“Geoffrey Homersly, you say? Squire to Sir Simon? Don’t know of the lad, but I see Sir Simon about often enough, and a youth accompanying him. Must be this Homersly. Sir John departed Oxford when I replaced him and now resides on his lands near Abingdon, so it is said. Thought Sir Simon might accompany his father… wish it was so. The man is naught but trouble.”
I was eager to learn what difficulties Sir Simon might have created for the sheriff, but Sir Roger did not explain. “Has one ear lower than the other now, has Sir Simon,” Sir Roger grinned. “That’d be your doing, I suspect.”
“He should thank me he has two ears. Odo Grindecobbe nearly sliced the one from his skull. ’Tis not simple work to sew an ear back upon a man’s head. I received no instruction on the technique in Paris.”
“When he is not strutting about the town with his cronies Sir Simon resides at the Fox’s Lair. The squire probably takes a room there as well. You know the place?”
“Aye.”
“If the squire is guilty of the evils you suspect of him,” Sir Roger continued, “he may resist being taken. And Sir Simon may assist the lad. He’ll have no wish to make your life easy. Have you men with you to arrest the fellow?”
“Two grooms from Bampton Castle. Robust fellows. Arthur was with me here in Oxford last autumn.”
“I remember the man. Would make a good sergeant. The three of you could surely take one man, and him a youth, but if Sir Simon resists you, and has companions with him, the task might be beyond you. I’ll assign two sergeants to accompany you. Come,” he said as he arose from his chair, “I’ll see to it.”
Those in the clerk’s anteroom who sought audience with Sir Roger looked up in dismay as he strode through the chamber. Before he could reach the door, Arthur and Uctred burst through it, saw me and the sheriff, and Arthur said, “Found ’im. Takes a room at an inn called ‘The Fox’s Lair’.” Arthur, Uctred and I followed Sir Roger through a narrow passage, then down a stairway. A short way from the base of these steps Sir Roger pushed open another door. In this room several men sat alertly, in repose, but seemingly ready to be thrust into motion abruptly. Two of them were.
“John, Humphrey,” Sir Roger addressed two of the sergeants. “Here is Master Hugh de Singleton, bailiff for Lord Gilbert Talbot at Bampton. He seeks a felon in Oxford. You will accompany him and his men, and arrest the miscreant should he attempt to flee.”
John and Humphrey sprang to their feet as the sheriff spoke. They were men of considerable size, although should Geoffrey Homersly attempt to flee they seemed unlikely to overtake the youth in a foot-race. Such an eventuality would leave me to deal with the squire alone, for neither Arthur nor Uctred was likely to show a turn of speed either, and Homersly, was it him who burned Galen House, had already escaped Arthur. When the two sergeants approached I saw in their faces the marks of men accustomed to combat. One man wore a scar, long healed, across a cheek. The other owned a nose which had, at some time past, been broken and clumsily set, or not set at all. This beak turned down and to the left as it departed his brow. That both men seemed acquainted with conflict and were willing to see more reassured me.
“When you find this Homersly, bring him to the castle. Being nigh the dungeon has a way of loosening a man’s tongue,” Sir Roger laughed.
The Fox’s Lair is beyond the river from the castle, near to Rewley Abbey. I did take lodging there once, after Lord Gilbert made me bailiff. The bill convinced me that I must seek other lodging when in Oxford. To my good fortune Master Wyclif has offered a guest chamber at Canterbury Hall when such need arises.
The inn is larger than most, new-built but a few years past, on land outside the city walls, where other, more ancient structures would not cramp its bulk. It is constructed of timbers, the spaces between on the ground floor filled with brick, in the new fashion, the upper story of whitewashed wattle and daub. Four chimneys vent the many fireplaces. Glass closes all the windows. Sir Simon and his squire occupied a pleasant inn.
The entrance to the Fox’s Lair is centered in the ground floor. The first story covers this entry, and gates there may be closed at night to bar entrance to the courtyard. The yard is bounded upon three sides by the inn, and the stables close it in the rear.
The porter peered out at us as we passed his closet. He stood, but a better look at the size and determined expressions of my companions apparently convinced him we should be permitted to pass unchallenged. I told one of the sergeants to wait at the gate, then entered the courtyard.
We were nearly across the enclosed yard of the inn when I saw a youth appear from a stall. He carried a bucket, which he took to the well, and when he had filled it, retraced his steps. I motioned to my escort and together we followed the youth into a darkened stable.
The lad had just finished pouring water into a trough when he glanced up and saw four shadows blocking the light at the entrance to the stall. Because our faces were in shadow he mistook who approached.
“Do you require your beast, Sir Simon? You did not say… I would have had him readied but you spoke no word.”
The youth spoke nervously, as if he feared displeasing Sir Simon. This, I knew, was not a difficult thing. I had done so easily. And Sir Simon’s wrath was to be feared, especially so by a stable boy who had no great lord to protect him from the irascible Sir Simon, as had I.
“Oh,” the lad said abruptly. He had stepped closer to the stall entry and saw it was not Sir Simon who stood before him. “Do you seek a horse, sir?” he said. “This beast belongs to Sir Simon Trillowe. The inn owns others you may employ be you lodging here.”
The youth seemed slightly less fearful since he saw it was not Sir Simon who stood before him, but, although my slender form is not likely to cause unease in others, the three beefy men who stood behind me surely would.
“Sir Simon has a squire,” I said. “Does the fellow also keep a horse in this stable?”
“Uh… aye.”
“Two nights past,” I asked, holding out a silver penny to the lad, “did Geoffrey Homersly require his horse?”
The stable boy peered over my shoulder into the yard, as if he sought assurance that no other man observed our conversation. When he was satisfied none took note of the interview, his hand grasped the coin, quick as a cat on a mouse.
“Aye,” he whispered. “Gone all night.”
“Did he say where it was he traveled?”
“Nay. Went off with Sir Simon an’ come back at dawn.”
With Sir Simon? I was dumbstruck. Would Sir Simon have aided the destruction of Galen House? Why not? He had no love for me.
The stable boy suddenly glanced over my shoulder, said, “I must be about my tasks,” and picked up his bucket for another journey to the well.
As he set off a voice came from the yard. “Stephen, Sir Simon wishes his horse made ready at the twelfth hour.”
I turned and saw a well-made young man of about twenty years striding across the yard. It was clear he spoke to the stable boy, now hurrying to the well with his bucket. So this, I decided, is Geoffrey Homersly.
The squire was not so tall as me, but well formed. He had pale hair, like his mother. I recognized him, for six months past I had cleansed his wounds and soothed his bruises when he, along with Sir Simon, was attacked near the Oxford Northgate by men who thought they assaulted me and Arthur.
Homersly turned from the stable boy to observe me and my companions. I thought I saw a spark of recognition flash across his face, but perhaps not. He had seen me only once, so far as I knew, at the Augustinian Friars’ infirmary, and was not in good health at the time.
“Geoffrey Homersly?” I asked, and strode toward the young man. My burley companions followed.
Sir Simon’s squire looked to me with narrowed eyes. No doubt he wondered what I was about, emerging from the stall which housed Sir Simon’s beast. “Aye. Do I know you?”