Maureen Ash - Death of a Squire

“No,” Nicolaa replied. “He knew of Copley and his arrangements with the brigands, but he also knew that Tostig had warned the agister that he would not betray him as long as he kept his unlawful activities out of Gerard’s chase. Of Tostig’s liaison with Joanna, and the killing of the squire, Eadric knew nothing. He was most often away from the area, in the southern part of the bailiwick, and did not keep company with the villagers in the north.”

William turned to Bascot. “But you weren’t aware of any of this at the time, de Marins. How did you discover that it was Tostig that had murdered Hubert?”

“Something my young servant, Gianni, overheard. One day in the hall he heard two merchants talking about Tostig and ‘his pretty town piece.’ One of the men said that it was only a matter of time before the forester’s lechery was discovered and that would put an end to his trysts in ‘the bower in the greenwood.’ It was also said that if the forester had been riding his horse instead of his leman on the night the squire was killed, it might have been him that caught Fulcher instead of Copley. Gianni remembered that Tostig had told me that he had not been in the area where Hubert was killed at the time the squire met his death, saying he had gone to the southern part of the chase and, due to his horse throwing a shoe, had not arrived back at the lodge until well past the middle of the night. Why had he lied? It could have been merely to cover up his relationship with a woman, but could it have been more than that? Was he hiding something else, something that might be connected to the deaths of Hubert and the charcoal burner’s family? Gianni decided it was worthwhile to try and find out.

“So he set out to go to the village and ask them the name of the forester’s paramour. Gianni reasoned that the villagers must know who the girl was and he could, through written questions to the village priest, get them to reveal her name. Once he knew her identity she could then be questioned about Tostig’s whereabouts on the night of the killing. He should not have gone alone, I know, and should have told me instead, but like many a young lad, he envisioned himself being lauded as a hero and impressing everyone with his cleverness.”

Bascot paused as he remembered the fear that had snatched at his heart the day Gianni had gone missing. “He became frightened, however, once he was out in the forest on his own and decided to turn back. That was when Edward snatched him and took him to the outlaw called Green Jack.”

“So Tostig had nothing to do with that?”

“No, it was pure accident. Edward just happened to come along as Gianni was trying to find his way back to Lincoln and he grabbed the boy, thinking he would fetch a goodly ransom for Jack’s band.

“When Gianni was safe and told me what he had heard I went to see the villagers. They were still fearful of Tostig, but were now even more frightened of the sheriff, since one of their own had been hanged just that day. I had thought to overcome any reluctance they might have had in telling me Joanna’s name by reminding them of their knowledge of Edward’s complicity with the outlaws. But I had no need to take such a precaution. As soon as I mentioned Tostig they blurted out, without further prompting, what had really happened on the night Hubert met his death.”

William Camville got up and threw another log on the fire, mulling over what he had heard before saying, “And then the two of you concocted this scheme to get Tostig to reveal himself?”

“It was the only way, William,” Nicolaa said. “We had enough proof to satisfy us that the forester was the murderer and, if it hadn’t been for all this talk of Hubert being privy to plots hatched against the king, he could just have been arrested and stood trial. But the rumours had to be proved to be unfounded as a reason for the killing, since they were becoming generally accepted as a motive, so we used Melisande Fleming and her crimes against the crown to provide an excuse to provoke Tostig into revealing his guilt, and the real reason for Hubert’s death.”

William took a sip of his wine. “And the forester’s crimes were all for naught. If your servant overheard two townsmen speaking so openly about him and Fleming’s daughter, it is more than likely their liaison would soon have become common knowledge. It does not take long for such gossip to spread. Hubert’s murder brought the forester and his paramour little gain. And the Chard family none at all.”

Bascot nodded in agreement, as did Nicolaa, but she added, “But are not all murders profitless in the end, messires, when at our own death we stand in judgement before the highest lord of all?”

Fulcher found Green Jack by accident. He had been able to track him south from the tree which Leila said the outlaw chief had climbed on the day Fulcher had crossed the river with the Templar, but he was not completely sure if he was headed in the right direction. He had found old trails that looked as though they had been recently used; a few broken twigs and branches that seemed to have been snapped by recent passage and one spot that looked, and smelled, as though it had been soiled by human excrement and urine. What he could not determine with any certainty was whether any of the signs were of recent origin, or if they had been made by men and not animals. The trail had stayed close to the course of the river.

Just as he was near to a reluctant decision to abandon the hunt for his enemy, he spied a vixen creeping from a hole in what he took to be the edge of a bramble-covered bank. In front of the bank a small trickle of a stream meandered its way to the river. He dropped behind a fallen log and watched her. His stomach was rebelling against the raw fish he had been taking from the river to sustain him. If he was canny, he might have red meat to eat tonight. Wrapped about his shoulders was a rope made of braided river weed that he had fashioned just like those he had done as a child so long ago. It would make a good snare to catch the fox.

The vixen did not venture far, however. Nose thrusting, she crept to the edge of the stream, lapped a few mouthfuls of water, then turned tail and ran back into the hole. Fulcher crept forward and, with care, lay flat on the ground to spy through the opening and see if he could locate her nest, thinking it would be a burrow in the base of the bank. What he saw, however, surprised him, for there, instead of a lair in the dank earth, was a dark tunnel and, at the end of it, daylight could be seen. Fulcher straightened and made a further inspection of the opening into the tunnel. Now he could see that it was man-made, with twigs and ivy artfully plaited together to hide the larger space behind.

Retracing his steps to where he had hidden to watch the fox, Fulcher climbed a tree. From the top of it he could see over what he had taken to be the tussocky swell of a hummock in the earth, and could make out that there was indeed a clearing beyond. He could not see into it, but the sparseness of the treetops indicated that there was nothing but low growth inside the circle of the prickly hedge.

It was then that he caught a whiff of wood-smoke. Faint, but unmistakable, and with it the scent of charred flesh. Quickly he returned to his hiding place. Someone was on the other side of the tunnel. Straining his ears, he could not make out any sound, but he settled himself down to wait.

Light was just beginning to glimmer in an overcast sky when there was a movement at the aperture in the bottom of the hedge. Fulcher, tired but still awake, watched as a man wriggled through the cleft then heaved himself upright, pulling a long stout stick behind him. After propping himself up on its length, the man slowly moved towards the stream, appearing to be in some pain from his left leg, which he was dragging behind him. There could be no mistaking the identity of the figure. Tendrils of dead ivy were wound about the arms and shoulders of the man, and the dirty gold colour of his beard glistened with dew. It was Green Jack. Fulcher smiled. The rope of river weed would make a snare that would catch a man just as easily as a fox.