Maureen Ash: Death of a Squire

“Why did you not tell me then, Alys? Or at least tell my mother? She is fond of you, and kind. She would have seen to it that Hubert did not trouble you again.” Alinor’s tone had softened at the real distress in her friend’s voice, and she sat down beside Alys and put an arm around her shoulders.

“I did not know what to do, and then Sir William left the next morning and Hubert was gone with him. I thought that perhaps he had taken too much wine and had been foolish only, did not mean what he had said. I tried to forget it. I did not want to think about it.” She raised her tear-stained face to her friend. “Can you understand, Alinor?”

The other girl nodded. “But you still should have told someone. Did he threaten you again when we came to Lincoln?”

“Yes. Almost as soon as we arrived. It was the day before he disappeared. Alain saw him talking to me. In the hall, by the entrance to the kitchen. He-Hubert-had taken hold of my wrist. He wouldn’t let go and then he saw Alain coming towards us.”

“And your brother, did he challenge Hubert?”

“He did not get the chance. Hubert released me and left, hurriedly. Alain asked me what cause Hubert had for being so familiar with me. I…lied. I told Alain that I had tripped and Hubert had merely been helping me to my feet.” She took a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh. “I don’t know if Alain believed me or not, but I saw him talking to Hubert later, in the bail. It looked as though they were arguing.” She buried her head in Alinor’s shoulder. “Oh, Nora, what if it was Alain who killed him? It would be my fault. All my fault.”

Alinor patted her friend’s shoulder. “No, Alys, not your fault, but Hubert’s own. You have done nothing for which to reproach yourself.”

Alys lifted her head, tears now flowing fast and free. “What shall I do, Nora? Shall I talk to Alain…ask him…?”

“You shall do nothing, little poppet,” Alinor said firmly. “You will leave Alain and this whole coil to me.”

In a corner of the bail a group of squires were at practice with the quintain, a swinging crossbar set with a circle of metal on one side and a heavy bag of sand on the other. The young men were taking turns riding at it, lances poised to strike the metal and, when their aim was successful, trying to avoid the buffet of the sandbag that swung towards their heads in response. A group of pages watched, cheering those who were successful and deriding those who tumbled to the ground.

From a vantage point set at a distance across the bail, by the door of the armoury, William Camville and Richard de Humez watched the young men. Across their line of vision the work of the castle staff went on, carts still arriving with stores of root vegetables, maids milking cows and goats, and the blacksmith busy at his forge.

“Your young men show well, William,” de Humez said. “Mine could learn a thing or two from Renault, or even Alain. Did you take a hand yourself in their training?”

William Camville shook his head. “No, one of my household knights is their mentor. I leave it to him.”

“He has done well in his instruction.”

The conversation petered out, then de Humez gave William a sidelong glance and said, “Has Gerard told you of his intentions in the matter of Hubert’s death?”

“Why not be explicit, de Humez?” William replied with a lazy smile. “You want to know if Gerard had a hand in the boy’s murder.”

De Humez bristled. He was a melancholic man, of middle years and smaller stature than his companion. The Camvilles always engendered a mood of discontent in him, their bold brash manner an affront to what he considered his dignity and, although he did not realise it, a tinge of jealousy for their confidence.

“If he had, I would not expect him to bruit it abroad,” de Humez replied sharply. “Although I would not be surprised if he had done the deed, or ordered it. Your brother is a rash and hasty man, as ill judgement in his past actions has shown.”

William threw back his head and laughed loudly. “I wager you would not accuse Gerard of that to his face.”

De Humez lost his self-righteous pose and became decidedly ill at ease, making no reply. William Camville’s face did not lose its expression of amusement. “Why are you so interested in the death of my squire, Richard? Is it due to his connection with de Vescy-or perhaps because it is rumoured that the boy claimed to have knowledge of secret loyalties to Arthur of Brittany? Are you frightened that if Gerard was in some way responsible that it might taint his reputation with the king-and therefore your own, by reason of you being wedded to his wife’s sister?”

“Of course not,” de Humez replied. “My own loyalty to John is without reproach. After all, my uncle…”

“Yes, Richard, your connection with the constable of Normandy is well known,” William interrupted in a tired voice. “But that was over twenty years ago and your uncle is long dead. And so is King Henry, who was his lord.”

The sheriff’s brother cast a speculative look at his companion, then added, “You, unlike Gerard, were solicitous of Richard, were you not, and stood against John when he and my brother defied Richard’s chancellor? Our present king has a long memory, de Humez. Did you think to cast your lot with Arthur, so you would have no cause to worry that John might remember matters best left forgotten? Were you one of those of whom Hubert spoke as being partisan to Richard’s nephew instead of his brother?”

De Humez turned white at the accusation levelled at him. Instinctively his hand dropped to the sword at his belt, then, recalling that the man at his side possessed a reputation for swordplay that was almost equal to that of his brother, de Humez changed his mind. Instead he gave William an angry glare and strode off across the bailey.

William Camville watched him go, thoughtful. What had started as an irresistible urge to bait the prig whom Gerard had the misfortune to call brother-by-marriage had turned to something more as he had spoken the words. There had been real fear in de Humez’s face when William had questioned his loyalty to King John. Had he inadvertently stumbled on a truth where he had thought only to provoke irritation? Slowly William ambled back towards the keep. He would have to think more on this matter, perhaps talk privately with Nicolaa. If there was any meat on the bones he had inadvertently stirred up, it would be best to chew it thoroughly before offering it to Gerard. And his brother’s wife was a good enough chatelaine to know how best to prepare the dish.

Bascot started early for his meeting with Tostig. It had rained the night before, but the sun was now trying to penetrate the cloud cover and it promised to be a fair day for the lateness of the year. The ground smelled fresh and clean, heavy with the scent of moisture and vegetation. It was an odour that pleased Bascot, one he had often dreamed of during his imprisonment in the arid terrain of the Holy Land, permeating his dreams and waking him with a fitful start of pleasure in a remembrance of home before the reality of his surroundings impinged on his consciousness. Behind him Gianni rode pillion, swathed in a warm cloak and with the hat Ernulf had given him pulled firmly down over his head.

As they descended from the high knoll on which Lincoln was situated Bascot took in the surrounding countryside. It was sparsely wooded until they reached the edge of the chase, and the ground was marshy in places and crisscrossed with rivulets, firming up only when they reached the shelter of the forest.

Bascot found his way to the place that Tostig had taken him the previous afternoon with little difficulty and the forester was waiting, as arranged, at the spot where the body of the poached deer had been found. With him were two other men whom he introduced as the agister, Copley, and Eadric, the woodward who lived in the village on the southern boundary of Gerard Camville’s chase. Eadric worked with Tostig, and was paid his salary by the sheriff, but his chief responsibility lay to the crown. Since it was part of his duty to oversee any licences issued for industry within the forest, such as charcoal burning, Tostig had asked him to attend the meeting that morning, in case he should be able to help Bascot with his enquiries.