Cote is little more than a mile to the east of Bampton. I decided I would this day call on Sir Reynald Homersly, knight of the Manor of Cote. I knew little of the man but his name, but as Cote was too humble to support more than one manor, Sir Reynald must be the occupant of the manor house there.
At the castle I sought Arthur and Uctred and told them that, after their dinner, they would accompany me to Cote. I might have had a groom of the marshalsea prepare Bruce and two palfreys, but the distance to Cote is small, and I was uncertain how my wounded arm would receive Bruce’s ponderous gait. I required Arthur and Uctred to arm themselves with daggers. Was Sir Reynald the man who pierced me, he might be displeased to see me before his door. Arthur and Uctred, in Lord Gilbert Talbot’s blue-and-black livery, daggers at their belts, might temper his discontent.
I might have enjoyed a pleasant stroll through the late spring countryside but for some worry about my reception in Cote. We were the object of turned heads, as strangers usually are, when we passed through Aston.
Old manor houses now are often torn down and replaced with new, but not so at Cote. Sir Reynald’s home was but a larger reflection of Galen House. It was built of timbers, wattle and daub, with a well-thatched roof. The house did possess two chimneys. A wisp of smoke drifted from one which vented the kitchen hearth.
Few folk were about, which was no surprise, as there are few folk in Cote to be anywhere. The village was much reduced when plague struck seventeen years past, and again when the pestilence returned five years ago.
Arthur and Uctred stood respectfully a few paces behind me, caps in hand, as I rapped my knuckles upon the manor house door. A moment later the door opened to the music of ungreased hinges, and an elderly female servant stared dumbly through the opening at me.
“Is Sir Reynald at home? I am Hugh de Singleton, a neighbor… bailiff to Lord Gilbert Talbot in Bampton.”
The woman seemed to hesitate, then replied, “Aye. ’E be ’ome, as always. I’ll see can ’e speak with you.” The stout woman left us at the door and disappeared into the dark interior. She was not well trained in the art of receiving guests. Perhaps her normal duties lay elsewhere, or the house was unaccustomed to receiving visitors.
A few moments later I understood what the woman meant when she said “as always”. I was shown into a room at the rear of the house, where a man sat propped in a chair. One leg extended straight out upon a cushion, covered with a wrap, as the chamber was on the north side of the house and cool. The fellow looked to be of some forty or fifty years, although age can be difficult to determine with the ill and maimed. A woman of similar age sat upon a bench near the chair, and stood when the old servant ushered me into the room.
“You seek my husband,” she asked, and looked to the pale form propped in the chair.
If this was the man who murdered Thomas atte Bridge and attempted to burn Galen House, he had surely suffered a sudden illness and rapid decline.
“Aye, what illness has overcome Sir Reynald?”
“Injury, not illness. My husband was riding about the manor, seeing to plowing and such, when a hare startled his horse. The beast threw him. He broke a leg, and was in much distress.”
A tear appeared at the corner of the woman’s eye as she completed the tale. I turned to Sir Reynald and asked when this mishap had occurred.
“Four days past Easter,” he replied.
The man had been confined to bed and chair more than a fortnight before Thomas atte Bridge died, and surely had not run from Galen House a week past.
Arthur, standing behind me in the door from the corridor, then spoke: “Master Hugh be a surgeon. Deals with broke legs and such.”
“I’ve heard so,” Sir Reynald replied.
“Was a physician or surgeon brought to set the break?”
“Aye. The herbalist at Eynsham Abbey came. Put reeds about my leg and tied them tight, then set all in plaster. Said I was not to walk about ’til June.”
“Does the break pain you?”
“For a fortnight it was troublesome, but no longer. Did you call from Bampton to ask of my leg?”
“Nay. There is a matter in Bampton which requires sorting out, and I thought you might assist me.”
“I know little of matters in Bampton. I have troubles enough here in Cote.”
“Did you, two or three years past, have business with Henry and Thomas atte Bridge?”
I saw Sir Reynald’s lip curl as I spoke the names. I needed no further answer, but received such anyway.
“Aye. Scoundrels. Cote has suffered much from plague. When it first struck I was a young man. I watched my family perish, and most of the village also. I alone remained of my father’s house, so I became lord of Cote Manor when I was but twenty-four.
“We had no priest to shrive the dead. Father Oswald was among the first to perish. Four years passed before the bishop found another vicar. Then five years ago plague visited us again. Mostly children of the village it was who died this time. Amecia,” he looked at his wife, “and I lost our youngest son. But Cote lost also some adults, so that now I have few tenants and much land lies fallow.
“So three years past, it was, I hired Henry and Thomas to plow on demesne land. They were to give me three weeks in February and March. But after a few days at their labor they asked for their wages and came no more. Said they could not spare more time from their own holdings. Next day a calf was missing from the barn.”
“You believe they took it?”
“Aye. Couldn’t prove so. They came in the night, knowing the lay of the place, and made off with the calf, so I believe. Cote has no beadle. Since plague none has been needed.”
“Did you inquire in Bampton and Aston about the stolen beast?”
“Aye. None saw them with it. ’Tis my belief they took it to Witney or Eynsham or Brize Norton or some such place an’ sold it.”
“They will not trouble you more,” I replied.
“I heard that Henry’s dead. What of Thomas?”
“Dead also. Found hanging from an oak at Cow-Leys Corner, to the west of Bampton.”
“Hanging? Did the scoundrel take his own life?”
“So some believe.”
“But not you, eh? Else why would you seek knowledge of me, who was injured by the knave? When was he found?”
“The day after St George’s Day.”
“I’m not sorry the rogue is dead,” Sir Reynald admitted, “but you can see I’m not the man who slew him, though if some fellow did do away with the rascal, I wish him well.”
There was no reason to inspect the knight’s riding boots. He could not have murdered Thomas atte Bridge, nor could he have run from my toft a week past. I apologized for disturbing the peace of Sir Reynald’s home.
“’Twas no imposition,” he smiled. “You brought me a good report.”
“That Thomas atte Bridge is dead?”
“Just so. When I am able next week to rise from this chair I will have double reason to rejoice.”
Arthur and Uctred heard the conversation from their place in the passageway which divided the house. As we left the place Arthur offered an opinion, a thing he was never reluctant to do. “Seems lots of folks had reason to wish ill upon Thomas atte Bridge, an’ if they didn’t do ’im harm they’re not regretful someone else did.”
To solve the puzzle of who murdered Thomas atte Bridge I needed to eliminate men from suspicion for the deed until but one possible felon remained. Instead I was discovering more folk Thomas had wronged. How many more such men might I find?
I thought on this as we three retraced our steps through Aston and back to Bampton. The day was far spent when we entered the town. I released Arthur and Uctred, saw them off to the castle, and walked through quiet streets to Galen House. I had departed the town with high hopes four hours earlier; now I was again frustrated in my pursuit of a murderer. And my arm ached.