Maureen Ash: Death of a Squire

William refilled his own wine cup, looking intently at his brother. Gerard had ceased his pacing and was standing by a small fireplace built into a corner of the wall, staring into the flames. The fireplace had a hood, in the latest fashion, and the applewood logs that burned in the open grate gave off a pleasant aroma. Gerard, however, gave no indication that he had heard his brother. He drank deep from his cup, then threw the lees of the wine into the fire before resuming his contemplation of the burning logs.

“Gerard, this death-it has nothing to do with you, has it?” William asked softly.

The sheriff turned and gave his brother a tight-lipped smile that held no humour. “You, too, Will? I thought my own brother would have more faith in me. Do you really believe I could be so base as to secretly murder a young stripling to advance my own ends?”

William ignored his brother’s accusation and asked instead, “Has someone else spoken to you in this regard?”

Gerard strode over to the table and poured more wine. “De Humez. Thinks because he is married to my wife’s sister he has the right to question me as though he were my liege lord.”

William leaned back in his chair and spoke quietly, “You cannot blame us, Gerard. It is well known that you and the king are not complaisant with each other, and that it is only due to John’s regard for Nicolaa that he allows you to retain the offices and lands you hold.”

“He was complaisant enough with me when he needed an ally against Longchamps, wasn’t he? Then I could do no wrong, even if I was defying the very chancellor his own brother had left to govern the realm while he was on crusade. And I lost my office when Richard returned while John, forgiven and indulged, did nothing to help me. That I got the shrievalty back eventually was not due to assistance from him, but because of the silver I paid for the privilege. And now I am expected to curry his favour in order to keep it, regardless of how much money it has cost me.”

The sheriff crashed his fist down onto the table, setting the thick oak shivering. “John is devil’s spawn. And so was Richard. They killed their father between them. I was a fool ever to put my trust in either.”

William knew how much his brother had loved King Henry and how much he missed him. He tried to placate the anger he could see rising in his sibling. “Perhaps you were foolish not to realise that neither prince has the integrity of their father, Gerard, but you had little choice as matters turned out. And Henry has been dead a long time. You cannot mourn his loss for ever. He was a good king and held you in high esteem, but now it is his son that is on the throne. You must be circumspect in your dealings with John.”

“I will leave that to Nicolaa. She has a fondness for him, although only the Good Lord above knows why. And he returns her affection. I will leave his entertainment-and goodwill-to her.”

“You still have not answered my question, Gerard,” William said, now standing to face his brother. “Did you have anything to do with this boy’s death? It is rumoured that he spoke of being in the confidence of men who favoured Arthur to be king of England. He could have been killed to dam his overflowing mouth. Were you one such as those of whom he spoke?”

Gerard glowered at his brother. “I have as little use for John’s nephew filling his grandfather’s place as I had for Richard, or for John himself. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

William sat down again, glancing doubtfully up at his brother. “Yes, it is, Gerard. But if the king should ask you the same question, try to be more politic in how you frame your answer.”

Bascot decided to visit the place where the boy had been found and asked Tostig to take him there. They left the castle in late afternoon, Bascot riding an easy-gaited grey gelding from the stables with Gianni on the pillion behind and the forester astride his own mount.

Tostig took a path that led slightly southwest, towards the stretch of forest where Gerard Camville’s chase was located. As they rode, he told Bascot the hunting ground that had been granted to the sheriff began some two miles from Lincoln town and was bordered on the west by the Trent river and on the south by the slant of the old Roman road called the Fosse Way.

“The royal chase, within which the sheriff’s own lies, is much larger, of course,” Tostig explained. “It extends a good way farther to the north and, in the south, down to the greenwood at Kesteven. There is a lot of good marshland for hawking and hunting smaller game within both, though, as well as a fair bit of timberland.”

“Are there any villages in the sheriff’s chase?” Bascot asked.

“Yes,” replied Tostig. “At the northern tip is a small one, just before the beginning of an open stretch of heath land. And there’s another, larger, hamlet adjacent to the southern boundary.”

“Are either of these villages near where Hubert’s body was found?” Bascot asked.

“The one in the north is,” Tostig replied. “It’s on the edge of Sir Gerard’s chase and the boy was not far into the forest from there.”

“Is that where your quarters are located?” Bascot asked, knowing that in his position as a mounted forester Tostig would receive, as part payment for his services, shelter for himself, his horse and his dog.

“No. ’Tis my right if I wished to do so, but Sir Gerard lets me stay in his hunting lodge. It’s more comfortable and I don’t have the villagers taking resentment at my presence amongst them. Since the royal chase is so close and they must have licence for any activities they would pursue there, they would always be wary that I might report them to the king’s agister or woodward if I should see them taking liberties.” The forester shrugged. “I pretend ignorance most times when they set loose a few more pigs to forage for acorns than are allowed, or perhaps take a coney for the pot, for I know what it is like to be hungry. But it would be more than my life is worth if I were to be too lax and they know it. So, to save their temper, and mine, I stay in the lodge.”

“This lodge, is it near where Hubert was slain?”

“Not the new one, the one where I keep my gear. There is an old lodge a little closer, but it’s ramshackle now and deserted.”

“Were you abroad in the forest last night?” Bascot asked.

The forester shook his head. “No, unfortunately, I was not. Yesterday I went to the southern part of the chase. One of Sir Gerard’s woodwards looks to that area mostly, as he has kin in the village nearby and stays with them so he is handy for the work. But I like to take a circuit there every few days to check and see that he’s doing his job as he should. My mare threw a shoe while I was down there and I had to seek a blacksmith to replace it. By the time I got back to my lodgings it was well past the middle of the night. I wanted only to get my mare bedded down and find my own pallet. I did not leave the lodge until the morning was well on. That was when I saw the crows and found the boy.”

When they reached the chase, Tostig took a path that was almost imperceptible to Bascot. It wound through the trees in no particular manner that the Templar could see, but before long they came to a track that was more defined, with plentiful piles of deer dung and hoofprints, mingled with the deeper marks of the shod feet of horses. The sheriff and his brother must have taken the same route. This track appeared to be well used by both man and beast. In the distance the ring of an axe sounded and there was the smell of smoke in the air.

“It’s just a little way on from here,” Tostig flung back at Bascot over his shoulder. The narrow path had forced them to ride in single file and, as they neared the spot where the poached deer and Hubert’s body had been found, Bascot took care to look about him, telling Gianni to do the same. The boy may be mute, but his other senses were sharp, especially his eyes. With Bascot being blind on one side, he would have to depend on Gianni to notice anything he missed.