And I think a bailiff should be one of higher rank, not drawn from tenants or villeins. The younger son of a knight, or from the gentry, perhaps, would serve.”
Lord Gilbert had gone to pulling his chin as he spoke. I made no reply, for I feared the direction his words were taking.
“To be brief, Hugh, I would have you serve here as my bailiff.” To my raised hand and unvoiced but imminent objection he continued, “No…no…hear me out. You are performing some of the duties of a bailiff already, seeking miscreants in my lands. The townfolk admire you for your service to them. You can continue to perform that duty. John dislikes his position as reeve, which makes him a good man for that work. He will not begrudge me passing over him for bailiff. To the contrary, I think he will be relieved.”
“But I know little of managing a manor,” I protested.
“You grew up on one, where you observed your father. Did he administer well?”
“He did.”
“Then do as you remember him doing, and I will be content. You may safely leave direction of fields and meadows to John. And the tenants here make sensible decisions at bylaw. My steward will preside at hallmote. You need only enforce the decisions of bylaw and hallmote.”
“And collect rents and enforce week-work. I will be the most unpopular man in Bampton.”
“Perhaps. But if you set a child’s broken arm, his father is not likely to deny his half-virgate of week-work on my demesne.”
“I should dislike using my competency to enforce a man’s obligation.”
“He has the obligation whether you serve him or not,” Lord Gilbert replied. “I prefer a bailiff who can persuade my villeins and tenants to their duty rather than compel them. And I will make the service worth your while. Thirty shillings a year…no, thirty-two. And you will live in the castle, of course. You will dine at my table, and have a room there, off the hall.”
When I made no immediate reply, Lord Gilbert continued, “You force a hard bargain. I see you are the man for the job. I will also give you Bruce, or any horse in the marshalsea but for my dexter or the palfreys Lady Petronilla and Lady Joan employ. And a fur coat.” Winter was upon us and Lord Gilbert could see the frayed condition of my cloak and the newly ripped seam. “You will have fodder for Bruce from my stable, and twopence yearly for Christmas oblation.”
When again I did not immediately respond to this demonstration of largesse, Lord Gilbert interpreted my hesitation as a demand for more. “All right, then…thirty-four shillings each year, but not a penny more. That’s my limit.”
“It is not your generosity which troubles me,” I answered. “It is my fitness to serve.”
“I am a better judge of that than you, I think. Serve me one year. If either of us thinks the bargain a mistake, next year at Michaelmas we will conclude the arrangement. You can go back to being surgeon. I will hold Galen House untenanted for you until then.”
With much misgiving I accepted the post.
“Excellent. Now, tell me, what will you do to seek out Sir Robert’s killers?”
“I am lost for direction,” I admitted. “But I think two things must be done first; I will visit his manor at Northleech to learn of his friends and enemies.”
“And the second?” Lord Gilbert asked.
“When we found the squire, he wore no cotehardie. But a search of the forest yielded no other discarded garment.”
“You have lost me,” he acknowledged.
“Where is the cotehardie? Not abandoned in the forest, or we or the foresters would have found it, I think. It was not in the grave nor on the corpse.”
“You think it was taken, with Sir Robert’s purse?” Lord Gilbert mused.
“I do. What do you remember of the squire’s dress?”
Lord Gilbert was of no help at all. He could remember the gait of a fine horse or the coloring of a bulldog, but another man’s clothing made as much impression on him as his chaplain’s sermons. Well, as he grows older arthritis will remind him of mortality and he will attend a sermon more thoughtfully. But he will never give attention to wool or silk unless it adorns a shapely female. He and I, I admit, are much alike.
“Come to the castle with me. The women will know, and I must announce your new duties.”
The women did know. The squire’s cotehardie was green; not a brilliant green, but somewhat faded. It was not a cast-off from some gentleman of greater wealth, for its cut was plain and it boasted no ornamentation.
“Greet my new bailiff,” Lord Gilbert announced when the cotehardie was identified.
I cannot well remember the conversation which followed; nearness to Lady Joan often had that effect on my memory. But it revolved around good wishes from both ladies, and plans for improving the apartment off the hall which would be my home; for the next ten months, anyway. The women left us, making animated schemes for my chamber as they departed.
“How far beyond Burford is Northleech?” I asked Lord Gilbert.
“Umm…twelve, perhaps fifteen miles.”
“Too much for Bruce in one day, I think.”
“Aye,” he agreed. “A halt at the inn in Burford would be called for.”
Two or three nights at vermin-infested village inns did not provoke joyous thoughts, but I could see no other way to discover the information I required.
“Sir Robert’s father is Sir Geoffrey Mallory,” Lord Gilbert continued. “When you see him, tell him I travel to Goodrich in a fortnight. I will bring with me the bodies so they may be buried there.”
“Lady Joan and Lady Petronilla will not relish the company on that journey,” I observed.
“Lady Joan,” Lord Gilbert observed with a frown, “did not relish Sir Robert’s company when he was alive, so I think his present state will cause little distress.”
“Oh…I thought…”
“You and most others, I suppose. I thought so as well…but she would not have him.”
“Your sister is a particular woman?” I asked.
“Hah! You are a tactful man when you choose to be, Master Hugh. I see I have chosen well for my bailiff. Yes, particular, that would describe Lady Joan. And, I am sorry to say, Sir Robert’s reputation preceded his suit.”
“What reputation had he?” I asked, for I knew nothing of the man but his death.
“It was said no man’s wife or daughter was safe within his reach.”
“But you would have married Joan to him,” I protested.
“Perhaps he would have changed. If Joan could not keep a man from wandering, no woman could,” he observed.
“I have heard it said that a woman marries a man believing he will change, but he does not, and a man marries a woman believing she will not change, but she does,” I remarked.
My words set Lord Gilbert to tugging at his chin again. “Hmm…well…yes, perhaps.”
“Now Sir John is a suitor?” I asked.
“Is, or was, I know not. I am not informed of recent developments. I have told my sister that she must soon choose. Her beauty will not last forever. I do not wish her to become my spinster responsibility.”
“So even such a one as Sir Robert was preferable to that fate?”
“He was, Master Hugh, he was.”
I saw a man, a youth, and a bundle of poles before my door when I returned to Galen House. The man I recognized as one of the woodcutters. My broken-headed patient had paid his debt with a great stack of arm-sized poles I no longer needed. But I knew someone who did. I directed the man to take as much of the wood as he could manage to Henry atte Bridge’s hut. I could send a valet from the castle for the rest. I was already beginning to like the idea of being bailiff, directing others to do work I wished done.
The youth at my door was a stranger to me, come to ask my assistance in some injury, I assumed. He asked if I was the surgeon, Master Hugh, so you may understand my error.
He introduced himself and stated his mission: he was Ralph, from Burford, and had a message from Edith Church. She had recent information I might find useful. I would, she had informed the boy, be happy to pay him for his effort to bring to me this news. I gave him three farthings, which did not cause him a surfeit of joy. I might soon
