“Aye. But when we had done, we cast away some we’d taken.”
“Sir Robert’s blue cotehardie,” I completed his story, “and the squire’s dagger. You thought them too obvious for a troupe of jugglers and such.”
“Aye. An’ Sir Robert’s sword an’ dagger as well we abandoned in the forest.”
Lord Gilbert looked at me through the gloom. “The foresters?” he questioned.
“Them, or those weapons lay yet under the leaves,” I agreed.
“We have found the missing casket,” I concluded, “but as you have told us truthfully of this other matter, I recommend to Lord Gilbert that you be released. I believe you say honestly that you did not rob Lady Petronilla of her jewels. You would not, I think, be so foolish to hide the chest here had you done so.”
I looked to Lord Gilbert, whose face was now nearly invisible in the shadows. “I consent,” he agreed. Then, to the grooms, who had stood by the tent-flap and heard all, Lord Gilbert said, “You will speak of this to no one, until I release you of your oath. Take this fellow back, but hold him outside the hall. Do not permit him to speak to any of his fellows.”
“They will tell this tale before the morrow,” I advised Lord Gilbert when they had gone.
“Aye, they will…that I know. But they may yet hold their peace an hour or two, ’til we decide what must be done.”
“We, m’lord?”
“Aye. You have found a murderer. No…you have found out two murderers. And you are my bailiff. This business is now become your bailiwick as well as mine.”
“Hamo and Walter must be charged with Sir Robert’s death, and that of the squire,” I advised.
“Aye. You think the charge just?” he replied.
“A jury might say ’twas self-defense,” I answered, “and but justice done for Eleanor and the lad, but the charge must be made, I think.”
“What is your opinion of this business, Hugh? Will a jury release them? Do you wish that may be so?”
My mind had turned this very question for several minutes, so I could answer without hesitation. “I do, m’lord. I see no malice in Hamo or Walter, and I found nothing virtuous in Sir Robert.”
“Yet I would have welcomed him as brother-in-law,” Lord Gilbert mused. “My sister had better sense of the man than I.” He was silent briefly, then continued, “I hope her judgment of Sir Charles de Burgh is as valid, for she seems agreeable to his suit.
“I wish,” Lord Gilbert confided, “that when Hamo found his man left to die along the way he had returned and asked justice of me. This matter might have been resolved with less disorder and perplexity.”
“That is so. But you must understand that Hamo would fear miscarriage of justice.”
“How so?” Lord Gilbert frowned.
“You are a gentleman, as was Sir Robert. Hamo would fear a coroner’s jury — your men, all — might bend to your will and vindicate Sir Robert, heedless of the proofs against him.”
“He would mistrust me so?” Lord Gilbert muttered incredulously.
“He would mistrust any gentleman to find against another of his rank in favor of the commons.”
“Well, not so. But ’tis too late to persuade him of that. We must return to the hall and Sir John. I will place him in charge of the arrest.”
We did so. Sir John assembled a company of Lord Gilbert’s grooms and footmen, and together we entered the hall. Hamo, from a bench along the east wall, stood to his feet as we assembled. I think he suspected then that his deed was uncovered.
Had Hamo chosen to contest his arrest, I think the dozen men Sir John collected would have barely sufficed. But he did not resist, and so was seized there in the hall, with his son. Lord Gilbert approached from the high table and told him why. To this Hamo replied only, “He slew my daughter, and I repaid him in like coin.” Sir John took him and Walter to the keep. They offered no struggle, but neither did they leave the hall with bowed head or back bent in shame.
“I will release the others of Hamo’s company,” Lord Gilbert advised when the hall was finally cleared. “But not ’til you and Sir John have had time to return to Bampton with the prisoners. ’Tis an ill thing to travel in winter, but I would have you leave tomorrow. The weather remains clement, but who can judge when ’twill turn?
“Seek Hubert Shillside so soon as you reach Bampton. He must convene his jury. Roger the juggler must accompany you and the prisoners. Require of him that he tell the jurymen what he has told us. Should he resist, remind him of where the casket was found, and imply that I am of changeable passions.
“If the coroner’s jury charge Hamo and Walter, Sir John will conduct them and Roger to Oxford and put them in the hands of the sheriff.”
“And my work,” I sighed, “will be done.”
“Well…as regards this mystery you have revealed, aye. But my steward, Geoffrey Thirwall, will visit Bampton after Twelth Night to hold hallmote. You and John Holcutt must have the manor accounts ready for his inspection.”
Lord Gilbert wished to be certain that Hamo Tanner would not flee justice. His thick wrists were bound securely, as were those of his son. Roger was permitted to travel unencumbered. Six grooms accompanied Sir John and me as we made ready to depart Goodrich Castle so soon as there was light enough to travel.
“Ah…Master Hugh,” Lord Gilbert called as we made ready at the marshalsea to set off. “I forget me, with all that’s passed since Christmas. Wait a moment.”
He turned to speak to a valet, who immediately scurried across the muddy yard to the castle gatehouse and disappeared within. While the valet was off on his errand I remembered the business which brought me to Goodrich Castle.
“Lady Joan’s arm; she must seek the surgeon in Gloucester to remove the plaster.”
“When?” Lord Gilbert asked.
“Not before St Valentine’s Day. Even a week after if she does not chafe over the inconvenience.”
“St Valentine’s Day! Hah! Sir Charles will be pleased, I think.”
To this remark I made no reply. How could I?
At that moment the valet returned, a large, dark object I could not identify in the dim morning twilight slung over his shoulder.
“’Twas not ready ’til yesterday. The tailor would not be pressed,” Lord Gilbert explained.
I was confused and stood before him with empty expression. This he observed.
“Your cloak, man. I promised you a fur cloak as part of your wages. Here ’tis.”
I took the garment from the panting valet, who seemed for the briefest moment unwilling to give it up. It was soft and luxuriant and I understood his reluctance.
“Put it on…don’t just stand there,” Lord Gilbert demanded. I did so.
“I thank you, m’lord. ’Tis true you promised such a garment. I had forgot. But I did not expect such as this. ’Tis worthy of a duke.”
“Well, if you see one and he would have it, do not give it up to him,” Lord Gilbert jested.
I mounted my horse, last of the party to put foot to stirrup, wrapped in my new cloak. As we passed through the outer yard to the barbican I turned to look back at the castle and saw, through the gathering light, Lady Joan and a maid watching our departure from atop the gatehouse. She saw me turn, and waved her uninjured hand, then lifted it to her lips and blew a kiss. I turned in my saddle to wave farewell, but as I did so she was gone. I wondered if I would ever see Lady Joan again.
The cloak was as warm as it was soft, and protected me well from the gale which swept from the Forest of Dean across our path. We arrived in Gloucester before nightfall and again sought shelter with the monks of St Peter’s Abbey. The abbot seemed displeased to provide bed and board for miscreants, but as Hamo and Walter were not yet judged guilty of a crime he swallowed his objection and remained true to the rules of his order.
This abbot would have seen us on our way next morning, but the wind howled down from the mountains of Wales — better a wind should do so than the Welsh, Sir John remarked — and snow spattered the cobbles of the monastery yard. Sir John and I were uneasy, so elected to remain within the monastery’s hospitable walls another day. We did not wish to be caught on the way in a great snow.