“Why should it not be?”
“Because there is a man who will also seek evidence of murder in your chamber while we are at dinner. But unlike me, I believe he will find it.”
“What? How so? What will he find, and where can it be?”
“Unless I am much mistaken — which is surely possible, for I have much experience in being mistaken — he will find a bloodied garment in your chest.”
“Bah. You have just now been in my chest. You saw for yourself there is no such thing there.”
“Aye, so I did.”
I saw the light of understanding flash in Sir Geoffrey’s eyes. “The man who will find bloody clothing in my chest will be one who has put it there.”
“So I believe.”
“And he will have such a garment because he slew Sir John?”
“Aye. Sir John, surely, and likely Sir Henry as well. Sir John resisted his attacker and his blood spewed out upon the wall of his chamber and likely upon his assailant as well.”
“Why not seek a bloody garment amongst the fellow’s possessions?”
“It is likely well hid, and I do not want the man to know that I suspect him until I have proof of his guilt.”
“Who is this man?”
“Walter.”
“The valet? But why… ah, I see.”
“What do you see?” I asked.
“Why the man would do these murders.”
“Tell me. I believe him guilty, as a few days past I thought it likely you were the felon. But I would like to know why you think he may be the murderer.”
Sir Geoffrey looked from me to his chest as if he expected to see some new thing there, then clasped his hands behind his back and spoke.
“’Twas the fines, I think, and his kinsman’s death.”
“Fines? Death? Sir Henry was charged with enforcing the Statute of Laborers, which duty you, Sir John, and the squires assisted. These are the fines you speak of?”
“Aye.”
“Why should Walter be so angered about fines? He was Sir Henry’s valet and would not be charged with violating the statute… unless it is his father you speak of. And what of death?”
I knew the answer to that question, but wanted to hear from Sir Geoffrey his account of what had happened to Walter’s cousin.
“His father and cousin were accused of violating the statute.”
“The father I know of. A smith accused of charging more for his labor than the statute permitted.”
“Aye. Walter’s father was the only smith in Wootton an’ the villages nearby after plague returned seven years past.”
“And Sir Henry charged Walter’s father for violating the statute,” I said, “demanding more for his labor than the law allowed?”
“Aye.”
“What was his penalty?”
“Don’t know. Sir Henry sent me an’ Sir John to collect ’im, and take the fellow back to his home when Sir Henry was done with ’im.”
“I am told that Sir Henry levied heavy fines, and sometimes awarded penalties when none was warranted, no law broken.”
“Who told you that?”
“No matter. What of Walter’s cousin?”
“He was a tenant of Sir Henry’s lands at Wootton. Bein’ a Commissioner of Laborers, Sir Henry wouldn’t reduce rents, as many gentlemen do, so Arnald went elsewhere. Took ’is family off to a manor near Wolverton, where so many folk had died of plague the lord was willing to reduce rents to attract tenants. By half, I heard.”
“Permit me to complete the tale,” I said. “When Sir Henry learned where the fellow had gone — perhaps he stole away in the night — he sent you and Sir John to fetch him back, and levied a great fine as well.”
Sir Geoffrey did not reply.
“If I am wrong, what did happen?”
“Arnald would not come. We seized ’im, but he fought us, and raised such a tumult that other tenants soon gathered. We were overmatched three or four to one, though we had swords and Arnald and his friends had but spades and scythes and clubs. One had a dagger, I think.”
“What then?”
“They who set upon us were not content to drive us off. Their blood was up, and all the grievances of the Statute of Laborers which they had borne for many years incited them. They sought to slay us.”
“The commons are resentful of the Statute of Laborers,” I agreed. “But you escaped?”
“Aye. Sir John was knocked about when a man caught him across the ear with a stave, but we fled safely enough.”
“Without Walter’s cousin.”
“Aye. Sir Henry would have sent us back for him, but ’twas no use. Arnald was sore wounded and died next day, so we heard.”
“Did William and Robert accompany you when you went to seize Arnald?”
“Aye, they did. ’Twas likely William who ran ’im through.”
“Who else of Sir Henry’s household knows of this?”
“Don’t know.”
“Did you speak of it to Lady Margery?”
“Nay.”
I began to see what Walter had done, and why he had done it. He wished Sir Henry dead for the penalties he had inflicted upon his father and the murder of his cousin, honest men seeking to better themselves. When I sent crushed lettuce seeds to aid Sir Henry’s sleep the valet had given his lord a larger measure than called for, probably hoping the dose would end Sir Henry’s life.
Some time in the night he had crept back to Sir Henry’s chamber to learn if the potion had done the work he intended. It had not. So Walter fell back upon an earlier scheme: the bodkin through Sir Henry’s ear. My sleeping draught was but a coincidence, and an aid to a murder Walter had likely already planned.
The valet trusted that his felony would not be discovered, but if it was, hoped that some other man might be assumed guilty. Thus the note under Sir Roger’s door. Perhaps Walter knew that it was William’s thrust which had mortally wounded his cousin, so hid the awl and bloody linen in his chamber in hope that William would be implicated in Sir Henry’s death. Mayhap Walter thought that Sir Geoffrey and the squires would be accused of plotting together against Sir Henry, for they had all been involved in the attempt to return Arnald to Sir Henry’s lands, and Walter would have wished calamity upon them all.
Sir John’s death was not planned, I thought, until the fight with William left him wounded and less able to defend himself. And as neither of the squires nor Sir Geoffrey had yet been accused of Sir Henry’s murder, Walter saw a way to slay Sir John and have the sheriff and King’s Eyre do away with William.
The stolen silver and portpain, I was convinced, had nothing to do with murder, but the coincidence of their theft at such a time had served to complicate matters and draw me down unproductive paths.
From a distance I heard the bell sound to call us to our dinner. I looked to Sir Geoffrey and nodded toward the chamber door, then led him to the corridor. He followed, and closed the heavy door behind him.
As this was a fast day, no meat, eggs, or cheese were served. The first remove was stewed herring, sole in cyve, and boiled plaice. For the second remove there was charlet of cod, and roasted salmon in spiced sauce. For the third remove the cook presented cyueles, crispels, mushroom tarts, and a fruit and salmon pie. For the subtlety there was pears in compost. It is sometimes difficult to enjoy such a meal when I know that my Kate is home in Galen House consuming a pease pottage with no pork to flavor the dish. Well, some discomfort must be accepted to do the work Lord Gilbert asks of me.
Walter’s place near the foot of a side table was vacant. Sir Geoffrey saw this also, and gave me a knowing glance as Lord Gilbert’s chaplain said a prayer for the meal and the valets served the first remove. Those who sat low at the tables received only some of the stewed herring with their stockfish and maslin loaves.
CHAPTER 15
There was another empty chair at dinner this day. Lady Petronilla’s place was vacant. I am a surgeon, not a physician, but I thought it likely that Lord Gilbert would soon approach me regarding his wife’s indisposition.
I was eager for the meal to end, to learn if my ruse was successful. No one, of course, could leave the hall until Lord Gilbert indicated that the meal was done by rising from his place. This he did without lingering over the subtlety, perhaps concerned for his wife.