“In a manner of speaking. I patched you and Sir Simon last autumn, when men set upon you in the Canditch.”
“You… you are Hugh de Singleton?” he said incredulously.
“Aye. Does my presence here surprise you?” I guessed my presence anywhere but St Beornwald’s Churchyard would surprise him. “We must speak. There are unresolved matters…”
Before I could complete the words the squire bolted toward the gate. I set out in pursuit, but he had a head start and was fleet of foot. Arthur and the others lumbered after. A horse and cart appeared in the gate, the cart loaded with sacks of oats for the beasts of the stable. This vehicle so blocked the passage that the squire was forced to slow his pace and attempt to squeeze between cart and wall. A moment later the sergeant I had left at the gate, who saw our thundering approach, had Homersly by the arm.
I thought Sir Roger’s advice wise. Castle walls are intimidating, especially so to those who fear they might be introduced to the gaoler do their answers to certain questions not satisfy.
I required of the sergeants that they keep Homersly in close restraint, and with me walking before and Arthur and Uctred behind we crossed Castle Mill Stream Bridge and entered the castle. I took the wide-eyed squire to the sheriff’s anteroom, now cleared of all who sought audience with Sir Roger, and told the clerk to announce my return to the sheriff.
If there is a thing more intimidating than the cold stone walls of Oxford Castle, it is Sir Roger’s brows when they unite in a frown. Such was his expression when he flung open the door to his chamber in response to his clerk’s words. Geoffrey Homersly seemed to shrink from squire to the size of a page before my eyes.
“Is this the fellow?” Sir Roger barked. Without waiting for an answer he spoke to his sergeants. “Wait here.” Then, to Homersly, “Master Hugh and I need answers from you… enter.”
The sergeants released the squire with a shove which propelled him toward the door to Sir Roger’s chamber. He staggered and would have fallen had not the door-frame been close for him to grasp and steady himself. When the sergeants released him they stood with folded arms. Homersly glanced from his place, gripping the door-post, then entered the chamber, seemingly pleased to be released from the grip of the sergeants. They were men unaccustomed to treating miscreants gently.
I followed Homersly into the sheriff’s chamber and Sir Roger slammed the door behind us. Still scowling, the sheriff pointed to a bench and with a nod of his head indicated that Homersly should sit. The youth seemed grateful to be able to do so.
“Where did you and Sir Simon go two nights past that you required your horses?” I began.
“Uh… two nights?”
“Aye. Why would you need horses past curfew?”
“You must be mistaken.”
“Not so. I have good information that you and Sir Simon were gone the night, and did not return ’til dawn.”
“Who says so?”
“No matter who, so long as his word is true.”
“Mayhap it is not,” the squire countered.
“Mayhap. But he who says so has no reason to deceive. You do.”
“Why would I do so?” Homersly protested.
“Because you thought to do murder, and burned my house to perform the deed.”
“Not so,” he said with some heat.
“Was it not you who two nights past rode with Sir Simon to Bampton and threw a torch to the roof of my house?”
“Nay.”
“Then tell Master Hugh where it was you went,” Sir Roger growled.
“I did not enter Bampton,” the squire insisted.
“I did not ask where you did not go,” the sheriff replied with some menace. Homersly surely noted the tone. His face grew pale.
“I will send the sergeants to bring Sir Simon,” Sir Roger announced. “It seems reasonable that since you left the inn together, and returned together, that you traveled through the night together as well. Perhaps Sir Simon will wish to tell us what you do not. No doubt, wherever you journeyed, Sir Simon will place blame for destroying Master Hugh’s house upon you. Who is to be believed: a mere squire, or a knight?”
This introduced a new and unwelcome thought to Homersly. I saw his eyes flicker about the chamber, as if seeking some previously hidden means of escape. But there could be no flight from either the chamber or Sir Roger’s suggestion.
“’Twas Sir Simon,” the squire blurted.
“What?” I asked. “Sir Simon accompanied you?”
“Nay. ’Twas not that way. I accompanied Sir Simon.”
“To Bampton?”
“Aye. Near so. Sir Simon stopped near a small chapel to the east of the town and bade me remain there with the horses. He went on afoot.”
“How many journeys to Bampton in the night did you and Sir Simon make?” I asked.
“Three.”
“What transpired on these nights?”
“The first two times Sir Simon ran back to my place and urged me to mount quickly, as did he, and we galloped away.”
“Did he tell you what he intended?”
“Nay. Not ’til the third night.”
“Two nights past?” Sir Roger asked.
“Aye. Sir Simon was in no hurry the third time when he returned to the chapel. When I asked if we were to be off he said, ‘Nay,’ and watched the sky over the town. Soon flames lit up the sky. This seemed to satisfy Sir Simon. He then instructed me to mount my horse and together we rode through the night back to Oxford.”
“Did you ask Sir Simon what meant this glow in the night sky?”
“Aye, I did so. When we were well on our way from the town.”
“What was his reply?”
“He laughed and said a lass who made sport of him would regret it, did she live.”
“A lass?”
“Aye.”
“So it was Sir Simon’s plan to burn my house? Not yours?”
“Why would I wish to burn your house? I knew you only as the surgeon who bathed my wounds and stitched Sir Simon’s cuts.”
“Sir Simon did not tell you whose house he intended to set alight?”
“Nay.”
“Do you remember Thomas atte Bridge?”
“Thomas who?”
“Atte Bridge.”
Homersly was silent, thinking. “Nay,” he finally replied. “Should I?”
“Your father hired him and a brother to plow some years past.”
The squire shook his head. “I remember my father speaking of finding workers. Don’t remember that he named ’em.”
“Did he speak of their theft?”
“Ah… were they the thieves who made off with the calf?”
“Your father believes so.”
“If he spoke their names, I do not remember.”
“And you say ’twas Sir Simon’s plan to set my home ablaze?”
“Aye.”
“Why, again, would he do so?”
“His friends made sport of him, mocked him because a maid chose another, a bailiff, Sir Jocelin said, over him.”
“So he wished to kill the lass?”
“I did not know his intent,” Homersly pleaded. “I would not have accompanied him had he told me his plan.”
“For a third visit? You did not ask what he was about the first two attempts?”
Homersly did not immediately respond. “Sir Simon does not appreciate questions from his inferiors,” he finally said. “He says, ‘Come,’ and I come.”
“We will see how he likes questions from his betters,” Sir Roger said, then arose from his chair and approached the chamber door.
He opened it and called to the two sergeants who remained with Arthur and Uctred in the anteroom. “Return to the Fox’s Lair and find Sir Simon Trillowe. Place him under arrest and bring him to me.”
“He required the stable boy to have his horse ready at the twelfth hour,” I added. “It is nearly that hour. If you make haste you will have him before he may depart the city.”
“Take Master Hugh’s men with you,” the sheriff advised. Arthur and Uctred sprang to their feet and followed the sergeants from the room.
Sir Roger then spoke to his clerk. “Bring the warder.”