June days are long. The afternoon sun warmed my face as our beasts passed Osney Abbey, but we would reach Bampton before night fell. I was somewhat relieved for this, for although we were three men armed with daggers it would yet be well to be off the roads before darkness overtook us. Several times I turned in my saddle, uneasy that some miscreant might have seen my pouch and collected a band of ruffians and be even now in pursuit.
But not so. We met few men upon the road, and none caught us up. Perhaps the lack of travelers was due to the season. Soon after we passed Osney Abbey we saw families at work haymaking, singing at their labor. Men had swung their long-handled scythes since dawn, and were surely weary, but warm, sunny days must not be lost. Behind their husbands and fathers women and children followed, prodding and turning the hay with forked sticks so it might dry evenly.
There is no rest for tenants and villeins. When the meadows have been cut ’twill then be time to shear the sheep and plow fallow fields once more.
Fatigue etched men’s faces as they swung the scythes, but there was joy there also. Rains had been plentiful, but not so much as to rot the hay in the fields. If there was no deluge until the hay was dried and stacked there would be abundant winter fodder. More beasts might be kept this next winter, for fresh meat come the lean days of April and May. No wonder the laborers smiled as they toiled.
Shortly after the twelfth hour we crossed Shill Brook and turned our horses into the Bampton Castle forecourt. Kate, sitting upon a bench in the sun, awaited me there and was ready with questions of how matters stood with Geoffrey Homersly.
I dismissed Arthur and Uctred, told them to see the horses to the marshalsea, and instructed Arthur to seek the cook and tell him Kate and I required a light supper in our chamber.
While we supped on slices of cold mutton, bread, cheese, and ale, I told Kate of events in Oxford and placed before her Sir Simon’s purse. She stared at it with troubled expression.
“’Twas he, then, who stabbed you,” she said, glancing to my arm.
“Aye. And this eve you have more work. The wound has healed and ’tis time to cut the stitches free.”
“You suffer no more discomfort?”
“None.”
“It was me Sir Simon wished to slay, was it not?”
“Both of us, I think.”
“But I rejected his suit and made of him a laughingstock before his companions.”
“And it was I who won you from him. He had ample reason to resent both of us. No matter; Sir Roger has ordered him from Oxford for two years, nor is he to come near Bampton.”
“Will he obey?”
Kate’s lovely face was clouded with concern. The sheriff’s commands did not bring her much comfort.
“Sir Roger threatened the scaffold did he disobey.”
At this the lines upon Kate’s brow relaxed. She softened more at my next words.
“Tomorrow I will seek Peter Carpenter and Warin Mason and make plans to rebuild Galen House. There is enough coin there,” I nodded to the purse, “to build a house with a fireplace in each room and chimneys at either end.”
“That will be well,” she smiled. “Our babe will be born in November, when winter will be nearly upon us.”
We had nearly finished our meal when Kate spoke again. “What will you now do in the matter of Thomas atte Bridge?”
I had asked myself the same question since speaking with Geoffrey Homersly. I had no good answer.
“Many men had cause to wish him harm, but when I seek to assign the death to one or another I find reason to exonerate rather than blame.”
“Is that what you seek?”
“What I seek?”
“Aye. Do you seek guilt of some men, as Geoffrey Homersly, but innocence of others? What a man seeks, I think, he will often find.”
“I cannot tell,” I admitted. “There are men who, are they guilty of murder, I would rather not know of it, and others, did they slay Thomas atte Bridge, I would have little distress for their penalty.”
“Such are my thoughts,” Kate admitted.
“I have no strategy whereby I might find a murderer,” I sighed. “I intend to set myself to rebuilding Galen House, which thing I can do, and dismiss the death of Thomas atte Bridge. The matter has vexed me long enough. Mayhap, in time, some new clue will appear, or some guilty man will let his tongue slip.”
“If that does not happen,” Kate asked, “will you be content to leave the matter unresolved?”
“I do not know of all the mischief Thomas atte Bridge did in his life. What I do know is vile enough. Perhaps his death was justice for some evil he did, and if I found who took his life, and hallmote or the King’s Eyre send the man to the scaffold, that would be the greater injustice.”
“Do you say this because you believe it so, or to salve your pride that you have not found what you sought?”
“I do not know,” I replied. “I do know that my wound has been stitched long enough.” I arose from my place at table, brought forth scissors and tweezers from my instruments chest, doffed cotehardie and kirtle, and set my arm before Kate. She snipped the sutures with as much skill as she had employed creating them, and I thought then she might make a fine assistant. Mayhap I should instruct her in some rudimentary surgical practice so if some man injures himself while I am distant she might offer aid until I return.
I woke early next day, before the Angelus Bell or the poulterer’s rooster could summon other castle folk from their beds. I had dreamt of beams and bricks and rooftops, and was eager to spend Sir Simon Trillowe’s purse on a new Galen House.
I sought first Peter Carpenter. He walked with me to the pile of cold ashes which had been Galen House, and I explained to him what I wished him to build. I would have a house somewhat larger than Galen House had been, of posts and beams. The spaces between timbers on the ground floor I would have filled with bricks, in the new style. For the upper floor, wattle and daub, whitewashed, would suit. I would have two windows, of glass, in each room, and Warin Mason I would have build another chimney to match the one which yet stood sentinel over the acrid stink of what once was my home.
“And for the roof,” I concluded, “I will have tile.”
“No more will a man set thatch alight and burn your house, eh?” Peter agreed.
“Nay. Does some felon seek my life in future, he will need to devise some new way.”
Peter told me he would assemble workmen and set to work with his horse and cart hauling away the debris this very day, as he had few other obligations before him. I next called upon Warin Mason and found him hoeing weeds from cabbages in his toft. I told him of the brickwork I wished him to do, and the fellow seemed pleased to leave the hoe to wife and children and set his hand to masonry.
No tilers reside in Bampton. I thought Warin might know of such a man in some greater town. He did, and promised to send for the fellow.
I took dinner in the castle and while we ate I told Kate of my plans. She seemed much pleased at the new house I described. Glass windows particularly caused her cheeks to glow and her eyes to sparkle. I entertained a brief worry that my plans might be beyond Sir Simon’s contribution, but I could not disappoint Kate after making much of her forthcoming residence.
Late in the day I sought a groom of the marshalsea, ordered Bruce made ready, and set off for Alvescot. I found Gerard limping about his wood yard, where were stored beams and poles cut from Lord Gilbert’s forest.
“You’ll want elm for the beams what’ll be upon the ground,” Gerard said when I told him of my plans. “Oak an’ beech’ll do well for the others. Tiles is heavier than thatch, so for rafters you’ll need stout poles. I got enough, I think, dryin’ in the shed there.”
I left the verderer with the understanding that Peter Carpenter would soon call upon him with a list of the timbers needed. Gerard assured me that the wood yard held all Peter would need, and a few glances about the place in the fading evening light told me he spoke true.