“You have ale for thirsty travelers?” I said, and nodded toward the pole and basket.
“Aye… fresh-brewed yesterday.” The hard look upon the woman’s face softened as she realized she had customers. “A ha’penny for a gallon,” she continued.
The woman invited us to sit upon a crude bench at her table, and produced two wooden cups of dubious cleanliness. I hope Lord Gilbert appreciates the afflictions I endure in his service.
The squalling babe fell silent and peered at us. I took a swallow of ale, which was not watered and was well brewed. Then I spoke to the woman.
“Does your lord require laborers? We seek employment.”
“Hah,” she snorted. “If you’ll work for naught and be pleased for the chance.”
“Your lord has enough men that he does not need to find more?”
“Nay. He has few enough. But Sir Henry’s a Commissioner of Laborers. Won’t pay a farthing more than the Statute of Laborers requires, an’ will seek out an’ fine them as disobeys the law.”
I allowed my face to express what I hoped the woman would take as sorrow. “Do men not flee his lands?” I asked.
“As you have fled from your lord?” she winked.
“We be just honest men seeking a decent living,” Arthur said.
“Some have fled, but many Sir Henry has sought out and brought back… an’ he levied great fines upon ’em, too.”
“Not a popular man, then, I’d guess.”
“Oh, aye,” the woman chuckled. “That’s why you’d not find ’im home did you seek him to ask for work.”
I said nothing, but cocked my head as if perplexed by her words. She continued.
“Sir Henry an’ his household set out for some place beyond Oxford, so I heard. One of ’is squires learned that some folk hereabout was plottin’ to kill ’im, an’ the knights an’ squires what serve ’im, also.”
“He is a cruel lord?”
“Aye,” she spat. “A few months past, jus’ before Candlemas, I b’lieve, Arnald Crabb set ’is goods in a cart an’ went off to another manor. Near to Wolverton, I heard. Sir Henry knew it must be that the lord he was to rent land from must’ve reduced rents to seek new tenants, so sent men to discover was it so, an’ bring Arnald back if it was true.”
“Arnald was a tenant of this place?”
“Since ’e was born. His kin live ’ere yet… uncle is smith in the village.”
An alarm bell rang in my mind. Walter’s father had been a smith.
“Smiths often seek better wages, I hear. Has your smith ever sought to better ’imself?”
“Once, years past, it was. I was but a wee lass. Charged folks more for hinges an’ nails and such stuff than the statute allowed. Sir Henry put a stop to that, right enough.”
“So this Arnald was fined for daring to take up lands of another for lower rent than permitted?”
“Nay… ’e’s dead. Can’t fine a dead man. Sir Henry sent men to bring ’im back, but folks at ’is new place fought to stop ’em, so I heard. Arnald got hisself pierced in the fight an’ died next day.”
“And his family lives here yet?”
“Aye… well, not ’is wife. She wouldn’t return an’ Sir Henry thought it best to leave ’er be. Lots o’ cousins, though.”
“These were not angered when Arnald died?”
“Oh, aye. That’s why Sir Henry fled the place, you see. They was plottin’ to do away with ’im. Him an’ ’is knights an’ the two squires, as well, like I said.”
“You said Sir Henry was visiting a place beyond Oxford? Was his name Sir Henry Burley?”
“Aye,” she said, with some suspicion furrowing her brow. “How’d you know of ’im?”
“He’s dead. We were in the town of Bampton a few days past, an’ learned of the death.”
“He tried to flee the revenge of them he’d plundered, but didn’t travel far enough. Was ’e murdered?”
“So men there said.”
A look of satisfaction crossed the ale wife’s face, but this rapidly faded. “’Is wife’ll be as hard as Sir Henry ever was, an’ Sir Geoffrey’ll no doubt have the post Sir Henry had… an’ Lady Margery, too.”
“Sir Geoffrey?”
“One of Sir Henry’s knights, an’ a favorite of Sir Henry’s wife, if you know what I mean.” The woman winked.
“Who else of Arnald’s kin live nearby, that they could plot against Sir Henry?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Why’d you want to know? Half the village knew of the plan, not just Arnald’s family. Only cousin what didn’t know of what was to happen was Walter, I’d guess.”
“Walter?”
“Aye. A valet to Sir Henry. Don’t think ’e knew of the scheme. Folks didn’t trust ’im, you see, bein’ Sir Henry’s valet.”
I had consumed nearly half the ale from the crusted wooden cup, and thought I need drink no more. Walter was a cousin to a man slain by Sir Henry’s men. I knew that Walter had had opportunity to murder Sir Henry. Now I knew he had reason, as well.
I thanked the ale wife for the drink, and nodded toward the door. Arthur saw and rose from his bench. Together we left the hovel and set off toward the decrepit manor house and the east end of the village.
Arthur had heard all of the conversation, and spoke as we approached Sir Henry’s dwelling.
“’Twas Walter, then, who did murder, an’ not Sir Geoffrey?”
“It may be. But I have no proof of it, nor can I think of a way to confirm it to be so.”
“It’s a long way back to Bampton. You’ll think of somethin’.”
I might have wished for Arthur’s confidence.
We had seen no village large enough to have an inn while on the way to Wootton, so were required to sleep that night upon piles of leaves in a wood nearby to a place called Cranfield. I discovered the name when, next morn, I smelled the village baker at his work and sought fresh loaves of him. We halted in the journey that day to allow the horses to feed in a meadow beside the road, but even with this delay we arrived at Chetwode Abbey while the sun was yet well above the trees. The abbot did not seem much pleased to see us again. We left the place next day at dawn, paused once again in Oxford to seek a meal, and entered Bampton shortly after the ninth hour.
Arthur was correct. Whilst swaying upon my palfrey’s back a plan had come to my mind to discover if Walter the valet had slain his lord. If he had not, my scheme would tell that, as well.
I halted my journey at Galen House and sent Arthur on to the castle with the horses. I had been four days away from my Kate and Bessie. Solving Sir Henry’s murder could wait another day. He would not mind.
Next morning I rose early and arrived at the castle before Lord Gilbert’s chaplain had concluded mass. I waited at the entrance to the chapel, and when the service was done approached Walter as he departed the chapel with the other valets and grooms of Sir Henry’s household, following the folk of quality. I beckoned to the valet and nodded toward the hall, indicating that I wished for him to follow. He did so, and a moment later I sat upon a bench pushed against the wall and motioned for him to do likewise. In a voice barely above a whisper, so as to cause the fellow to believe us conspirators together, I told him that I had returned the day before from Wootton, and laid out a case against Sir Geoffrey.
“I am not surprised,” Walter said when I had done. “The man was baseborn and baseborn he remains, for all his airs. When will you arrest him?”
“Soon. Perhaps this day. But I would be well pleased to have more evidence against him. Testimony which might send the commons to a scaffold is often not enough to convince the King’s Eyre of a knight’s guilt.”
“You wish my aid in the matter?” Walter asked, seeing where the conversation was going. Or thinking he saw its direction.
“Aye. ’Tis my belief that Sir Geoffrey also slew Sir John. Sir John awoke and fought when his attacker pierced him, and this I know for his blood spattered upon the wall of his chamber. Some of that gore must have sullied Sir Geoffrey’s clothing when he did the murder, but although I’ve closely examined his cotehardie whenever he is near, I see no evidence that blood has ever spotted it.”