The Unquiet Bones (21 page)

“It is,” he nodded in agreement.

“Then I shall ask Lord Gilbert to provide a warm blaze in the great hall,” I smiled. “I am Hugh de Singleton, surgeon in Lord Gilbert’s service on his lands in Bampton.”

“Oh…I remember Bampton. We did well there.”

“But for losing your contortionist and her lad,” I finished his remark for him.

“Aye, we did so,” he muttered.

“She was Hamo’s daughter, I heard.”

“She was. A pert lass.”

“She was, you say. But surely she is living yet…somewhere?”

I watched closely for the juggler’s reaction to my assertion. He shrugged and looked away. “’Twas but a manner of speakin’. Hamo says she’ll come round when she thinks time an’ enough has passed an’ he won’t throttle the lad.”

“Will that time come soon?”

“Aye. It has already,” the juggler sighed.

“Hamo misses his daughter greatly, then?”

“He does. I’ve heard ’im call her name in the night…when he thinks all asleep.”

“How old was the girl?”

“Ah…seventeen, perhaps.”

“And the lad?” I asked.

“They were of an age. Grew up together,” he replied.

“The boy was part of your company when a child?”

“Aye. Father juggled, like me, an’ ’is ma was acrobat ’til he come ’long. But she stood for the knife-thrower we had then ’til she perished of t’black death when first it came on t’land.” He crossed himself as memory of that time rolled across him.

“The lad’s father perished then, also?”

“Nay. Took to his bed six, seven years ago just after Candlemas an’ never rose from it. He was older, like.”

“So Hamo let the boy stay on? What did he do to earn his keep?”

“’Bout anything Hamo’d ask; he was right willin’ to please. Saw to t’horses and carts, mostly. He was learnin’ to juggle; maybe take my place when I lose my competence.”

“Will that be soon?” I asked.

“Nay,” he chuckled. “So long as I keep me hands warm.”

“Was Hamo surprised,” I asked, “when they left the troupe together?”

“Aye. We all was.”

“Why so? Did they give no sign of fondness for each other?”

“Nay, I saw no sign. Oh, the lad was fond enough of Eleanor – Hamo’s daughter was named Eleanor, for the great queen, y’know – but she’d not return any suit of his…so I thought.”

“Why so? Was the lad ill-formed, or dull of wit?” I asked.

“Not more so than t’rest of us,” he smiled. “But Eleanor had lads in every town would have offered marriage. A young burgher of Winchester would have had her for wife when we were last there.”

“What,” I wondered aloud, “did Hamo think of that?”

“Oh,” the juggler paused, “he was torn, I’ll tell you.”

“How so?”

“Every father wishes his daughter well wed, an’ Hamo had little enough for Eleanor’s dowry. But no man wishes to lose his daughter, ’specially as how he’d need to find another acrobat. A man can do that, replace a servant. Not so easy to replace a daughter…what with Hamo’s wife dead an’ gone these nine years now.”

“Did Hamo forbid her to wed the burgher of Winchester, or did Eleanor so choose?”

The juggler shrugged. “’Twas the lass, I think. Had Hamo forbid it, she’d have wed to spite him. She was of that age.”

“She was a troublesome maid, then?”

“Aye; could be. Not much more than many of her years,” he replied.

“But you were surprised, then, that she stole away with the boy?”

“Aye, that’s so. So were we all, I think.”

“How do you know of a certainty that she did?” I asked.

That question seemed to take the juggler by surprise. He stammered a moment, then held his hands to the fire again before he answered. “Well…uh…’twas plain enough. Both gone of t’same night.”

“But no one saw them together…that day, or in their flight?”

“Nay. But it adds up, wouldn’t you say?”

I was not so sure of that, but decided I would get no other tale from any in the troupe unless I could convince them I knew their story false. But I did not know this, only suspected it so. The juggler seemed, of the three I had chatted with, the most likely to yield the truth when pressed. He had looked away often, avoiding my eyes. So I pressed him.

“Walter Tanner has a fine green cotehardie; how long has he owned the garment?”

“Huh…how…what has that to do with me?” the juggler stammered.

“Perhaps nothing, but one much like it was taken from a corpse near Bampton some months ago, and about the time you were there.”

“’Twas not Walter. I remember now. He bought it in London…aye, London.”

“When were you there?” I pressed further.

“Uh…’twas Shrove Tuesday, two years, nearly, now.”

“The tear he received in it – a misfortune, surely. How did that happen?”

“’Tis torn?” he replied. “I knew not.”

“Come, man. ’Tis at the front, just below the heart. You could not stand before it and the slit escape notice, no matter how well mended it is.”

“Oh, that…uh, ’twas mischance,” he hesitated, “when ’twas packed in saddle bags with t’knives, I think. Yes, that was the cause. Right woeful Walter was, too.”

I thought perhaps I had disconcerted the juggler, and that with another sally he might break, but as he replied I saw confidence return to his gaze and his spine stiffen. I tried again, anyway.

“The cut is in a perilous place, were a man wearing the cotehardie when a fellow skilled as Walter, let us say, might hurl a knife at him.”

“Aye, but was Walter wearing it, who would throw the blade?” he countered.

“Perhaps another had donned it,” I asserted through stiff lips, “and Walter was free to fling the dagger?”

“Walter is no murderer,” the juggler retorted with acrimony.

“But is he a man-slayer?” I replied.

“What say you, that a man can slay another but not be a murderer?”

“Some,” I responded, “might say so, if they think slaying a miscreant be justice rather than murder.”

“You go too deep for me,” the juggler complained nervously. “An’ I have business to attend before Lord Gilbert calls. Good day, Master…Hugh.” And with that he dismissed me and retreated to his tent. I admit my interview technique was crude, but even a dull blade will cut if applied firmly.

I turned from the tents, uncertain of my course, and saw the new contortionist approach from around the northeast tower. There was a raised, dry path through the mud of the yard, and she picked her way across the mire on it. I directed my feet to the same trail, and we met in the middle of the yard, between the castle wall and the marshalsea. Her eyes were fixed on her course, so I caused her to start when finally she perceived me before her, blocking her way lest she choose to step into the muck.

The girl stepped back, as if she feared I would thrust her into the mud. This, I admit, would have been a simple matter, for the lass was tiny – little bigger than Alice. She could not have weighed more than six stone.

“Good day. Forgive me…I had no wish to alarm you,” I reassured the girl. “I am Master Hugh, surgeon to Lord Gilbert at his Bampton estate.”

The girl smiled shyly. “I am Agnes, sir.”

“Well, Agnes, I marvel at your talent. I am told that you are newly brought to this work.”

“’Tis so, sir.”

“You have learnt quickly, then. It must be difficult for you…to replace Hamo’s daughter, who was so practiced at the art.”

“Uh…aye. Uh, I mean, no. Hamo says I do well.”

“He speaks truth. I did not see his daughter perform, but I cannot think she could surpass you in facility.”

“I thank you, sir.”

“Of course, you would not have seen Eleanor perform, either.”

“Oh, yes, sir. Hamo brought his company to Banbury when I was but a wee lass. I saw her tricks, and copied as best I could. When Hamo brought his band again to Banbury and I saw he’d no lass for acrobat, I sought him out and showed what I had mastered.”

“And now you travel with him. Has he taught you more?” I inquired.

“Aye. Much more; I practice new tricks every week. Some Hamo has taught me, and some I devise.”

“No doubt Hamo misses his daughter. Does he seek news of her as you journey?”

The girl was silent and thoughtful for a moment. “Nay,” she finally replied.

“He does not wish to find her?” I wondered aloud. “He must be very angry.”

“’Tis a puzzle,” she agreed. “I was told she fled with a lad of the company. But one night in autumn I was sleepless and lay in my tent listening to Hamo and Walter as they talked by the fire late into the night. They spoke of her as dead, and perhaps the lad too. Perhaps it was but a manner of speaking,” she added.

“Did they give opinion how this might be known to them?” I asked.

The girl’s tone became conspiratorial, and she stepped closer. “Nay, sir. They spoke softly, and the fire crackled; I did not hear all.”

“An accident, or illness, mayhap, took the two lives?”

“No,” she frowned. “I think not. ’Twas an evil deed, I think. They spoke of justice for Eleanor.”

“Hmm…yes. One would not seek justice if death was a result of mischance or malady. Was this justice they sought, or justice done?”

The girl pressed closer yet, and whispered, “Justice done, sir, I think.”

As the girl spoke Hamo Tanner appeared at a stable door. He glanced in our direction as he strode toward his tents, then hesitated in mid-stride and peered under narrowed brows at Agnes and me. It was clear he found our conversation disquieting. He turned from his course and approached us.

“Agnes, don’t be takin’ up Master Hugh’s time. An’ you must be limber for your performance this day. Off with you, now.”

Agnes fled, and Hamo turned to me apologetically. “She’s a good lass, an’ does her work well, but dim, she is.”

“Dim?” I questioned.

“Not right in t’head, you know.”

“Ah…I understand.”

“Fancies odd things. Pretends herself a fine lady, she does.”

“She has imagination?”

“That’s it, sir…the very word. Imagines all sorts of strange things what never was nor never will be. A fine lady, indeed,” he scoffed.

“Aye,” I agreed. “Her words did drift to strange and unusual events. I see your point.”

“Good day, Master Hugh. I must see to my band. We need to make ready for Lord Gilbert.”

I bid Hamo Tanner good day, and retired to my chamber, where I reflected on the morning’s conversations. There were yet gaps in my knowledge, but those were smaller than before. It is the trivial particulars of comprehension, however, which are most difficult to grasp. The general understanding of a riddle comes more easily. Those petty particulars create the details of an image which is otherwise but shadow.

W
hile I pondered these things the horn sounded for dinner. I hurried to take my place beside Sir John, and while washing and drying my hands managed to steal a glimpse of Lady Joan. A servant also attended that end of the high table with ewer and towel. As she rinsed and dried her hands Lady Joan looked up and caught me observing her. It was that sixth sense again, I suppose, which gives a woman the wit to catch a man so. She smiled, but immediately turned back to Sir Charles and smiled at him as well.

The meal this day was nearly as elaborate as the Christmas feast, but served in three courses, and missing the great roasted boar of the previous day.

This day minstrels played upon tambour and lutes and sang between removes. When the third remove was cleared and the musicians were again at their work, I saw the juggler to whom I had spoken that morning rise from his place at the far end of the hall and leave the room. Perhaps he required a visit to the garderobe before his performance. Whatever the cause, his departure lent credence to the plot I had already formed, and to work his absence into the scheme would require little modification. I left my place and spoke softly in Lord Gilbert’s ear. Music covered our conversation. Lord Gilbert at first questioned the plan, but eventually accepted the idea and agreed to fulfill his part.

Hamo Tanner and his troupe rose from their places at the far end of the hall when the musicians were done. The juggler had by this time returned to his place, and so joined his cohorts to begin the performance. He was near the age, I think, when visits to the garderobe become frequent. While all eyes in the hall were on the jugglers, I leaned over to whisper to Sir John. Lord Gilbert, I told him, wished to speak to him this moment on a serious matter.

Sir John bent over Lord Gilbert’s shoulder, listened intently as Lord Gilbert spoke softly to him behind an upraised hand, then hurried out of the hall. A few minutes later, as Walter was enclosing Agnes in a ring of quivering blades, I saw valets in Lord Gilbert’s colors of blue and black positioned at the exits of the great hall. My plot was begun. If it concluded well, I should receive much honor. If not…well, I tried to dismiss that thought.

When Agnes began her display of acrobatics, tumbling, and contortion, I saw Sir John return and again speak briefly to Lord Gilbert. Lord Gilbert then leaned to his wife and spoke briefly to her. His words brought a shocked expression to Lady Petronilla’s face, which abruptly faded to surprise and then puzzlement. Onlookers, and I was desirous that there should be some who would take their eyes from Agnes for a moment, would think she had been given a startling revelation. She had.

Agnes received her usual ovation when she finished her exhibition. Lord Gilbert then stood, as all in the hall expected him to do. But what came next they did not expect.

There was no pleasure in Lord Gilbert’s face. Rather, his brows were wrinkled in a scowl. Those in the hall who had been conversing with their neighbors and preparing to rise from their bench were suddenly silent. Lord Gilbert gazed with thin lips and lowered brows across his guests, then spoke.

“Sir John,” he began, “has returned from an errand I assigned him. He reports that he found the Lady Petronilla’s chamber door ajar. This should not be. I will have everyone remain in the hall ’til it be known if some thief has plundered her possessions.”

Audible gasps went round the hall, and hands were raised to lips. Then, as the occupants of the hall digested his words, they began to peer from the corners of their eyes at one another, wondering who might be a thief.

Lord Gilbert turned and spoke to his wife. “You must inspect your chamber and see if aught be missing. Sir John…I will have you and Master Hugh accompany her and her ladies.”

Something was missing, I knew, for I had it hidden under my cloak as Lord Gilbert spoke. Lady Petronilla’s casket, a gold and red enameled wood and metal box, in which Lord Gilbert’s lady kept her jewels, would not be found. Sir John had seized it from Lady Petronilla’s chamber and slipped it to me while all eyes in the hall followed Agnes.

Lady Petronilla and her two maids followed Sir John past the guard and out the door. I followed the others. The casket was large, but my cloak was voluminous and I was able to keep the box concealed. That corner of the hall was dark, as was my cloak, which also served to conceal the lump under my arm.

Lady Petronilla led the way to her chamber in the northwest tower. I allowed myself to fall farther to the rear of the hurrying party. At the door to the tower I turned away. The castle yard was unoccupied, as I knew it must be. It was possible a stable boy might see me if he looked up from his work, but by the time he told any of what he had seen my mission would have failed or succeeded of its own merit.

I ran through the mud of the yard, past the marshalsea, to the jugglers’ tent. I drew the flap aside, found a pile of bedclothes, and hurriedly concealed the casket between them. Then I was off again at a run across the yard, into the tower. I heard Lady Petronilla’s shrieks before I entered her chamber. She had discovered her casket missing.

We hurried to take this melancholy news to Lord Gilbert, for whom, of course, it would not be news at all. Lady Petronilla was disconsolate, and I was, for a moment, uncertain I was doing the proper thing. The end does not always justify the means, but occasionally it does.

Lord Gilbert banged the table with his cup and demanded silence in the hall, then announced the reason for his wife’s grief. Another cycle of gasps and guarded looks filled the hall.

“Sir John,” he concluded, “see that no one leaves this place ’til I return. Master Hugh,” he turned to me, “come with me. We will find whosoever has done this thing.”

Lord Gilbert motioned to four grooms who stood against the inner wall and they took place in line behind us as we left the hall.

“Where is it?” Lord Gilbert whispered when we were in the inner yard.

“Peace, m’lord. The search must not end too soon. Set your men to search the east range hall first. Instruct them to overturn the possessions of the poor – but only a little. Enough to make our hunt seemly without troubling those who have enough trouble already.”

Lord Gilbert so ordered, and we stood together in the entry as the searchers overturned the hall. Half an hour later they had done. There was, of course, no casket.

“Where now, m’lord?” a groom asked. Lord Gilbert cocked his head and peered at me, but I looked away, as if examining the carpenters’ art in the trusses of the hammer-beam roof.

“Uh…the marshalsea next. Find rods to poke through the straw.”

The grooms darted off to the other side of the castle and Lord Gilbert and I followed in their wake. “Is it there?” he whispered.

“No…but next have the acrobats’ tents searched.”

The sun was low over the bare west woods when the grooms finished their work in the marshalsea. Lord Gilbert set them off to the tents and but three or four minutes later a cry of success rose from the jugglers’ tent. I was relieved. I had in the preceding hour suffered visions of some other felon discovering the casket and making off with it.

We approached the tent and peered through the flap. A groom held the casket aloft, bedclothes strewn about at his feet.

“You found it there?” Lord Gilbert asked, pointing to the disarray.

“Aye, m’lord. The very place, under that lot, hidden-like, it was.”

“What say you, Master Hugh?” Lord Gilbert turned to me.

“Send two…no, three men to bring Hamo Tanner here.”

“It might take three to compel him,” Lord Gilbert smiled, “should he wish not to come.”

The wrestler came readily enough, his face marked with a combination of anger, fear, and curiosity. A groom pulled back the tent flap, and bade him enter. The light was failing, but there was yet enough to see the casket at our feet.

“We have found that which was stolen,” Lord Gilbert thundered. I have said before, thundering was a thing Lord Gilbert did well. Hamo blanched and started as if a groom had struck him from behind with a timber. “Is this how your company repays my favor?”

“N…n…no, m’lord…not me…my tent is next…”

“Then whose is this?”

“The jugglers, m’lord. Roger and John and Robert.”

“And whose place is that…whose bedclothes be those?” He pointed sternly at the place where the casket lay.

“Roger’s, m’lord, I think.”

Lord Gilbert turned to the grooms. “Take this man back to the hall. Bring Roger the juggler.”

When Hamo and the grooms were out of earshot Lord Gilbert turned to me. “What now, Master Hugh? I am in the dark. What say we to this juggler?”

“I will question him. You stand by and fix him with an angry eye. Follow my lead when you see my way.”

The juggler appeared a few minutes later, quivering so I thought his legs might fail. A groom walked on either arm, ready to steady him should he totter, and another walked behind, should he turn to run. This I thought unlikely as he seemed barely able to place one foot before the other. What I was about to do troubled me some, and has since, for although I did not lie to the juggler, I certainly intended him to believe a thing which was not true.

“You are called Roger?” Lord Gilbert asked the fellow, quietly this time, but with undisguised wrath lurking in his voice. He folded his arms across his chest and scowled so that his brows nearly met above his nose.

“Aye, m’lord,” Roger quivered. He looked at the casket. “I did not do this.”

“Why,” I asked, “was it then discovered here?”

“Some other has placed it here.”

“And why would another do such a thing?” Lord Gilbert glowered. “Have you enemies who wish to see you hang?”

At that word Roger blanched and seemed to stagger, as if struck at the knees with an oaken staff.

“A man might hang for such a theft,” I reminded him. “It will go hard for you if you will not give us the truth.”

“I…I speak truth, m’lord. I have not before seen this box. I know not how it came here.”

“Hmm,” Lord Gilbert grunted, his face and voice projecting disbelief.

“We must have truth from you, Roger,” I pressed. “No guile; your life may depend on it.”

“I speak truth…I…”

I interrupted the man’s stuttering: “We must have truth about this, and other matters. Shall we have it, or shall Lord Gilbert convene a court for the morrow and send a groom for rope?”

The juggler’s shoulders sagged, and his head fell. “I will speak truth…as I have already,” he turned to protest to Lord Gilbert.

“We shall see,” Lord Gilbert rumbled, then glanced at me with that raised eyebrow, as if to say, “Well, where do you go from here?”

“I would have answers to another matter, before we learn how this casket came to be in your possessions,” I said. “Hamo’s daughter, Eleanor…she did not run off with a lad, did she? She is dead, is that not so?”

Roger cast about him as if seeking a means of escape. I thought it wise to remind him of the threat he thought hanging over him. “We will have truth, remember, or you may see the consequences.” Roger wilted again; I thought I should permit him to sit before he collapsed. I drew up a stool and motioned him to it. This proved a useful ploy, for it forced him to look up to us, while Lord Gilbert and I stood in authority above him.

“We have found her, you should know, so lying will gain you nothing.”

He looked up quizzically from his seat. Then silently he nodded his head, as if he could not bear to speak the words.

“Speak up, man,” Lord Gilbert demanded.

“Aye…she is dead,” Roger admitted.

“And the lad she was to have gone off with? He, I think, is alive. Is this not so?” I asked.

To speak truth seemed to come easier for Roger now that we had forced the first confession from him. “Aye, he is…so far as I know. We left him stabbed, in the care of his grandmother at Abingdon. I know not if he yet lives.”

“Pierced by Sir Robert Mallory or his squire, I think,” I asserted. “Is this not so?”

“Aye, ’tis so,” Roger agreed.

Now it was Lord Gilbert’s turn to stammer in surprise. “What…why should he do so?” he demanded.

“The lad saw Sir Robert with Eleanor. She was not seen again,” Roger sighed.

“How is this known to you?” Lord Gilbert demanded, having regained his poise.

“The truth, remember,” I reminded him.

“Hamo could not find the two when we were to leave Bampton. None could credit they’d run off together. But what other account could answer?” Roger explained.

“I remember him seeking them,” Lord Gilbert remarked, tugging now on his chin.

“We were but two miles from town, speaking loudly of our loss, when Walter heard a weak cry from near t’road. He went to the sound and found Ralph pierced near the heart, but no sign of Eleanor.

“Ralph was near to food for worms, but yet able to speak if one came close to his lips. And all bloody-like they were, too. Told Hamo that Sir Robert had killed him, an’ Eleanor as well. Sir Robert, he said, took him from the castle bundled on his pack-horse an’ dumped him in a thicket when he thought himself safely away from town.”

“And this happened only a few minutes before you came…is this not so?” I asked.

“Aye. Ralph played dead, like, as was near to bein’ so, for fear they’d run ’im through again an’ they knew he yet lived.”

“As Sir Robert surely would have,” I agreed. “I will finish your tale. A few of your party unhitched the horses from cart and wagon and rode ahead to accost Sir Robert – Hamo, Walter, surely and as many others as could fit on the backs of three horses?”

“Aye,” he agreed. “We were six.”

“You caught them a few miles on, near a coppiced woods. Hamo demanded of Sir Robert the whereabouts of his daughter. Sir Robert, I think, would not answer.”

“Oh, he answered,” Roger replied. “Laughed at Hamo, he did, an’ said as how he wouldn’t know where to find such a trollop…had they searched the beds of villeins hereabouts?”

“Words became heated, and led to a brawl?” I asked.

“Aye. Somethin’ like that,” Roger agreed.

I continued the tale for him. “When Hamo pressed close Sir Robert drew his sword, I think. Walter, seeing his father about to be struck down, drew a dagger from his saddle-bag and threw it at Sir Robert. Is this how it happened?’