The Unquiet Bones (19 page)

“Lord Gilbert will not command you to marry.”

“I know. But he will make strong suggestion,” she smiled.

“There are times when the suggestions of others may help us to see our course more clearly,” I observed.

“Perhaps. So I will ask you again, do you know what I should do?”

“I would never direct a lady. Especially when I have made so many mistakes in my own course.”

“But you have chosen well,” she objected. “You are a surgeon…you give relief and aid to all, as I can attest.” She held her right arm before me.

“You forget Thomas Shilton,” I replied.

Lady Joan turned from me to peer out the narrow window to the fields and forest beyond. “My brother suggests that if I do not soon choose a husband, I will lose the bait with which I may attract a worthy one.”

“You need not worry of that for many years,” I assured her. “You think not? Why, Master Hugh, I believe that was a compliment.”

I felt my cheeks go red, and redder yet as she approached me.

“I have heard it said that men fall in love with their eyes. Is this so, Master Hugh?”

“I believe so, m’lady.”

“So, then, have you ever been in love?”

“Several times, m’lady. My vision is acute.”

“It should be so easy for a woman,” Lady Joan remarked pensively. “My brother has sent many comely men for me to consider.”

“But you chose none…as yet.”

“Nor am I likely to choose among those he has presented.”

“How, then, does a lady fall in love?” I asked.

“Does it matter?” she replied. “To love, I mean.”

“If not love, what, then?” I wondered aloud.

“Why…lands, of course,” she shuddered involuntarily.

“So then a lady falls in love with her purse?”

“You mistake me, Master Hugh, though some ladies do, I think.”

“What else, then?”

“Ears, Master Hugh. I think the man I love will be he who speaks the truth to me…and others. He must win my ears.”

“Some ladies might prefer not to hear truth on all occasions. Will you find such a man?”

She turned back to the gray view from her window. “I think so,” she said. “What good may it do me I know not.”

There followed an awkward moment, as Lady Joan made no more comment and I could think of no suitable reply.

“Your wrist does well, m’lady, so I will take my leave. I will call again tomorrow at the third hour.”

“You are very kind, Master Hugh.” She spoke without turning from the window. Over her shoulder, in the twilight of late afternoon, I saw snow begin to drift across the meadow from a pewter sky.

Lady Joan was, of course, seated next to Sir Charles de Burgh at that Ember Day supper. As it was a fast day, the meal was simple: bread, fish, glazed eggs, and a tart of currants. I peeked at Lady Joan and her companion frequently during the meal and was annoyed to see them apparently enjoying each other’s company.

I
visited Lady Joan twice each day, as was my practice, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, but saw Sir Charles only rarely. When I did converse with him I discovered that his conversation was pleasing, his manner polite, his face handsome, and his shape manly. I began to dislike him.

As I was Lord Gilbert’s guest, I attended mass with him and his family, rather than attending his nearby Walford village church. Sir Charles and Lady Joan sat together – Lord Gilbert had installed benches in his chapel – and conversed rather more freely than I thought meet throughout the service. This they continued at dinner. They were yet deep in conversation when I called at Lady Joan’s chamber at the ninth hour to again inspect her wrist. What they found to speak of I know not, but truth to say, Sir Charles surely had Lady Joan’s ear.

While I attended Lady Joan, Sir Charles busied himself at the window which looked out across the meadow and the barbican. A distant ruckus penetrated the apartment, and Sir Charles craned his neck so as to look to his left and observe the barbican and the tumult there. Lady Joan and I looked up from her wrist as Sir Charles turned from the window.

“The entertainers have arrived, I think,” he said.

“Ah…yes…” Lady Joan responded. “My brother was so taken with their performance last spring that he engaged them for the feast tomorrow.”

“These entertainers,” I asked, “what do they do? Are they musicians?”

“Oh, no…well, one plays a pipe. They are acrobats and jugglers and the like.”

“When did Lord Gilbert see them first?”

“’Twas Whitsuntide, I think. They set up in Bampton town market. Lord Gilbert brought them to the castle next day.”

Sir Charles had left the window, so I replaced him there and bent my head so as to see the barbican and the bridge. I caught a glimpse of the thick-necked wrestler as he disappeared from view across the moat, leading a horse which pulled a cart full of the troupe’s possessions. The horse was large and strong, a destrier worth £40 or more. Tossing knives into the air, wrestling all comers, and doing marvelous acrobatic tricks must pay well, I reflected.

“I was told,” I remarked with as little concern in my voice as I could restrain, “that there was some unpleasantness when this troupe left Bampton.”

Lady Joan seemed surprised at my remark, but answered plainly enough. “The leader lost two of his performers, I think. In the morning, as they were to depart, a lad and a lass were gone; they had run off in the night, I believe. The lass was said to be the leader’s daughter.”

“They ran off together?” I asked.

“’Twould seem so.”

“I wonder how they escaped the castle at night, with the gate closed and the portcullis down. The porter heard nothing?”

“No. My brother questioned him quite sharply, but he was not found to be at fault in his duty. He was old, and could neither hear nor see so well as a youth.”

“Hmmm…is that why Lord Gilbert put Wilfred in the post?”

“I think so, perhaps.”

“They are not the first,” Sir Charles chuckled, “nor will they be the last, to run off to begin a life together.”

I agreed, excused myself, and wondered if there was yet another set of bones to discover.

A horn awakened me at midnight and I tottered sleepily to the chapel for Angel’s Mass. It seemed to me I had barely returned to sleep when another blast awakened me for Shepherd’s Mass, at dawn.

The dawn was foggy and dim, but by the fifth hour an occasional glimpse of blue promised clearing sky and a fine day to celebrate our Savior’s birth. I looked forward to the feasting which would come, but not, I admit, to the other business now thrust upon me.

For without my contrivance Lord Gilbert had set before me the opportunity, if I acted wisely, to settle the business of three murders; or four, if the missing lad be added to the list.

I spent most of Christmas morning inventing and casting aside stratagems while staring out my chamber window. Once, through the fog, I watched a doe step from the forest to test the misty meadow. She found it unsatisfactory, and soon turned back into the trees and was gone from sight.

Shortly after the cautious doe slipped back into the forest I heard the horn again, this time announcing dinner. The great hall was filled when the company was gathered, warmed by both the Yule log blazing behind Lord Gilbert, and the swarm of guests. The hall was hung with holly, ivy, and pine boughs from the nearby forest. Indeed, these decorations had been accumulating since St Catherine’s Day, before I arrived at Goodrich. Although, of course, no holly was permitted in the hall ’til Christmas Eve, when the great Yule log was lit.

I wished to enjoy myself, but my stomach was knotted, for at the far end of the high table Lady Joan and Sir Charles were in animated conversation, oblivious to all others in the hall. This time she did not look up to observe me when my eyes fell on her. And at the far end of the hall, seated with invited tenants of Lord Gilbert’s Goodrich holdings, I saw the troupe of entertainers.

The wonderful feast and convivial atmosphere were lost on me. Wherever I looked there was a scene to cause me disquiet. Should I gaze to my right, past the Christmas Candle placed before Lord Gilbert and Lady Petronilla, I saw Lady Joan and Sir Charles. When I looked out across the hall I saw the entertainers. So I spent most of the meal turned to my left, observing closely the stonework of the inner wall.

But I do remember the meal. No worry puts me off my hunger for long, and Lord Gilbert’s cooks excelled in their work for the holy day. Lord Gilbert’s chaplain began with the Pater Noster, and a page entered carrying aloft a boar’s head on a platter. This he set before Lord Gilbert and Lady Petronilla, to much mirth and applause.

The first remove followed, and I permitted myself a portion of each dish: there was beef in pepper sauce, roasted capon, a pea and barley soup, and Lombardy custard. The subtlety was a miniature forest of whipped butter and honey.

My table companion, Sir John Withington, proposed a toast to Lord Gilbert between the first and second removes. His words met with hearty approval, for the largesse shown, and yet to come. Those at the high table lifted cups of wine, and the commons in the hall raised their mugs of ale, to drink to the health and long life of Lord Gilbert Talbot.

The second remove included venison, both roasted and in frumenty, roasted cranes and peacocks, a meat and fruit tart, and leech custard of dates and wine. I do not remember the subtlety, because of what occurred next.

Between the second and third removes Lord Gilbert made a dignified speech welcoming all to his table and celebration. It was a speech he had made many times at Christmases past, and it evoked little comment, but polite applause when he had done.

I was idly gazing out over the throng – the high table was on a platform raised perhaps one foot above the floor of the hall, permitting anyone seated there to see and be seen – when the applause for Lord Gilbert’s oration, which had nearly died, rose to a new crescendo. All eyes seemed directed to the opposite end of the high table, so mine were drawn there also. Sir Charles de Burgh was standing at his place. As I watched, he smiled and held before him a pear studded with cloves. All who saw this act, including me, knew what it meant, and what he would do with it next.

He turned to Lady Joan, bowed, and presented the fruit to her. She smiled, took the pear, lifted it to her mouth, and with her teeth extracted a clove. The laughter and applause thundered to a climax. Lord Gilbert was particularly enthusiastic. I feigned delight and clapped loudly with the others. What else could I do? I knew then that I would soon wear the willow.

My mind drifted back to the vision of Father Aymer bending over my dying brother, his spice bag swaying out from his chest as he spoke the words of extreme unction. The smell of cloves within the bag had permeated the air then, and I caught a whiff of the pungent odor as the pear was placed on the high table before the smiling couple. The smell of cloves has since reminded me of loss and I like not a dish prepared with this seasoning.

The third remove seemed not so tasty as the first two; perhaps I had eaten enough and lost my appetite. There was fruit in comfit, partridge, glazed meat apples, rabbits, and the pièce de résistance, the roasted boar. So great was this beast that four grooms were required to bring it from the kitchen. Even when all had eaten their fill, there would be plenty to distribute to the poor this day. The subtlety was a glazed copy of Goodrich castle, made of gingerbread.

For the last remove, by which time I was unable to consume more than a few bites, there were glazed eggs, doves, custard and marrow tarts, a quiche with currants and dates, and for the last subtlety a pie, which when opened revealed four and twenty blackbirds molded of dates, apples, and honey. This was for the high table; there was also a cherry pottage for the others in the hall.

It was well past the ninth hour when the final remove was taken away and the table cleared. Torches were lighted and fixed to the walls to assist the dying afternoon sun.

The first entertainers were a group of mummers from Walford and Coughton, who portrayed St George, the slain dragon, and the villainous Turk with amateurish enthusiasm. Then came the wrestler’s troupe. The jugglers amazed all, as did the knife-thrower and the contortionist. The wrestler did not voice a challenge this day, but directed his entourage from the side of the great hall. As at Oxford three weeks before, the contortionist finished the program. I thought she seemed a little more capable, supple and smooth in her manipulations, than a month before.

It was the twelfth hour, and time for the Mass of the Divine Word, when the girl completed her last pose – to the accompaniment of more booming applause and shouts of approval.

When mass was done, the gentlefolk repaired to the solar for games and conversation, and though I am but of the middling sort, Lord Gilbert invited me to join them. He was, I think, feeling especially expansive after what he had seen between the second and third removes. Because I had observed the same scene, I had no great desire to attend the group. I wished rather to speak to the bull-necked wrestler.

I found him in the marshalsea, attending his horses, requesting they be made ready at dawn of the morrow. One of the beasts, I have noted, was an uncommonly fine animal, large and strong. A dexter, certainly, suitable for a knight more than a troupe of itinerant jugglers and acrobats.

“You are off to another engagement, then?” I asked.

The wrestler turned to peer at me through the dim light provided by the two cressets which lit the stables through the night.

I introduced myself as Lord Gilbert’s surgeon – not his bailiff – as I wanted no hint of my purpose to put the fellow on his guard. One did not labor long at his business without learning to be on guard. And I was not bailiff at Goodrich, anyway.

“Not an engagement, like…not like as this. We’re off to Gloucester, an’ maybe Bristol. Set up in t’marketplace an’ the town’ll allow.”

“Do some not permit?”

“Oh, aye…there’s some. But we had success at Gloucester last year. Never tried Bristol, but there’ll be money to be made there, I think.”

“Sailors will challenge you.”

“I trust so,” he grinned.

“Some will be stout lads,” I remarked.

“All the better. Better odds when t’others take bets.”

“You’ve a new girl…since you were at Bampton at Whitsuntide.”

The wrestler’s demeanor changed, as I knew it would. “Aye,” was all he replied.

“I was not in Bampton then. I saw you first at Oxford a month ago. The new girl, she performs amazing feats.”

“Aye, she does well.”

“But not so good as the other girl, I am told.”

“No, not yet, but she learns. By summer she will do as well…for a few years.”

“A few years?” I questioned.

“Aye. No wench lasts long at her trade. They become women and can no longer bend as when they were but children.”

“The other girl; I was told she was your daughter.”

The wrestler was silent for a moment, turned to inspect his horse, then replied, “Aye…she was.”

“And she ran off with a lad you wished her not to marry?”

The wrestler’s eyes narrowed. He hesitated again. “That’s so. You know much about me and mine.”

“Local gossip,” I shrugged. “Have you news of your daughter since that day?”

“Nay. Perhaps one day she will find me.”

“But you travel about. How will she do that?”

It was his turn to shrug. “She’ll find a way.”

“When you left Bampton, at Whitsuntide, where did you travel next?”

He turned to inspect a harness, then said, “Can’t recall…’twas six months and more past.”

“Did you travel the north road, perhaps to Witney?”

“Might have done. We played at Witney, I think. Did not do well there, so went on directly…went to Banbury. Did well there.”

“Did you find a new contortionist soon?”

“Nay. ’Twas a month an’ more afore we found Agnes.”

“How old is the girl?”

“She knows not…fourteen, perhaps fifteen.”

“How old was your daughter…when she ran off?”

He turned back to me, his voice softer. “Seventeen, she was…an’ a mind of her own.”

“On your way from Bampton, the day you left for the north, did you notice along the road any sign of conflict…of a fight?”

I watched carefully for any sign that the question was uncomfortable for him, and was rewarded. I saw, in the light from the cressets, his back stiffen and the muscles of his jaw go tight.

“Nay. Saw nothin’ like that. Why do you ask?”

“A gentleman’s cotehardie, and a dagger, were found along the track north from Bampton some months ago. The look of things seemed to betoken a struggle, in which the cotehardie was discarded and the dagger lost.”

“Nay. Saw no fight, or hint of one,” he said, and to end the conversation he turned to the harness and began to rub tallow into the leather.

As I left the stable I passed an occupied stall from which came a muffled whinny and a stamping of hoofs. I peered through the dark over the half-door and saw two large eyes looking back at me from either side of a white blaze which ran from between the animal’s ears to its nose. It was the great horse I had seen from Lady Joan’s window when the wrestler’s troupe arrived on Christmas Eve.