importance.
Lord Gilbert appeared at the door to the solar a few minutes later. He seemed a bit unsteady and quite jovial.
“What? Master Hugh! You will not join us?”
“I thank you, m’lord, but I wished to be about other business this night.”
“Business? What business? It’s Christmas; a time for pleasure, not business.”
“Yes, and so this day has been…”
“It has, indeed,” he interrupted.
“But I wished to be about some tasks I owe you before the day passes.”
“Eh? What work do you owe me which cannot wait until the morrow?”
“I wish for you to look at a horse, then I will tell you.”
“A horse? Where? When?”
“Here, in the marshalsea…and now, if you will.”
“Is a horse of mine ill? Surely the farrier will deal with it?”
“No, not that. I would have you view a horse belonging to the acrobats. To learn if you have seen it before.”
Lord Gilbert, like most of his class, considered himself a judge of horses, hounds, and falcons, and in his case there was justification for his attitude. He gave as much attention to a fine horse as to a fair lass.
He followed me, a bit unsteadily, across the muddy yard to the marshalsea. I led him to the stall containing the wrestler’s fine beast. The horse had withdrawn to a far corner of the stall, but when we stopped before the door he moved to face us. Perhaps he expected a carrot, or a measure of oats.
“Should I have seen this animal before?” Lord Gilbert asked. “’Tis an uncommon fine one, for such as have it, don’t you think?”
I agreed. I did not wish to sow a seed of suspicion in Lord Gilbert which might grow to a plant with bitter fruit, so I did not voice the apprehension I felt about the horse’s history.
Lord Gilbert opened the stall door and approached the animal. He inspected the white blaze down its forehead, then bent to the left foreleg and hoof, also white.
“A fine beast. But, you ask, have I seen it before? I cannot say with a surety. I think I may have done. What is your interest in this horse, Master Hugh?”
“I would not like to say yet…only to know if you have seen the animal before.”
I feared that, in his condition, Lord Gilbert might not remember well. Or that he might recall that which never occurred. There was much good wine in the solar this night, I felt certain.
“I have,” he said finally, and with some conviction. “The blaze and hoof I know. This is Sir Robert Mallory’s horse, or its twin.”
The wine-induced haze which had afflicted him seemed abruptly gone. Lord Gilbert’s eye was sharp and his speech suddenly clear. “These jugglers and acrobats know something of Sir Robert. Perhaps they came on his murder and drove off the thieves.”
“Perhaps,” I agreed.
“Ah…yes…” Lord Gilbert continued, pulling on his chin, an arm draped over the stall door, “I see how it might have happened. The thieves attacking Sir Robert suddenly found themselves outnumbered and ran off. These jongleurs found themselves in possession of the field, and so, poor men that they are, seized the spoil.
“But,” he continued, “if so be it happened that way, who buried poor Sir Robert and his squire?” Lord Gilbert answered his own question. “Thieves would not return to do so. The wrestler’s men must have done it. They surely believed the taking of dead men’s goods to be criminal, and wished to avoid discovery. What think you, Master Hugh? Mayhap the affair followed that course?”
“Perhaps,” I agreed. “But it would be well not to speak of this to anyone. I wish to question their leader, the wrestler, more closely on this matter. I would not have him aware of our suspicion and so prepare a fable to divert our pursuit of truth.
“I believe,” I continued, “that the troupe might be persuaded to remain here another day. The wrestler told me they have no appointment. They will go to Gloucester to seek profit in the market there. Direct your chamberlain to retain them for another performance for St Stephen’s Day. Offer them good pay and I’m certain the troupe will stay.”
“You are free with my money, Master Hugh. But I will do it. One day will be enough to get to the truth of the matter, you think?”
“If I seek truth properly, with true questions, one hour will suffice. If I do not, the next year will not be time enough.”
“Then, Master Hugh, think carefully how you will proceed. I will send the chamberlain to do as you ask.”
“Direct him to do so now, and report the wrestler’s answer to me this night. I will await his tidings in my chamber.”
“Very well. Good night, then, Master Hugh. And may the saints attend you on the morrow.”
I lit a candle from coals in my chamber fireplace and waited for news from the chamberlain. The wrestler must have accepted Lord Gilbert’s offer readily, for the chamberlain rapped at my door but half an hour later with word that the troupe would be pleased to perform again on St Stephen’s Day.
Lord Gilbert was firm that those in his household observe the liturgical hours. So I arose before the first hour, while it was yet dark — though a faint glow above the eastern forest showed that day was not far off — washed myself, and made my way to the chapel. Phillip, the chaplain, and Ralph, the clerk, were already at their preparations for matins, and others of the household filed sleepily in after me, with much yawning and staring at the candle flames. The Christmas festivities, I guessed, went on late into the night. Lady Joan and Sir Charles de Burgh contrived to enter the chapel together, though how this adroit timing was managed I know not.
Lady Joan’s arrival, and her greeting, distracted me. I did not attend the liturgy of the mass, may God forgive me. Soon, however, my mind wandered from Lady Joan, who was again in occasional dialog with Sir Charles, to the entertainers I must deal with this day. I resolved to seek out some member of the troupe other than their leader for my first questions.
The knife-thrower was a young man, or so he appeared. He was short and solid of body, with muscular arms and wrists. On observation of his build and skills, I would not wish to be one to quarrel with him, even without his daggers. He wore a pale green cotehardie and I found him readily when I approached the tents where he and his cohorts had spent a chilly night.
The knife-thrower had erected two planks against the castle wall and was about to practice his craft when I approached. A human figure was carved on the boards, and the youth began to throw his knives at the fringes of the outlined body. He saw me approach, but continued to hurl his blades until he had surrounded the effigy with eight daggers.
“Do you ever miss?” I asked him.
“Nay,” he replied, and strode to the planks to retrieve his weapons.
“The girl who is your target, did she require much persuading to serve you so?”
The youth turned to me and smiled. “Some, but we showed her what I could do, and offered fair pay…a poor lass will do more than that for a silver penny.”
He said this as he walked back to his mark and prepared to toss the knives again.
“If you chose to pierce a man’s heart, I suppose you could aim to strike as well as miss?”
The youth said nothing, but threw his first weapon with some vehemence. The blade stuck and vibrated squarely in the center of the outlined form.
“I am Hugh,” I said, “surgeon to Lord Gilbert on his estate in Bampton.” I extended my hand. The youth took it and replied, “I am Walter.” He grinned, “surgeon to any who step foolishly before me.”
“Hah. Just so. I shall heed where I place my foot. Have you traveled long with the troupe?”
“All my days,” he answered. “I was born to the life.”
“Your parents are among the entertainers?”
“Aye,” he answered. “The wrestler, Hamo Tanner, is my father.”
“Ah, I see. It was your sister, then, who ran off with her lad when you were at Bampton.”
At this Walter Tanner started and stepped back from his mark. “’Tis common knowledge at Bampton,” I continued, “that she did so.”
