I bid Amabil good day — an affectation of custom, for surely it would not be — and left the house. The day had dawned cloudy, and now rain began to fall as I returned to the castle.
Rain continued throughout the day and night, so when mourners began the procession from Philip Mannyng’s house in the Weald to St Beornwald’s Church the streets were deep in mud. Arnulf Mannyng was one of four men who carried Philip upon his bier at the head of the procession, immediately behind the three vicars of St Beornwald’s Church. All who walked behind the corpse seemed clear-eyed and walked without lurching. The wake must have been a quiet and solemn affair.
I had another motive beside honoring a good man on his last journey to the churchyard. I wished to see the prints Arnulf Mannyng’s shoes might make in the mud of street or churchyard. Too many mourners followed the corpse to see what marks Arnulf’s shoes made in the street. His footprints were obliterated by those who came behind.
I moved to stand close to Arnulf when he and his companions set down their burden in the lych gate. But again the press of other folk made it impossible to see what mark his shoe made in the mud.
At the churchyard, after the funeral mass, I found a place behind Arnulf and so was able to examine his footprints in dirt freshly excavated from his father’s grave. His heels made no deep impression, and I saw no groove across the sole. It was as I thought when I saw him a few days past upon his beast. He was not accustomed to riding a horse, and his equipage for doing so was crude and seldom used. Unless Arnulf possessed other shoes or boots, he had not been in my toft. Most men of his rank own but one pair of shoes, and if they have another it is likely they will be rough, wooden-soled and made for work in the fields. I did not know whether I should be pleased at the discovery or not.
Hubert Shillside, John Kellet, and Arnulf Mannyng I had absolved of Thomas atte Bridge’s death, although I was prepared to be mistaken should I learn some new thing which might lay murder at the feet of one of these, especially some new thing of John Kellet. Peter Carpenter, Walter Forester, and Edmund Smith remained of those I knew to have reason to desire vengeance against Thomas atte Bridge. Would any of these attempt to stop my inquiry by burning Kate and me in our bed? Did they wear shoes meant for a knight? Would Peter burn a house so near his own the flames might spread and consume him as well? Did he possess a dagger? Or would he be so enraged that he would pierce me with a chisel?
I could not answer “aye” to any of these questions. I sought truth in the wrong place. It was not to be found in Bampton, I decided, but in Cote. Sir Reynald could not seek to silence me, but he had a son who might. Sir Reynald might have provoked this son to revenge against Thomas atte Bridge and to my destruction. Why he would do so I could not tell. Would a man fan the coals of a grudge into flame after three years? Would even a hot-headed youth kill to avenge a stolen calf? Would he seek to end my search for him when I had given no sign that I suspected the knight? Indeed, when the first attack came against Galen House, I knew nothing of the man.
Next day the rain had ceased. The sky was bright blue and dotted with clouds scudding west to east in a brisk wind. It was a good day to travel. I told Arthur and Uctred they would accompany me to Cote again that day, and to make ready to set out after dinner.
Sun and wind had dried the roads, so we arrived dry-shod at Cote. As we entered what remained of the plague-stricken village I saw a cotter hoeing weeds from his patch of leeks and onions. I halted, cleared my throat to warn the fellow of my approach, for his back was to the road, then entered his toft. He stood erect, leaning upon his hoe, and stared suspiciously at me as I drew near. Strangers entering isolated villages often bring such a response.
I smiled to put the fellow at ease. This seemed a failure. His expression did not change, and he seemed to grip the hoe the tighter.
“Good day. We come from Bampton. Can you tell me if Sir Reynald’s older son is yet in Cote, or has he returned to Oxford?”
“Geoffrey?”
“Aye, Geoffrey.” Now I had a name, which before I had not.
“Ain’t seen ’im in years.”
“I heard he had returned from Oxford for a time.” This was a lie. May the Lord Christ forgive me.
The cotter scratched himself, smiled wryly, then replied, “Nay. Not been seen in Cote since before my Matty perished.”
“Matty?”
“Me wife. Took ill two winters past. Young Geoffrey went off to Oxford summer afore that. Three years it’d be now, near.”
“And he’s not returned?”
“Did once, I heard. I din’t see ’im, but word gets out. Sir Reynald wanted ’im to return to Cote when ’e was knighted. Geoffrey had other plans. Manor house servants said as there was hard words. Geoffrey ain’t been seen in Cote since, far as I know.”
“You are sure of this?”
“Aye. Was ’e to return, the village would know of it.”
“He was sent off to Oxford to serve as squire to the sheriff, was he not?”
“Aye, but sheriff had little use for more retainers, so ’twas said, so Geoffrey become squire to sheriff’s son.”
“Sir Simon?”
“Uh, aye. Believe that was ’is name.”
I thanked the fellow for his conversation and returned to the road. Arthur and Uctred had remained there, but the toft was humble and so close were they to the cotter, they had no difficulty hearing the words exchanged.
“That squire what you patched up back before Christmas, after him and Sir Simon was sliced up on the Canditch… suppose that was Sir Reynald’s lad?” Arthur asked.
I did so suppose, and had the same thought which Arthur voiced. If Sir Reynald and his son had a falling out near three years past, and the youth had not been seen in Cote since, it was not likely the lad would strike down another who had wronged his father, nor would he know of my pursuit of the man who did. And if he did not slay Thomas atte Bridge, he had no cause to stop my search for the felon who did so. Geoffrey Homersly did not try to burn Galen House.
I saw no reason to approach the manor house at Cote to confront Sir Reynald concerning his son. The man endured enough sorrow, I thought, without my adding to it. I turned to the west, my face warmed by the slanting sun, and Arthur and Uctred fell in silently behind. I was left with but two men Thomas atte Bridge had wronged who might have done him to death: Walter Forester and Edmund Smith.
Walter worked regularly with sharp tools, and might have plunged one of them through my arm. And Walter, with his father and brother, would use horses to draw carts full of timbers and firewood from Lord Gilbert’s forest. Would he occasionally ride upon a beast, so as to put cross-grooves in the soles of his shoes from stirrups? That seemed improbable.
I had searched for truth in Bampton and found none. I searched for it in Cote and found none. Or rather, the truth I discovered brought no solution or satisfaction. Perhaps the truth I sought might be found in Alvescot. I resolved to visit there again next day.
All men seem more imposing when astride a horse, even if the beast be a humble palfrey. Bruce is aged, to be sure, but he was once Lord Gilbert’s finest dexter. I chose to travel to Alvescot upon the old horse, so left word with the marshalsea that I would require him on Monday at the third hour.
Chapter 12
King Edward requires that all the commons be proficient with the longbow, and Lord Gilbert has placed upon me the responsibility for seeing that his tenants and villeins are not found wanting should war with France resume. Perhaps I should write “when war with France resumes.”
On the Wednesday before Corpus Christi I had tacked a notice to the church door that the following Sunday there would be archery practice and a competition.