Unhallowed Ground (17 page)

Perhaps the cook realized that my mood was sour and so attempted to improve my disposition with a meal. For dinner that day he prepared mussels in broth, parsley bread and roasted pork. I was not much hungry when I sat in the hall to begin my meal, but the pleasant fragrance as the dishes were placed before me soon set my stomach to growling. I had eaten nothing that day to break my fast.

Arthur, Uctred, and I went straight from the hall to the marshalsea, where our beasts were ready for travel. Kate blew a kiss as I rode Bruce under the portcullis. I hoped she would heed my direction to remain within the castle precincts. Perhaps Geoffrey Homersly, or whoso sought my life, might yet lurk in some hidden place about Bampton. If the man would burn my home to injure me, he might also strike at my wife. I nearly drew Bruce to a halt at the thought. As it happened I need not have troubled myself with worry. Not with that worry, anyway. Other worries would soon prove trouble enough.

From Aston we traveled the north road through Yelford and Hardwick. We neared Sutton when I saw a figure approaching upon the road. The man strode furiously, his head down, as if he mistrusted the way and thought to keep it under close observation lest he stumble.

I gave the man little more thought until we were nearly upon him. He had heard the fall of horses’ hooves and the squeak of our saddles and so moved to the verge to make room for us to pass. Horses usually mean knights, and such folk dislike moving aside to make way for the commons. Their dislike is often translated to action, which the common man who does not step from the path will rue.

I was nearly upon the traveler when he looked up, to see, I suppose, was he far enough aside to clear the way. I thus looked into the face of my father-in-law, Robert Caxton. I yanked upon the reins to halt Bruce, and Caxton was so startled at my appearance that he stumbled and nearly fell headlong. I soon discovered why this was so.

“You… Hugh!” he exclaimed. “You are not dead? And Kate? Is she… I was told…”

“Dead? Nay. I am well, as is Kate. Why would you think otherwise?”

“I was told so but this morn.”

“You were told falsely, but an attempt was made two nights past to murder us in our beds. I would hear more of this.”

I dismounted so I could speak more readily to my father-in-law, and asked what he had been told, and when, and who it was who brought him the news.

“This morn,” he began, “I had just raised the shutters and opened the shop when a young gentleman entered my door. I thought he sought parchment or ink. He was no scholar, but wore the garb of a wealthy young burgher or knight.

“I bid him good day, and he replied that it was indeed, for some, but not for me. His words were a mystery to me. I asked, ‘How so, good sir?’

“‘You have a daughter, wed to the bailiff of Bampton Manor?’ he said. ‘Is this not so?’

“‘It is,’ I answered.

“‘Word has come this day that your daughter and her husband have perished. Their house burned night before last, and none escaped the flames.’

“I asked the fellow how he knew this. He said ’twas spoken of by many.”

“Did the gentleman visit your shop to make a purchase, or was it only to give you this sad account?”

“He made no purchase… turned and was gone after he made his report.”

“Do you know the fellow? Have you served him before?”

“Seen him about Oxford. Think he may have done business with me, but ’twas a long time past. What of Galen House? Did it burn, as the man said?”

“It did, and whoso set it afire thinks Kate and me dead in the ashes and ready for a place in the churchyard.”

“Set it afire? But… why would a man do such a thing?”

“Come, ride behind me. You have walked far and fast, and Bruce is a sturdy animal. We will speak more of this while we travel to Bampton. You will see Kate well enough, and in six months’ time she will make of you a grandfather.”

Caxton’s somber expression was gladdened at this report. I mounted Bruce and gave a hand to my father-in-law to assist him up behind me.

“I did not wish Kate to go to the churchyard without me there to mourn her,” he said, “or if she and you were already in the ground I thought to pay the vicar to pray for your souls.”

“We are both safe,” I said. “I moved Kate and our goods to the castle, because there had already been other attempts to set fire to our house. I thought this would preserve it. Who would destroy it if I no longer lived under its roof?”

“Who indeed?”

“Some man who knew not we had changed our residence,” I replied. “Or someone so filled with malice that he would do me harm in any way he might.”

“Why would a man be so spiteful?”

I explained to Caxton the death of Thomas atte Bridge, and told him of the many folk in Bampton and the Weald he had harmed. Yes, and in Cote, also. I spoke of my belief that the attacks upon Galen House were an attempt to murder me and thus halt inquiry into atte Bridge’s death. I told him that my mind was to travel to Oxford this day and seek Sir Simon Trillowe’s squire, to learn, if I could, had the youth been absent from Oxford two nights past.

By the time Bruce ambled past St Andrew’s Chapel, Robert Caxton knew all. I wonder if he was now less pleased about his daughter’s choice of husband than he once seemed. If so, he spoke no word of it.

Kate was astonished to see her father, and nothing would do but to repeat his tale of the visitor – for customer he was not – who had told Caxton of our deaths. While he enlightened her I considered his account and came to a conclusion regarding the matter. I was very nearly correct.

“The man who burned Galen House is from Oxford,” I said when his report was done. “This is why he did not know we were abed in the castle when he set it alight. He did not desire vengeance, he wished to do murder.”

“And believes he has done so,” Kate added solemnly.

“Indeed.”

“Who is the man?” Caxton asked.

“I believe it must be Geoffrey Homersly. He resides in Oxford, had reason to murder Thomas atte Bridge, and is squire to Sir Simon Trillowe, who has little love for me or Kate.”

“How may this be proven?” Kate asked.

“When I set out for Oxford after dinner it was my thought to find Homersly and observe him as he goes about his day. He will accompany Sir Simon much of the day, but soon or late he will visit a stable where his horse is kept. A silver penny or two may persuade the keeper of the mews to say if Homersly’s horse was absent the night Galen House burned.”

“Perhaps it was this Homersly who visited my shop this morn?”

I thought at the time this was likely so.

“When the fellow told you of Galen House burning, was he pleased or sorrowful?”

“He was not distressed. Now I think back upon it, the report seemed agreeable to him.”

“I will seek Arthur and Uctred and tell them to make ready to leave again for Oxford in the morn. You may sleep in a guest chamber this night. We will sort out this business, and should the youth not wish to admit his felony, Arthur and Uctred are brawny and a scowl from them will persuade him to confess all.”

We broke our fast early next morn with a wheaten loaf, cheese, and ale, and before mid-day passed Osney Abbey and crossed the Thames at the Hythe Bridge. We stabled our horses at the Stag and Hounds. My father-in-law insisted he had room and enough above his shop for us all to sleep.

Arthur knew Sir Simon Trillowe. After a dinner of roasted capon at an inn on the Canditch I sent him and Uctred to prowl the streets and watch for the knight. If they found him they would follow to see where he dwelt, then report to me at the castle.

I set off for the castle. Sir Roger de Elmerugg, newly made Sheriff of Oxford, was a friend of Lord Gilbert and had been of good service in the matter of Master Wyclif’s stolen books.

T
he stone-walled passageways of Oxford Castle are familiar to me. I went unhindered to the clerk’s anteroom, where I found several other men waiting also to see Sir Roger. I introduced myself and my office and told the clerk I sought audience with the sheriff upon Lord Gilbert Talbot’s business. Although I, a mere bailiff, did not outrank the prosperous burghers who were before me, Lord Gilbert surely did. I hoped such announcement would gain me quick access to Sir Roger, and I needed but little of his time.

At the mention of Lord Gilbert the clerk, who until that moment seemed unimpressed of my appearance and office, became more alert. When I had done with my appeal he rose from behind his table, cracked open the door behind him, and in a low voice delivered my request.

I heard a chair scrape against the flags of the sheriff’s chamber and a moment later Sir Roger appeared in the narrow opening. His eyes were crinkled in a smile beneath his shaggy brows.

“Master Hugh. Lord Gilbert requires some service? Come in… come in.” He drew the door wide. “How may I serve Lord Gilbert?”

I caught a glimpse of unhappy scowls upon the faces of those who had awaited Sir Roger’s pleasure from before I entered the anteroom. My request would not take long, and when I entered his chamber I saw no other man there. Sir Roger was engaged in some business which prevented him hearing the pleas of his petitioners. It was not my request which restrained him from attending to their needs. I felt less guilty.

“Good to see you again, Master Hugh. Are you well?” Sir Roger clapped a meaty hand across my back as he pointed me to a chair. “Be seated… be seated. Is all well in Bampton? No, of course not. Foolish question. You would not seek me was it so.” The sheriff dropped his brick-like body into another chair, then continued. “How may I serve Lord Gilbert?”

I explained the cause of my visit, relating the death of Thomas atte Bridge, the destruction of Galen House, and my suspicion as to the felon who worked these evil deeds.

“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?”

“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.