“She does not wish him interred in the church?” I asked. I was somewhat surprised that a knight would await the Lord Christ’s return under the sod with common folk.
“What she wishes and what she will pay for seem two different things.”
“Lady Margery will not pay for Sir Henry to be buried within the church?”
“Will not, or cannot,” Lord Gilbert said.
“Surely a knight’s widow has coin enough to see him rest under the church floor.”
Lord Gilbert shrugged. “Father Thomas has been sent for. Lady Margery will treat with him about costs. But when I asked this morn, before you were sent for, she named the churchyard as his burial place. ’Tis my belief,” he added after a moment of silence, “that Sir Henry was in straitened circumstances.”
“Ah… I understand. He’s been under your roof, dining at your table, since Ascension Day.”
“Day after.”
“Had he said aught about taking himself home?”
“Nary a word, though I’d begun to hint of it. Gambled a bit, did Sir Henry. Lost often in France, while we awaited battle. He’d wager upon nearly anything; dice, two lads wrestling, which dog would win a fight. Lost ten shillings when he wagered Sir Ralph de Colley that next day there’d be no rain.”
“There was rain?”
“Came down in buckets. Sir Henry had little luck when he put his coin at risk.”
“That’s why he came to Bampton, you think? Because of his poverty he wished to take advantage of your table?”
“Aye,” Lord Gilbert answered. “And likely why he’ll sleep under the churchyard rather than under the church floor, or in his own parish church.”
It is no dishonor to be poor. The dishonor in poverty is often found in the manner in which a man becomes poor. Or remains so.
I wondered that Lord Gilbert would not offer funds to see Sir Henry laid under the floor of the Church of St Beornwald, but there are things even a bailiff finds it injudicious to ask of his employer.
It was by then past midday, too late to travel to Oxford, seek the sheriff, and return before night, even as the longest day of the year drew near. And Bruce, the old dexter given to my use, has such a jouncing gait that such a journey all in one day would be a torment to my nether portion.
I told Lord Gilbert that I would take Arthur with me to Oxford, and return next day with the sheriff, was Sir Roger not otherwise engaged. Lady Margery could, with Father Thomas, make plans for her husband’s funeral, and after Sir Roger had seen the corpse, and been shown the damaged ear, Sir Henry might be placed beneath the grass of St Beornwald’s churchyard, there to await our Lord Christ’s return.
Kate awaited me, hands on hips, lips drawn tight, when I returned to Galen House. She had expected me for my dinner, a chevet, which is a meal I enjoy. Well, as Kate knows, there are few meals I do not enjoy.
“I left it upon the coals so long, awaiting your return, that it is scorched and gone dry,” she said through pursed lips.
The subject was troublesome. I thought to change it. “There has been murder done at the castle,” I said.
“Oh.” Kate put a hand to her mouth. “Sir Henry?”
“Aye. Found dead in his bed this morning. ’Twas not a natural death.”
“What has happened?”
“Some man thrust a bodkin or awl or some such thing through his ear and into his brain whilst he slept.”
Kate’s eyes grew wide and she shuddered. “I am sorry that I was short with you. The pie is not so badly burnt.”
“Lord Gilbert asked me to dine at the castle.”
“You did so?”
“Aye. I wished to observe Sir Henry’s family and retainers.”
“Because one of them slew him?”
“It must be. Lord Gilbert wished him away and back to his own demesne, but would not have murdered him to be rid of him, nor asked another to do so.”
“What did you learn, watching them eat?”
“Nothing. Sir Henry’s wife believes my sleeping potion to blame, and ate heartily of her dinner. But only one of Sir Henry’s squires had appetite for his dinner. Lord Gilbert has promised to tell Lady Margery how Sir Henry died, and I must travel to Oxford and return tomorrow with the sheriff. The murder of a knight is more his business than mine. It happened in my bailiwick, but his shire.”
Sir Roger de Elmerugg possesses champion eyebrows. They cross his face like a hedge through a meadow. When I told him of death at Bampton Castle and its cause, his ruddy forehead furrowed above his brows.
“You do not know who has done this murder?” he said.
“Nay. Lord Gilbert wishes you to attend him and seek the felon.”
“You are bailiff there. Does he not trust your competence?”
“Sir Henry,” I shrugged, “is… was a knight. And,” I added, “I am suspect.”
“You? How so?”
I explained that Sir Henry had slept uneasily and had asked for a sleeping draught.
“You provided this?”
“Aye. ’Twas but the pounded seeds of lettuce, a physic I have often used to bring slumber.”
“What if a man took your potion, yet could not sleep, so consumed more? What then?”
“The seeds of lettuce are a mild soporific. We may see how much remains in the pouch of what I gave him, but he could have consumed all and it would not have stopped his breath. Lettuce seeds may poison a man if taken to excess, but there were not enough in the pouch to sicken Sir Henry. And I told you of the blood I found in his ear.”
“Aye. Well, Lord Gilbert asks, and I will come. You may sleep this night in a guest chamber, and your man may sleep with the castle sergeants. We will set out tomorrow after we have broken our fast.”
I had slept in Oxford Castle before, but not under a clean blanket. I had been charged with stealing another man’s fur coat, which I had not done, so until I was freed at Lord Gilbert’s command I spent several days in the castle dungeon. The experience returned to my mind and so occupied my thoughts that I did not readily find sleep.
A sergeant pounded upon the chamber door shortly after dawn and announced that Sir Roger would have me and Arthur join him to break our fast. We found the sheriff in the hall, his mouth stuffed with wheaten bread and cheese. No maslin loaf for the sheriff of Oxford. Another sergeant was there also, and Arthur and I joined readily in consuming the loaves and cheese and ale.
Sir Roger, the two sergeants, Arthur, and I, our bellies pleasingly full, rode under the Oxford Castle gatehouse half an hour later, crossed the Isis on Bookbinder’s Bridge, passed Osney Abbey, and set off for Bampton.
Whole families were in the fields as we passed. Men swung long-handled scythes to cut hay close to the ground. Women and children followed to turn the hay so it would dry evenly. In other meadows, where the hay had been cut some days past, men were gathering it into great stacks. Many of these laborers watched our party pass upon the road, and some noticed that Sir Roger and I were garbed as gentlemen and tugged at a forelock as we passed.
The hall was prepared for dinner when we arrived at Bampton Castle. Lord Gilbert had expected Sir Roger’s arrival, so the meal this day featured many pleasing dishes: roasted partridges, cony in cevy, stewed pigeons, and boar in confit, amongst others.
Place was made at the high table for Sir Roger, and I, again, sat at the head of a side table. Sir Roger was seated beside Lady Margery, and throughout the meal she continued an uninterrupted conversation with the sheriff, turning from him occasionally to cast a baleful eye in my direction. I did not see the woman exchange even one word with Lord Gilbert, who sat also beside her.
To avoid Lady Margery’s hostile gaze I watched other diners. None seemed to have lost his appetite in the past twenty-four hours. Even the youthful squire who had picked at his pike a day earlier consumed his portion of the meal this day. Perhaps he preferred boar over pike.