“Why,” I asked, “was it then discovered here?”
“Some other has placed it here.”
“And why would another do such a thing?” Lord Gilbert glowered. “Have you enemies who wish to see you hang?”
At that word Roger blanched and seemed to stagger, as if struck at the knees with an oaken staff.
“A man might hang for such a theft,” I reminded him. “It will go hard for you if you will not give us the truth.”
“I…I speak truth, m’lord. I have not before seen this box. I know not how it came here.”
“Hmm,” Lord Gilbert grunted, his face and voice projecting disbelief.
“We must have truth from you, Roger,” I pressed. “No guile; your life may depend on it.”
“I speak truth…I…”
I interrupted the man’s stuttering: “We must have truth about this, and other matters. Shall we have it, or shall Lord Gilbert convene a court for the morrow and send a groom for rope?”
The juggler’s shoulders sagged, and his head fell. “I will speak truth…as I have already,” he turned to protest to Lord Gilbert.
“We shall see,” Lord Gilbert rumbled, then glanced at me with that raised eyebrow, as if to say, “Well, where do you go from here?”
“I would have answers to another matter, before we learn how this casket came to be in your possessions,” I said. “Hamo’s daughter, Eleanor…she did not run off with a lad, did she? She is dead, is that not so?”
Roger cast about him as if seeking a means of escape. I thought it wise to remind him of the threat he thought hanging over him. “We will have truth, remember, or you may see the consequences.” Roger wilted again; I thought I should permit him to sit before he collapsed. I drew up a stool and motioned him to it. This proved a useful ploy, for it forced him to look up to us, while Lord Gilbert and I stood in authority above him.
“We have found her, you should know, so lying will gain you nothing.”
He looked up quizzically from his seat. Then silently he nodded his head, as if he could not bear to speak the words.
“Speak up, man,” Lord Gilbert demanded.
“Aye…she is dead,” Roger admitted.
“And the lad she was to have gone off with? He, I think, is alive. Is this not so?” I asked.
To speak truth seemed to come easier for Roger now that we had forced the first confession from him. “Aye, he is…so far as I know. We left him stabbed, in the care of his grandmother at Abingdon. I know not if he yet lives.”
“Pierced by Sir Robert Mallory or his squire, I think,” I asserted. “Is this not so?”
“Aye, ’tis so,” Roger agreed.
Now it was Lord Gilbert’s turn to stammer in surprise. “What…why should he do so?” he demanded.
“The lad saw Sir Robert with Eleanor. She was not seen again,” Roger sighed.
“How is this known to you?” Lord Gilbert demanded, having regained his poise.
“The truth, remember,” I reminded him.
“Hamo could not find the two when we were to leave Bampton. None could credit they’d run off together. But what other account could answer?” Roger explained.
“I remember him seeking them,” Lord Gilbert remarked, tugging now on his chin.
“We were but two miles from town, speaking loudly of our loss, when Walter heard a weak cry from near t’road. He went to the sound and found Ralph pierced near the heart, but no sign of Eleanor.
“Ralph was near to food for worms, but yet able to speak if one came close to his lips. And all bloody-like they were, too. Told Hamo that Sir Robert had killed him, an’ Eleanor as well. Sir Robert, he said, took him from the castle bundled on his pack-horse an’ dumped him in a thicket when he thought himself safely away from town.”
“And this happened only a few minutes before you came…is this not so?” I asked.
“Aye. Ralph played dead, like, as was near to bein’ so, for fear they’d run ’im through again an’ they knew he yet lived.”
“As Sir Robert surely would have,” I agreed. “I will finish your tale. A few of your party unhitched the horses from cart and wagon and rode ahead to accost Sir Robert — Hamo, Walter, surely and as many others as could fit on the backs of three horses?”
“Aye,” he agreed. “We were six.”
“You caught them a few miles on, near a coppiced woods. Hamo demanded of Sir Robert the whereabouts of his daughter. Sir Robert, I think, would not answer.”
“Oh, he answered,” Roger replied. “Laughed at Hamo, he did, an’ said as how he wouldn’t know where to find such a trollop…had they searched the beds of villeins hereabouts?”
“Words became heated, and led to a brawl?” I asked.
“Aye. Somethin’ like that,” Roger agreed.
I continued the tale for him. “When Hamo pressed close Sir Robert drew his sword, I think. Walter, seeing his father about to be struck down, drew a dagger from his saddle-bag and threw it at Sir Robert. Is this how it happened?’
“Aye,” Roger sighed.
“Then,” I continued, “the squire drew, and made for Walter, so Walter delivered a blade at him, also?”
Roger nodded his head, barely visible now in the gloom. Another sigh.
“Sir Robert and the squire made to ride off,” I resumed the tale, “but soon fell from their horses, being struck at the heart. Is this not so?”
Roger sat in silence for a moment, then replied. “They’d murdered Eleanor…least Sir Robert did so, an’ the squire was his man an’ helped murder poor Ralph.”
“How did Ralph know Eleanor was dead?” I asked. “Where did he see her with Sir Robert, and when?”
“’Twas near dawn, like. Ralph was sleepin’ in t’stable, as was his work to care for t’horses, an’ rose to relieve himself. He saw Eleanor wi’ Sir Robert creepin’ ’long the castle wall. ’Twas full moon, an’ before he thought to hide in t’shadows Sir Robert saw ’im. In t’mornin’, afore dawn, before we was about, Ralph said Sir Robert an’ t’squire come to marshalsea like to make an early start. Squire caught Ralph from behind an’ Sir Robert put his dagger to his heart.”
“And this was done while all others slept?” Lord Gilbert exclaimed incredulously.
“Aye. Ralph was only one who slept in t’marshalsea. An’ he feared to cry out lest Sir Robert see he yet lived and wound him again.”
“And they thought to strike him down because they knew he had seen Sir Robert with Eleanor?”
“Aye. Squire said as he’d put Ralph in t’same place, but Sir Robert said there was no time — folks would be stirring. Best to take him with ’em and leave his body in t’forest.”
“What then?” I asked.
“They threw Ralph on t’pack-horse, covered him, an’ set off while light was dim an’ t’porter could not see the shape of a man laid across the horse. ’At way they got poor Ralph out of t’marshalsea with no one t’wiser,” Roger explained.
“Ralph heard ’em speak of Eleanor dead,” he continued, “they thinkin’ he was, so didn’t mind their tongues.”
“What did they say of her?” I asked. “How she was killed? Where they hid the corpse?”
“Ralph did not say,” Roger continued, twisting his hands before him as he sat on the stool. “Hamo put his ear to Ralph’s lips to hear aught. Ralph said as t’squire was fearful, like, but Sir Robert told ’im not to vex himself wi’ worry; none would find her.”
“Well…we did,” I told him. But I did not say where.
“Then Sir Robert says, ‘Foolish wench. Had she not cried out she would yet live,’” Roger added.
“Why did she cry out?” I wondered aloud.
“Sir Robert promised to provide for ’er as his mistress. Ralph ’eard Sir Robert laugh ’bout it. When he’d had ’is way with her he made to send her off. She was not a lass to be put off so. Made such noise about it that Sir Robert slew her to silence her. So Ralph heard Sir Robert say.”
Roger, Lord Gilbert, and I were silent for a moment. What Roger said made sense, for Sir Robert had used a similar ploy with another. And with a third and more, I guessed.
“You took Sir Robert and the squire to the coppiced woods to bury them,” I said, “but stripped the bodies of valuables first. Is this not so?”