“The old bishop is dead,” Sir Roger said. “Word came to Oxford early last week.”
“Then Lady Margery will soon know if her cousin will receive the see,” I said.
“She may know already. Rumor in Oxford is that a scholar at Merton College will be elevated to the post,” Sir Roger said.
“Is Lady Margery’s cousin an Oxford scholar?” I asked William.
“Nay. He’s Dean of Hereford Cathedral, and not of noble birth.”
Here was interesting information. If Lady Margery hoped to be free of Sir Henry when her kinsman became Bishop of Lichfield, that hope was dashed. Did she know of this already? And did the news cause her or Sir Geoffrey to seek another way to dissolve her marriage?
“Will you set my nose right now?” William asked.
I looked to Lord Gilbert and saw him nod. “We have what we asked of this fellow,” he said. “Put his nose in place.”
“To do so will cause him much pain,” I said. “’Tis late, near dark, and I have no sedative herbs with me to reduce the hurt. I brought only instruments to deal with Sir John’s wound. I will return in the morning and set his nose right then.”
“But you said it must be done betimes or I may suffer the blemish all of my days,” the squire protested.
“Tomorrow will be soon enough,” I replied. “And you do not want me to tug your nose straight until you have swallowed a dose of crushed hemp seeds. You may trust my judgment on this.”
“What is to be done with the lad ’til then?” Sir Roger asked. “Back to the dungeon?”
Lord Gilbert looked to me with that curious, raised eyebrow, and waited for me to speak.
“I think William will not try to flee the castle in the night,” I said. “And if Sir John lives he’ll face no charge of murder in the King’s Eyre.”
“Very well,” Lord Gilbert said. “You may return to your chamber for the night. Where you spend the morrow will depend upon where Sir John’s soul may be then.”
William bowed, backed away from his betters, and felt behind him for the door from the solar to the corridor. I could guess how uneasy a night he would spend. In his chamber he would likely find Robert de Cobham already abed. Word of William’s brawl had surely passed the ears of all in the castle, so that even those who were not present at the fight knew of it, so likely Robert would demand to be told all. The recounting, and his painful nose, would drive sleep far from William. And worry that he might be returned to the castle dungeon would also make him wakeful. So be it. My own bed called. I would concern myself with the squire and his troubles tomorrow.
Shill Brook flowed dark and quiet under the bridge. As was my custom when I had no pressing business, I stopped upon the bridge to gaze into the water, although, truth to tell, the evening had become so dark that I could see little of the stream. But I knew it was there. As was a murderer in the castle. There was not enough light yet for me to see the felon, but, like the brook below my feet, I knew he was there.
My thought traveled back to the evils which had come to Bampton Castle in past days. Whence did these evils come? Not from God. But if the devil created evils, who created the devil but God, who is all goodness? Could not God, all-powerful, change the sin in me and other men to good? How does wickedness exist in God’s world, against His will?
As I pondered this I remembered St Augustine’s assertion that all God has made is good, even the perverted things, like human nature. If they were not good, they could not be perverted. A thing which is already evil cannot be defiled, for it is so already. If men were the supreme good, like God, they would be incorruptible, as is He. But if they were not good at all, there would be nothing in them worthy of corruption. Being only evil, men would be incorruptible.
Men, and women also, must fall between the two. Events at the castle in past days displayed man’s perversion. But those evil deeds are an argument that men were originally made good, as Holy Scriptures teach. We are not perfect. Only God is. But neither are we irreversibly evil. There we are, caught in the middle, and unable to save ourselves. We are moral beings, made good in the image of God, but we are corruptible, as God is not, as we abuse the gift of free will. And thence we are inevitably corrupted.
Was it not for the Lord Christ’s death upon the cross we would all suffer the penalty of our depraved free will. I turned from the dark stream and set out for Galen House with a lighter spirit. Not because I had been considering how evil influences men, but because the Lord Christ has freed all who accept His sacrifice from the penalty of their depravity. Even me. Somewhere this night within Bampton Castle walls was a man, or perhaps a woman, who had freely chosen sin and would pay the penalty for the choice, in this world, was I wise enough to discover them; and even if I failed, they would suffer for it in the next.
Kate awaited me at Galen House. She was full of questions about events at the castle, as anyone would be. I had been in haste when I returned to collect my instruments, so had left Kate with only the rudiments of what had happened, and at supper had not yet questioned the squire. Kate is not a woman who is satisfied with partial knowledge. I sat with her on our bench and in the light of a cresset explained what I knew of the fight between Sir John and William.
“It seems to me,” Kate said when I finished the tale, “that there are few folk sorry of Sir Henry’s death.”
“Aye, but few had cause to do murder, even if they feel no loss that he is gone.”
“The night before Sir Henry was buried someone placed a message under the sheriff’s door, telling him that the squires had what he sought. Is this not so?” Kate said.
“Aye. And written in a poor hand, as one unaccustomed to a pen.”
“Then you found a bloody cloth and a bodkin in the squires’ chamber.”
“Just so.”
“And one of the squires had cause to dislike Sir Henry, as he sought the Lady Anne’s hand but was rebuffed.”
“Mayhap was rebuffed. Whether or not he asked to pay her court I do not know… but Sir Henry knew of his interest and was opposed.”
“Sir Henry was so poor his daughter stole silver spoons and knives from Lord Gilbert’s pantry. I wonder did she resent her poverty enough to join William in wishing her father dead?”
“Who can know? Did Squire William wish Sir Henry dead? Both would deny it, so there is no point in asking either of them. And having a suit rejected has rarely drawn a man to homicide.”
Kate was silent a moment, thinking. I was silent as well, content to watch the glimmering flame of the cresset light her cheeks and hair.
“And the portpain,” she said. “Missing from the pantry at about the same time, you said, as the silver was taken. Then a fragment is discovered in William’s chamber.”
“Also Robert de Cobham’s chamber,” I reminded her.
“Sir Henry cannot sleep because of his debts and because he knows his wife seeks another husband. Now you say that Lady Margery may have had a design to escape her marriage, but no longer, as her cousin is not made bishop.”
“I wonder,” I said, “how badly Lady Margery wanted to escape her marriage?”
“And how much Sir Geoffrey might have been willing to assist her to free herself?” Kate added.
“Aye, that also.”
We sat in silence then, lost in private thoughts. Kate’s head began to sway, and soon rested upon my shoulder. I was loath to interrupt the moment, but the night grew cool, and the cresset burned low. I lifted Kate from the bench and carried her to the stairs and our chamber. This life includes many sorrows, but some simple things may soothe the hurts and make trivial the pains which come, soon or late, to all.
CHAPTER 9
HAPTER Next morn, after a maslin loaf and ale, I set off for the castle with a few instruments and a vial of crushed hemp seeds. William would require a strong dose if the pain of my work upon his nose was not to overcome him.