skull. In this better light I could see that fragments of ligament and flesh held the mandible to the skull, and most of the vertebrae were yet connected. How long, I wondered, would it take for all flesh and connective tissue to dissolve? Would this happen slowly or quickly in a cesspit? Instinct told me that decomposition would occur rapidly in such a place, but I cannot verify this assumption. Such observations were not part of the curricula in Paris.
I assembled the bones, one by one, on the table. I had observed dissections and studied skeletons, so I could compare this human frame with others I had seen. I was more convinced than before that it was female. And young. The bones were small, and light. I visualized a young, delicate girl. Perhaps I romanticized. But I was right. More of that anon.
Would not the person who did such a murder expect the bones to be found? Perhaps not. Lord Gilbert was unusual in his sanitation habits, and then due mainly to the diligence of his wife. Most nobles, to the gratification of villeins to whom the task would fall, never evacuated their castle cesspits. Human remains in such a place might never be discovered. Bad luck, for someone.
There was another question. How did this young woman die? I peered at the bones again, all of them, turning them over, one by one, in my hands.
I nearly missed it — the scratch on the third rib — for traces of flesh and some skin remained on the bone. But I had no doubt of what I saw. A knife had glanced from that rib, and gouged out a fragment of bone as it passed on its way to her heart.
Who was she? Did she know her attacker? From where did she come to be here, in Bampton? Why should I care, or need to know?
Because someone was dead. Made in the image of God; a child of His. I felt bile rise from my stomach, and it was not because of the putrid flesh yet attached to the bone I held.
I walked south on Church View, turned right across Shill Brook, passed the mill, and entered Bampton Castle yard. Wilfred, Lord Gilbert’s porter (he whose horse had spooked in Oxford on the High Street some months before), greeted me at the gatehouse. He’d been promoted. Or perhaps Lord Gilbert thought he worked more effectively on foot.
“I would see Lord Gilbert. Tell him I have news of the bones.”
Wilfred was at his post at the gatehouse when the bones were found, so had not seen them as they were brought from the cesspit. But he knew of them. By dawn this day all the town would know. By the morrow Oxford would know — those who care about such things, or have nothing better to speak of.
Wilfred was a tall man, who could walk quickly without appearing to do so. Moments after he entered the inner gatehouse, he reappeared. “Lord Gilbert will see you,” he puffed, “in the solar. The chamberlain awaits you and will take you there.”
I told Lord Gilbert what I had learned. “You have no doubt of murder?” he queried.
“None. She was killed, and put in your cesspit to hide the crime.”
“Would it not have been easier,” Lord Gilbert wondered aloud, “for her slayer to have buried her in the country hereabouts? There is much uncultivated land now, since the plague. This place was once called Bampton in the Bush for its wild situation. The bushes are reclaiming what was once theirs, I have so few tenants and villeins to work the land.”
“I have considered that,” I replied. “Were I the killer, I would seek the easiest, most secure place to dispose of the body. Why would your castle be more convenient, or more secure than, let us say, the nearby forest?”
Lord Gilbert scratched the stubble on his chin. It was an affectation I had seen before when he was lost in thought. “Perhaps whoever did this evil was more familiar with my castle than with the surrounding country.”
“Perhaps,” I agreed.
“Or,” he scratched again, “she was killed here and to remove the body would risk discovery.”
“Do folk enter the castle grounds without someone, Wilfred or Arthur or John, or you, knowing of it?” I asked.
“No. Except, perhaps, at market time. The town is overrun at the Feast of the Assumption. We sometimes find folk wandering through the gate, usually so drunk they think themselves at the inn. And, of course, some poor reside in the forecourt huts.”
“But such as these,” I asked, “do not pass the inner gate?”
“Not any more! Wilfred is scrupulous about his duties, as well he might be. He fears yet I will put him in the fields for his defective horsemanship.” Lord Gilbert chuckled: “Wilfred will be a loyal servant for all that.”
“So if she was killed inside the castle, the deed was done by someone who did not arouse suspicion for being here.”
“I do not like to think of that,” Lord Gilbert admitted. “I fear she was done to death in my castle.”
“I agree.”
We remained silent with our thoughts for a moment, then Lord Gilbert put voice to my reflection.
“She was smuggled in, then?”
“Aye. But could that happen if she was unwilling?”
“If she was given a potion?” Lord Gilbert mused aloud.
“Possible. But would it be easier to enter the grounds with a supine body, or with one awake and alive?”
“I see your point,” Lord Gilbert attacked his chin once again. I began to fear he would draw blood. “Someone connived with this girl to get her past the porter.” He pursed his lips. “There is likely but one reason for that.”
“I think so,” I agreed. “An assignation gone wrong. Will you commission your bailiff to find the killer?”
“I cannot. He died the week after Rogation Sunday. I have not yet appointed his replacement. John expects to receive the position, but I mistrust his ability in that post.
“This death is a stain on my name,” he continued. “For such an evil to befall a lass under my roof! Master Hugh, I would have you search out the assassin.”
I was speechless. “But m’lord…I have no skill in such work. I do not seek out the unseen. I deal with things visible. I am but a surgeon, not even a physician.”
“Who brought the girl to my castle?” he asked. “John Holcutt, perhaps?”
“You think so?” I was surprised at the suggestion.
“No. The reeve is a good man. But do not even good men sometimes shelter malignant thoughts?”
“They do,” I agreed. “Even our Lord Jesus was tempted, as the apostle tells us.”
“May not evil thoughts become deeds if unchecked?” Lord Gilbert asked.
“They may.”
“Then you must seek out a murderer for me. We are agreed, I think, that one who frequents the castle has done this. I might choose that man, unwittingly, to seek out the murderer. I believe all my servants incapable of such a crime, yet I am certainly wrong.”
“I will do as you ask,” I sighed. “I held the girl’s bones in my hands and felt sorrow, and anger, too. Who was this lass? And what did she do to merit such a death? Did she laugh, and love? Was she a wife and mother? I think not, for I believe she was too young, but would she have become such? I would know the answers to these questions, as you would, m’lord. But I will tell you straight, I fear my ignorance of such probing as will be required will undermine my endeavor. And perhaps a clumsy question may give warning to the killer.”
“Perhaps. But I have observed you at your work this past month. It may be you underestimate your abilities. Where, then, will you begin?”
I thought for a moment: “I think the first work must be to discover who the victim is…was.”
“Sensible. How will you do this?”
“I must think on it. She was not from Bampton, you are certain of that?”
“Aye,” he nodded agreement, pulling again at his chin.
“My guess is that she came from a village close by. She did not arrive here alone, I think, and if she came from some great distance, why?”
“You will need a horse,” Lord Gilbert declared. “I will direct John to have the marshalsea keep a horse ready for you. Whenever you are free to visit another town in your search, call here for the beast. When will you begin?”
“Today,” I shrugged. “No one has done anything foolish or dangerous recently, so my skills are not presently required.”
“You could visit Aston, and Cote, today, and return before nightfall.”
“I know Aston,” I remarked. “A reasonable place to begin.”
