“If it was the Devil, then he certainly flies high. The wall behind which you were standing is at least twice the height of a tall man and you were only a couple of steps away from its shelter.” William pondered what he had just said. “Who knew you were going there this morning?”
“No one except my servant,” Bascot replied. “I have questioned him. He did not tell anyone where I was.”
“He is mute, is he not?” William asked.
“Yes, but he can make himself understood by gestures for simple communications. For anything of greater import, I have taught him the rudiments of his letters and, if need be, he can write down what he wishes to impart and show it to someone who is literate. But he assures me that no one spoke to him from the time I left until I returned. He stayed in our chamber, later got some food from the kitchen and returned to our room to eat it. It was there I found him when I got back.”
“Then, if this arrow shot was not chance, someone must have been watching you, seen you enter the forest and followed you to the spot,” William mused.
“Or have already been in the woodland when I arrived,” Bascot replied.
“You say you found traces that Hubert may have been attacked there, then taken to be hanged from the oak?” It was the first time that Gerard Camville had spoken. His voice was harsh.
“I believe so, yes,” Bascot replied.
“Then it may be that you found something you were not meant to discover.” He turned away to pace again. “If this is the work of those villagers, they will hang for it. And higher than they hanged my brother’s squire.”
“If de Marins has found out something important enough to be a threat to the murderer, what is it?” Nicolaa said in a voice that was calm by contrast to her husband’s. “You are sure there was nothing else to be found?”
William answered the question. “No, there was not. We scoured the ground all around for some distance into the forest. No tracks, no disturbances, nothing.”
“Well, it is a certainty that it was not an outlaw that fired the arrow at de Marins, for none would have dared to come so close with a hunting party in the woods. So it seems we must look for someone other than a brigand as the culprit. And it also appears the attempt on your life must be linked to the death of the squire in some way. If, as my husband says, you were not meant to discover those marks by the old lodge, what do they signify? It seems to matter little that Hubert was attacked and rendered unconscious in one place but finally killed in another.”
“Perhaps the murderer was disturbed in his act,” Bascot mused, “and had need to move away from the area. If the boy were partially strangled, it would be easy to smother him in such a state. Then it would be possible for the one deed to be done early in the evening and to hide him before hanging him some hours later. That would provide a reason for my finding the tracks to be incriminating.”
“In what way?” William asked.
“I don’t know,” Bascot admitted. “I don’t even know if I am right.”
The group fell silent. Gerard refilled his wine cup from a flagon standing near the hearth then offered it to his brother. William shook his head in refusal.
Finally Nicolaa spoke. “However distasteful, what we must consider is that the person who loosed that arrow at Bascot could have been one of your hunting party, Gerard. The arrow had the mark of our own castle fletcher on it. All those engaged in the hunt used his arrows.”
Her husband grunted but he let her go on. “According to what you and William have told me, all was confusion once the stag was sighted, your party splitting into two, some staying with you to bring down the boar, the others following William after the deer. Any of the men that were with either group could have slipped away, circled around the lodge and fired at Bascot, then rejoined whichever company was nearest.”
Bascot shook his head. “No, lady. All of the hunters were ahead of me when I left the bailey. I followed in their wake. None would have known of my presence in the wood. They had all left before me.”
“No, de Marins, all did not,” Nicolaa said quietly.
Bascot’s head came up sharply and he saw looks of discomfiture on the faces of the two brothers as Nicolaa went on, “My sister’s husband, Richard de Humez, left after you, along with Alain and Renault. They were late rising and caught up with the main party a short time later. From what you say they must have been only a small way behind you, may even have seen you mount your horse and ride through the gate on their way to the stables.”
“It couldn’t have been de Humez,” William said abruptly. “He was behind me when we came into the clearing, went past me on the chase for the stag.”
“Was he with you when you left Gerard?” Nicolaa asked.
William thought for a moment. “I’m not sure. He must have been.”
“Did you see him just before you reached the place where the old lodge stands?” Nicolaa persisted. “Or before that, as you rode after the stag?”
“God forfend, Nicolaa, you know how it is in a hunt,” William expostulated. “You are keeping your eye on the dogs and the quarry, not looking to see what a rider behind you may or may not be doing.” He banged his wine cup down on the table. “I do not like de Humez, but it will be a sorry day for your family, and mine, if he is found to be implicated in this crime.”
“He may not be, William. It may have been one of your squires instead. Would you rather the shadow of guilt was cast on your own household?”
The sheriff’s brother gave a groan at Nicolaa’s words and he rubbed his hand across his brow in exasperation. “By your reasoning, I myself could have loosed the arrow. Or any of the others engaged in the hunt. I did not hear de Humez or either of my squires mention they had seen de Marins on his way into the woods earlier that morning, but they could have done so, to any one of us, or just in general conversation.”
“What you say is true, William,” Nicolaa replied. “And we have a scant few days before King John arrives to learn the truth of this matter. We must try, in that short time, to discover what is at the back of this boy’s death and if it is something that might threaten the king, even if that threat comes from someone within our own households.”
She turned to Bascot. “De Marins, where before I told you to be discreet and take your time, we must now have you investigate in the open and with haste.” She looked up at her husband. “Do you agree, Gerard?”
The sheriff nodded, the thin line of his mouth compressed with distaste. Nicolaa stood up. “The boy’s uncle should arrive either today or tomorrow. Question him, de Marins-find out if he has any knowledge of his nephew being privy to a plot against the king. And question Alain and Renault again-see if they told anyone that you were in the forest ahead of them.” She glanced once again at her husband. “I will speak to de Humez.”
Bascot got up from the stool on which he had been sitting and went to the door. As he reached to open it, Gerard Camville spoke behind him. “Let us pray for God to be kind. It may still be that it was outlaws who killed the boy. If that is found to be the answer I will be pleased.”
As he shut the heavy door behind him Bascot was not sure if the sheriff’s last words had contained an expression of hope, or a threat.
Eleven
The next day the weather remained clear and cold. After the morning meal was served and eaten, a small party left the castle bail by the east gate and crossed the old Roman road of Ermine Street and entered the grounds in which the cathedral stood. Alinor had decided that a visit there would please her little brother, Baldwin, and she had asked Alys to accompany them with Alain and Hugo as escort. At the last moment, Alain had been called to attend William Camville and Renault had offered his company in his stead. As they were leaving, the page Osbert, who had taken a liking to Baldwin, asked if he could go with them. The girls had agreed and, with Baldwin seated on a small pony so that the short journey should not tire him, they had set off.
Baldwin was excited at the outing. It was not often he was well enough for more than a simple stroll in the orchard behind the fortified manor house, which Richard de Humez favoured as his primary residence, and he had begged his father to be allowed to come to Lincoln, excited at the prospect not only of seeing the king, but of visiting the cathedral. The nature of his illness, which seemed mostly to be a shortness of breath that made him weak, had caused him to be of a studious bent. He was also very devout, an instinct perhaps born of the dim realisation that it could be possible his illness would not allow him to live long enough to make old bones. With his
