the Order, Gianni would be forced to fend for himself, and he was ill equipped to do so.

At Lincoln castle he had a place he belonged and where food and warm clothing were in plentiful supply. But if the Templar went away, there would be no more use for his servant within the castle walls. Ernulf might take pity on him and feed him for a while, but it was more probable he would be thrown out of the castle gates, his only option to beg on the streets. To ensure that such a fate did not overtake him, he must make himself valuable to others besides his master. If he could uncover some information that would lead to finding out the identity of the man who had murdered the squire, and do so without the Templar’s help, then Lady Nicolaa might realise his worth, perhaps even give him a place in her retinue. Under such influential patronage he need have no more fear of being homeless and hungry.