“Perhaps nothing, but one much like it was taken from a corpse near Bampton some months ago, and about the time you were there.”
“’Twas not Walter. I remember now. He bought it in London…aye, London.”
“When were you there?” I pressed further.
“Uh…’twas Shrove Tuesday, two years, nearly, now.”
“The tear he received in it — a misfortune, surely. How did that happen?”
“’Tis torn?” he replied. “I knew not.”
“Come, man. ’Tis at the front, just below the heart. You could not stand before it and the slit escape notice, no matter how well mended it is.”
“Oh, that…uh, ’twas mischance,” he hesitated, “when ’twas packed in saddle bags with t’knives, I think. Yes, that was the cause. Right woeful Walter was, too.”
I thought perhaps I had disconcerted the juggler, and that with another sally he might break, but as he replied I saw confidence return to his gaze and his spine stiffen. I tried again, anyway.
“The cut is in a perilous place, were a man wearing the cotehardie when a fellow skilled as Walter, let us say, might hurl a knife at him.”
“Aye, but was Walter wearing it, who would throw the blade?” he countered.
“Perhaps another had donned it,” I asserted through stiff lips, “and Walter was free to fling the dagger?”
“Walter is no murderer,” the juggler retorted with acrimony.
“But is he a man-slayer?” I replied.
“What say you, that a man can slay another but not be a murderer?”
“Some,” I responded, “might say so, if they think slaying a miscreant be justice rather than murder.”
“You go too deep for me,” the juggler complained nervously. “An’ I have business to attend before Lord Gilbert calls. Good day, Master…Hugh.” And with that he dismissed me and retreated to his tent. I admit my interview technique was crude, but even a dull blade will cut if applied firmly.
I turned from the tents, uncertain of my course, and saw the new contortionist approach from around the northeast tower. There was a raised, dry path through the mud of the yard, and she picked her way across the mire on it. I directed my feet to the same trail, and we met in the middle of the yard, between the castle wall and the marshalsea. Her eyes were fixed on her course, so I caused her to start when finally she perceived me before her, blocking her way lest she choose to step into the muck.
The girl stepped back, as if she feared I would thrust her into the mud. This, I admit, would have been a simple matter, for the lass was tiny — little bigger than Alice. She could not have weighed more than six stone.
“Good day. Forgive me…I had no wish to alarm you,” I reassured the girl. “I am Master Hugh, surgeon to Lord Gilbert at his Bampton estate.”
The girl smiled shyly. “I am Agnes, sir.”
“Well, Agnes, I marvel at your talent. I am told that you are newly brought to this work.”
“’Tis so, sir.”
“You have learnt quickly, then. It must be difficult for you…to replace Hamo’s daughter, who was so practiced at the art.”
“Uh…aye. Uh, I mean, no. Hamo says I do well.”
“He speaks truth. I did not see his daughter perform, but I cannot think she could surpass you in facility.”
“I thank you, sir.”
“Of course, you would not have seen Eleanor perform, either.”
“Oh, yes, sir. Hamo brought his company to Banbury when I was but a wee lass. I saw her tricks, and copied as best I could. When Hamo brought his band again to Banbury and I saw he’d no lass for acrobat, I sought him out and showed what I had mastered.”
“And now you travel with him. Has he taught you more?” I inquired.
“Aye. Much more; I practice new tricks every week. Some Hamo has taught me, and some I devise.”
“No doubt Hamo misses his daughter. Does he seek news of her as you journey?”
The girl was silent and thoughtful for a moment. “Nay,” she finally replied.
“He does not wish to find her?” I wondered aloud. “He must be very angry.”
“’Tis a puzzle,” she agreed. “I was told she fled with a lad of the company. But one night in autumn I was sleepless and lay in my tent listening to Hamo and Walter as they talked by the fire late into the night. They spoke of her as dead, and perhaps the lad too. Perhaps it was but a manner of speaking,” she added.
“Did they give opinion how this might be known to them?” I asked.
The girl’s tone became conspiratorial, and she stepped closer. “Nay, sir. They spoke softly, and the fire crackled; I did not hear all.”
“An accident, or illness, mayhap, took the two lives?”
“No,” she frowned. “I think not. ’Twas an evil deed, I think. They spoke of justice for Eleanor.”
“Hmm…yes. One would not seek justice if death was a result of mischance or malady. Was this justice they sought, or justice done?”
The girl pressed closer yet, and whispered, “Justice done, sir, I think.”
As the girl spoke Hamo Tanner appeared at a stable door. He glanced in our direction as he strode toward his tents, then hesitated in mid-stride and peered under narrowed brows at Agnes and me. It was clear he found our conversation disquieting. He turned from his course and approached us.
“Agnes, don’t be takin’ up Master Hugh’s time. An’ you must be limber for your performance this day. Off with you, now.”
Agnes fled, and Hamo turned to me apologetically. “She’s a good lass, an’ does her work well, but dim, she is.”
“Dim?” I questioned.
“Not right in t’head, you know.”
“Ah…I understand.”
“Fancies odd things. Pretends herself a fine lady, she does.”
“She has imagination?”
“That’s it, sir…the very word. Imagines all sorts of strange things what never was nor never will be. A fine lady, indeed,” he scoffed.
“Aye,” I agreed. “Her words did drift to strange and unusual events. I see your point.”
“Good day, Master Hugh. I must see to my band. We need to make ready for Lord Gilbert.”
I bid Hamo Tanner good day, and retired to my chamber, where I reflected on the morning’s conversations. There were yet gaps in my knowledge, but those were smaller than before. It is the trivial particulars of comprehension, however, which are most difficult to grasp. The general understanding of a riddle comes more easily. Those petty particulars create the details of an image which is otherwise but shadow.
Chapter 16
While I pondered these things the horn sounded for dinner. I hurried to take my place beside Sir John, and while washing and drying my hands managed to steal a glimpse of Lady Joan. A servant also attended that end of the high table with ewer and towel. As she rinsed and dried her hands Lady Joan looked up and caught me observing her. It was that sixth sense again, I suppose, which gives a woman the wit to catch a man so. She smiled, but immediately turned back to Sir Charles and smiled at him as well.
The meal this day was nearly as elaborate as the Christmas feast, but served in three courses, and missing the great roasted boar of the previous day.
This day minstrels played upon tambour and lutes and sang between removes. When the third remove was cleared and the musicians were again at their work, I saw the juggler to whom I had spoken that morning rise from his place at the far end of the hall and leave the room. Perhaps he required a visit to the garderobe before his performance. Whatever the cause, his departure lent credence to the plot I had already formed, and to work his absence into the scheme would require little modification. I left my place and spoke softly in Lord Gilbert’s ear. Music covered our conversation. Lord Gilbert at first questioned the plan, but eventually accepted the idea and agreed to fulfill his part.
Hamo Tanner and his troupe rose from their places at the far end of the hall when the musicians were done. The juggler had by this time returned to his place, and so joined his cohorts to begin the performance. He was near the age, I think, when visits to the garderobe become frequent. While all eyes in the hall were on the jugglers, I leaned over to whisper to Sir John. Lord Gilbert, I told him, wished to speak to him this moment on a serious matter.