Only Squire William of the castle residents was absent from the meal. Whether that was due to the injury to his nose or to his pride I cannot tell. As in the past few days when I dined in the hall, I watched for some behavior which might indicate a troubled conscience. I saw none.
As the meal ended I saw John Chamberlain escort a man into the hall. The fellow was mud-spattered, as if he had been riding hard upon the roads. The newcomer strode straight to the high table and leaned over to speak to Sir Roger.
CHAPTER 11
Lord Gilbert required of me that I rejoin him and Sir Roger in the solar when dinner was done. A sergeant, he said, had just arrived with news that on the previous day a brawl between students of Merton College and town folk of Oxford had got out of hand. Such altercations have in the past often become riots lasting for days, with bloodshed and death. King Edward would not be pleased should his realm be so troubled, and would doubtless hold Sir Roger responsible if students and town folk ran amuck whilst he was in Bampton. The sheriff’s horse was being saddled at this moment so he might speedily return to Oxford and with a brace of sergeants knock a few heads to bring a halt to the melee.
The sheriff had been of little help, yet I was sorry to see him and his sergeants leave Bampton. But it was as Sir Roger himself had said: he was best suited for enforcing the law at sword point, and seemed elated to mount his beast and be off to a conflict.
Lord Gilbert, Lady Petronilla, and I bid Sir Roger “farewell” and watched as he and the sergeants thundered across the drawbridge and set their mounts toward Shill Brook and Oxford in an easy, ground-consuming canter. The sheriff would be at Oxford Castle by late afternoon and would, I was certain, plunge with enthusiasm into the business of restraining youthful miscreants. I wished the discovery of murderers might bring me as much fulfillment as cracking recalcitrant skulls brought to Sir Roger.
“Well,” Lord Gilbert said when the sheriff had disappeared on his way, “we are on our own. Lady Margery continually harps on about returning to Bedford. I have told her that Sir Roger will not permit it until the felon who slew her husband is found. Now we seek two murderers. Truth be told, I’d like to be rid of her.” I saw Lady Petronilla nod agreement, then squint as if the movement caused her head to ache. “What do you think?” Lord Gilbert continued. “Are you near to uncovering the truth?”
“Perhaps there are two murderers now to be found,” I replied. “Or perhaps one who has slain two. Am I near to exposing the guilty? I suppose so. But how near I cannot say. I am like a man told to travel such and such a road to a destination, which he will recognize when he arrives, but not told how far he must go to reach the place. I have found reason to believe various members of Sir Henry’s household guilty of his murder, but then find reason to think my first assessment in error.”
“Have you new evidence, other than what you found in Sir John’s chamber?”
I remembered the knob-shaped piece of wood and drew it from my pouch. “Yesterday, when we went riding, I saw this in the moat, and fished it out. What do you make of it?”
I wished to learn if Lord Gilbert would draw the same conclusion I had about the object, so allowed him to study the thing without benefit of my opinion.
“Some man has carved away the edges, and there is a hole at the end. Hmmm… and here are four small holes in a row.”
Lord Gilbert voiced his thoughts as they came to him, turning the knob in his hands all the while.
“You would not have this in your pouch, nor would you place it in my hands, except that you believe it has to do with Sir Henry’s murder. Is this not so?”
I nodded agreement.
Lady Petronilla peered at the knob as Lord Gilbert turned it in his hand. “The bodkin which pierced Sir Henry fit into that hole, did it not?” she said.
“So I believe.”
“What of the four small holes?” Lord Gilbert said. “They are little more than pin pricks.”
“Perhaps that is what they are,” Lady Petronilla said. “Some small tacks were driven in to hold some other thing in place.”
“If so, the tacks were small,” Lord Gilbert said.
“If I knew what was held in place against the wood,” I said, “I might learn to what use the thing was put.”
“And knowing that might lead to a felon?” Lord Gilbert asked.
“It might. Have you thoughts as to what might have been fixed to the wood using such small nails? It must have been something which could not pull free easily, or stronger fasteners would have been needed.”
Lord Gilbert held the object at arm’s length the better to see it, as he is afflicted, like many of his years, with blurring vision when an object is too close before him. I have told him that in London he might purchase bits of polished glass which are made to perch upon one’s nose, and with which he might see more clearly when he studies accounts, but he will not. He yet fancies himself a young and virile knight, and believes to use such an aid is beneath his dignity.
As Lord Gilbert continued to examine the knob an image of how this perplexing object might first have been used came to mind.
“Come, m’lord,” I said. “Let us visit the marshalsea.”
“Something may be learned there of this thing?”
“I believe so.”
Lady Petronilla fell in behind us as Lord Gilbert and I set out across the castle yard. There was bowing and tugging of forelocks as pages and grooms interrupted their work to acknowledge Lord Gilbert’s presence in their quarter.
We entered the stables. Lord Gilbert swatted away a horsefly, then turned to me. “What do you seek here?”
“Saddles,” I replied, and walked past a row of stalls toward the room where saddles, bridles, and such were stored. Nearly two dozen saddles crowded the storeroom, for all those belonging to Lord Gilbert and his household were there as well as those of Sir Henry’s retainers. The place smelled of leather and stale horse sweat. Bridles and harnesses hung from pegs fixed into the wall of the storeroom, while saddles rested upon saw-horse-like supports. Newer saddles, and those most likely to be called for use, were nearest the entry. Older saddles, less likely to be needed, sat dust-covered in a darkened corner of the room. It was to these older saddles that I walked, holding the knob before me.
Lord Gilbert followed. Lady Petronilla remained at the entry, the space between the saddles being cramped, her nose wrinkled from the fetid smell.
“What do you seek?” Lord Gilbert asked.
“I wonder if this piece of wood might have been hacked from a saddle frame? The small holes might have been made by nails used to hold the leather cover to the frame.”
“Ah, so it might be,” he agreed, and he joined me in examining the little-used saddles at the far corner of the storeroom. ’Twas Lord Gilbert who found the damaged saddle.
“Hugh, look here.”
I did so. The pommel of an old saddle, likely disused for years, was half gone. The brittle leather which had covered the missing wooden support hung loose. When I held the knob against this dusty leather the tack holes fit perfectly.
“Hmmm, you must question my grooms closely regarding who of Sir Henry’s retainers entered this place last week. The man who pried that wood from my old saddle did murder.”
“Aye, likely so,” I agreed. “Perhaps two murders.”
“’Twould be most convenient if it was so… two birds with one stone and all.”
Lord Gilbert and Lady Petronilla departed the marshalsea and left me to question the grooms and pages who labored around the horses. This I did, and learned that Sir Geoffrey, Sir John, both squires, and even Sir Henry’s valets and grooms were commonly seen about the stables. A knight’s beasts are valuable and their condition is important to him. If one of these had spent time in the storeroom, none noticed or remembered. I had discovered the source of the knob likely used to force a bodkin into Sir Henry’s ear, but there seemed no way to discover who had hacked it free of an old, dusty saddle.