so for many weeks.”
“Aye…so you told ’em,” he nodded toward his companions. “But,” he continued, “if I do not my share of the work I’ll not have fare to last t’winter. Then me an’ my household may starve. I take a risk, whether I work, or no.”
I saw his point. Left to his choice, I think I would have done the same. “Do you suffer…from the wound?” I asked him.
“Aye,” he shrugged. “Now an’ again.”
“When?”
“If I turn me head, quick like, or bend to me feet, then rise…mostly times like that.”
“That’s to be expected. You feel no other constant affliction?”
“Aye…me left hand an’ leg is weak, like.”
“Let me have a look.” I approached and peered at the bandage I had wrapped about his head. The wound seemed to be healing well, with little oozing to discolor the fabric. “I must change the wrap in a week.”
“I’ll bring yer pay,” he muttered.
I considered the man’s station, and my own diminished supply of firewood, and struck a bargain. In a week’s time he would bring twopence worth of firewood to me, in payment of the portion of my fee still due. In concluding this agreement I nearly forgot my mission, but another of the woodmen cast his eyes toward the cotehardie I held in my left hand and returned me to my senses.
I held the garment out before me and asked if they’d seen anyone wearing it. They hadn’t. I thought an explanation in order, so told them of the discovery. I left them with the admonition to seek me if they found more clothing. I did not think it a promising possibility that they would do so. I thought it more reasonable that they would wear what they found, or sell it, be it beyond their station, like the cotehardie. As I took leave of them I caught, in the shadows, an exchange of glances which suggested they knew more about the blue cotehardie than they wished to divulge.
It was dark before I found Bruce, and sleet pelted my back before I left the animal at the castle and made my way back across Shill Brook to Galen House. I don’t remember my supper that night. Whatever it was, it was cold. I ate, and crawled into a cold bed, hoping the woodmen would not long delay delivering the promised firewood.
Chapter 7
Sleet turned to an early snow, heavy and wet, during the night. The gale from the north continued to rattle my shutters even after the thin light of dawn penetrated the cracks between them. I had carefully banked my fire the previous morning, but there was not a coal left to reignite the blaze, and little wood for fuel when I managed to start it anew. I hoped the woodman would soon resolve his debt.
I had in my larder the remains of a maslin loaf I had purchased from the baker two days before, the heel of a cheese, and a small keg of cider. Of such was my noon meal. This simple fare seemed a banquet, for this day was Sunday and I ate no breakfast, as was my custom. Other than attendance at mass, I spent the day reading my copy of the Gospel of St John, beside my meager fire. There was no archery practice to observe because of the miserable weather, and no other reason to venture out. The town was silent.
Wretched as the weather was, the next dawn I could no longer hesitate. I garbed myself in my heavy cloak and, the blue cotehardie over my shoulder, made my way to the castle. This journey was becoming tiresome, especially on such a wet, cold, gray morning. I could be sitting before my fire, such as it was, keeping warm, waiting for paying patients. Instead I prowled the country for Lord Gilbert, to his benefit, not mine.
No, I decided, that was not entirely correct. It was Lord Gilbert who gave me my position, and he charged little enough rent for my lodging. And justice — would that not benefit all of God’s creatures? It would, if I, or anyone, could deliver it.
I hesitated at the bridge over Shill Brook to consider these thoughts and admire the stream as it made its way down from the mill between snow-covered banks. There is beauty in even the harshest of things, although it is difficult to appreciate esthetics if one’s feet are wet with congealing slush, one’s stomach is nearly empty, and one’s back is bent under a heavy load — as was, I suspect, the case with the old man who crossed the bridge behind me, heading toward town and the market square under a large sack of something I expect he hoped to sell.
Wilfred greeted me with a puzzled expression, due, no doubt, to the elaborate cotehardie I had hanging from my shoulder. John was called, and the chamberlain took me to the solar. I was barely in time. I had heard hounds barking with excitement as I approached the castle. Lord Gilbert had guests, and was about to go hunting. If he and his friends succeeded, a stag would be added to the fare at their table this evening.
“What, then, Hugh? You have news?” Lord Gilbert spoke to me, but his attention was given to his chamberlain and sartorial preparations for the hunt.
“I found this yesterday.” I held the cotehardie before me. “Have you seen a gentleman wearing such a garment?”
Lord Gilbert peered over his shoulder, then, eyes wide, turned to me and grasped the cotehardie. “How came you by this?’ he asked as he inspected the stained fabric. I told him of the foraging hogs, and the accidental uncovering of the cotehardie.
“It is Sir Robert’s,” Lord Gilbert declared softly. “Some harm has come to him…as we feared. He would not have discarded this for the heat, or forgotten it in such a place as you describe.”
I agreed with his assessment, showed him the small slit in the front of the garment, and told him then of the woodcutters and my charge to them. “But I have other news as well, regarding Margaret…the girl found in your cesspit.”
“Ah…have you found a killer in our midst?”
“No. Not yet.” I told him of my interviews in Burford.
“Hmm. I believe the suitor the most likely assailant,” Lord Gilbert grunted. “He had cause and occasion.”
“This is so,” I agreed. “But this is little enough to hang a man.”
“Perhaps,” Lord Gilbert frowned.
“If we hold our peace,” I added, “some other fact which now escapes us may be introduced which will assure an accurate charge, either against Thomas Shilton, or another.”
Lord Gilbert scowled in my direction. “You suggest we do nothing, then?”
“I do…for now. Although there seem to be grounds for suspecting Thomas, I do not wish to be party to a trial on such tenuous evidence.”
“You think the fellow guilty?” Lord Gilbert challenged.
“I am of two minds. The circumstances point to him above others, but I have met him, and cannot view him as capable of such as was done to the smith’s daughter.”
“Perhaps you are too trusting.”
“Perhaps. But I view that as a better fault than being too cynical.”
“Hmm. Perhaps. You have done well. I will trust your judgment in the matter. But what,” he held out the cotehardie, “of this?”
I suggested he dispatch men to search the woods where I found the cotehardie.
“I shall go. The hunt can wait.”
“What of your guests?”
“They may come, as well. Sir John knew Sir Robert…although I cannot say they were friends. He may find this quest an interesting diversion from pursuit of a stag.”
Lord Gilbert commanded, and it was done. A short time later four horses and twelve men gathered at the gatehouse. I was pleased to see Bruce among the horses. His presence meant, I presumed, that I would not walk. I am no aristocrat, but I would not go to the search afoot with the commons.
Among the villeins and tenants gathered for the search, I recognized Alfred. He touched his hat and bowed as if I were a duke.
“How do you do?” I asked. “Are you well?”
“Oh…aye. I can do a day’s work well as any man. Though, mind you, ’tis well I’ll walk today.” He nodded
