“Oh, he is not known to you as a poacher, but you do know of him.”
“Who is’t?” Richard demanded.
I was not required to answer. Walter bolted past me through the door and disappeared into the gatehouse. Gerard and Richard were too stunned to do anything but blink wide-eyed at me and each other, but I recovered my wits and shouted through the door for Wilfred to stop the fleeing Walter.
I was too late. I flung myself to the door but Richard arrived there first. Wilfred stood agape as we scrambled from the anteroom. I ran under the portcullis just in time to see Walter dodging through the castle forecourt and those who had business there.
I hesitated, but Richard did not. His flying feet raised puffs of dust as he pursued his brother. Gerard stumbled up beside me and we watched as Walter fled west on Mill Street toward the forest and Alvescot. I recovered my wits and shouted for Wilfred and his assistant to give chase also. Soon four men were pounding down Mill Street between meadow and plowland toward the wood. Walter disappeared into the forest with Richard but a few strides behind.
Gerard set off across the forecourt as rapidly as he could. His limp was pronounced when he hurried. Before Gerard reached Mill Street the sound of distant shouting and conflict came from the forest. At that moment Wilfred and his assistant vanished into the trees. And then the sound of struggle ceased. Silence filled the forecourt as those who had business there and at the castle looked from me to the forest and back. The only sound was Gerard’s dragging left foot as he hobbled toward Mill Street.
As the verderer reached the street four figures emerged on the road from the wood. Richard had a firm grasp on his brother’s right arm, which even from 300 or so paces I could see he had twisted high behind Walter’s back. Wilfred marched along on Walter’s left, one hand at the malefactor’s collar, the other grasping his left arm. Wilfred’s assistant strode behind the three. In his hands he carried a downed limb which he waved threateningly over Walter’s bowed head.
Gerard approached his son and as I watched, without breaking his halting stride, he swung his right fist firmly against Walter’s jaw. I could not hear the blow strike, but saw its result clear enough. The old verderer might have a weakness in his left arm, but there was no fault in his right hand. And many years of swinging axe and adze had toughened the man. Walter dropped to his knees like a poleaxed ox. Had not Wilfred and Richard held him aright I think the blow would have laid Walter face down in the road.
Richard released Walter’s arm, leaving Wilfred to help Walter regain his feet. I was too far away to hear, but wild gesticulation indicated that Richard and his father were in animate conversation. I think Gerard would have thumped Walter again had not Richard placed himself between the two.
This lively discourse seemed eventually to cool. Gerard stomped off toward the castle and Richard once again took his brother’s arm. Walter seemed sufficiently recovered to put a foot in front of another. Slowly the party set off for the castle in Gerard’s wake. As they drew near I saw a trickle of blood at the corner of Walter’s mouth. I wondered if the punishment meted to him at hallmote would equal that he would receive from his father.
Gerard was surely frantic that, because of his son, he would lose his place as Lord Gilbert’s verderer. And perhaps he should have given better oversight to forest and family. But he had, so far as I knew, always done faithful service to Lord Gilbert. That would surely weigh in his favor. Lord Gilbert would return to Bampton in a fortnight. Gerard’s future would be his decision, not mine.
Uctred and the porter’s assistant dragged Walter off to join Thomas in his cell, while Gerard apologized noisily for his son’s behavior. I thought the man might throw himself on the ground and kiss my feet, so voluble were his protests of innocence and regret.
I was eventually able to convince the verderer that I held no grudge against him or Richard. With somewhat dazed expressions on their faces, they went home.
Thomas and Walter enjoyed one another’s company in the dungeon for two months, until Michaelmas. At hallmote they were fined six pence each for poaching Lord Gilbert’s deer. There were, I feel certain, men on the jury who felt some sympathy for them, and who would, perhaps, have taken a deer or two themselves had they thought they might escape discovery.
But for Thomas’ blows against my skull there was less sympathy. He was fined an additional six pence and required to provide another to pledge for him until it was paid. To me. So I received two pence for each lump on my head. Not a bargain I wish to repeat. And he was made to stand in the stocks at the edge of the marketplace for a day while children laughed at him and adolescents threw rubbish when they thought no one would see. And sometimes when others did see.
John Kellet lost his place at St Andrew’s Chapel. ’Twas as I suspected: he was sent on pilgrimage, to Compostella, there to seek absolution. The bishop demanded of him that he leave the realm with no coin, and live as a mendicant while on pilgrimage. He has not yet returned. When he does he is to retire to the Priory of St Nicholas in Exeter, there to live out his days as servant to the Almoner. The pilgrimage to Spain is long and surely difficult. Perhaps he will not survive the journey. One who so betrays his vocation surely deserves whatever evil may befall him.
Thomas de Bowlegh has assured me that the Prior of St Nicholas is a stern man. Good. If the walk to Spain does not thin the fat priest, perhaps life in the priory will.
There is always the chance that King Edward will find cause for war with France. Kellet’s skill with a bow may help him escape the priory. Then he might find himself in battle with the French. Perhaps some Genoese crossbowman will take aim at him. Between pilgrimage and war God will have many opportunities to do justice and take John Kellet from this world to the next for judgment. I pray he does so soon.
The day after hallmote I bid Lord Gilbert farewell, retrieved Bruce from the marshalsea, and set off for a visit to Oxford. I needed more parchments and a pot of ink. And I had promised Master John to tell him of the resolution of this tale when I might. But you may guess that above all I wished to see Kate Caxton again.
I might have enjoyed Bruce’s languid gait had I not been in a fever to see the lass. Swineherds drove pigs into the autumn wood for pannaging as I passed. And wheat stubble, now the harvest was finished, was being gathered to mix with hay for winter fodder.
I berated myself as I rode that day that I had not found excuse to visit the stationer and his daughter sooner. Oxford was full to bursting with burghers’ sons and bachelor lawyers. They would be drawn to Kate like the swineherd’s hogs to acorns. A poor metaphor. Well, reader, you will grasp my meaning.
Bruce clattered across the Oxpens Road Bridge and the bustle and smells of Oxford returned to me. How is it that when I return to the town after some time away I am always pleased to do so? But after a few days, when I take leave and return to Bampton, I am likewise pleased to leave the clamor and odors behind.
I left Bruce at the Stag and Hounds and set off toward Holywell Street and Caxton’s shop. Each step brought me closer to Kate, and also more apprehension of what I might find there. I reproved my lack of romantic effort and considered days in the summer now past when I might have found excuse to visit Oxford. I have often prayed that God would exert Himself and provide for me a good wife. Perhaps He had done so and left the conclusion of the task to me. As I strode down the curve of Holywell Street and the stationer’s shop came into view I resolved to end my laxity — was I not too late.
The stationer looked up from his desk as I entered. I greeted him and asked of his injured back while casting about through the corners of my eyes for Kate. She was not present, and my heart sank.
Caxton was no fool. He saw that, while my greeting was for him, my interest lay elsewhere.
“Kate,” he shouted through the door to the workroom. “Master Hugh has come.”
I was much relieved. I heard the rustle of a long cotehardie from through the open door and a heartbeat later Kate appeared. She gave the appearance of having hurried from her task to the door, but once there remembered decorum and walked toward me with dignified mien. Actually, a heartbeat was quite a long time, for mine skipped several beats when she appeared. Neither of us spoke for a moment.
“Master Hugh,” she exclaimed. “I thought you had forgot us.”
“Ah, Miss Caxton, I have an excellent memory…and even had I not, it is unlikely I could forget you.”
The girl blushed.
I saw from the corner of my eye Robert Caxton return to his desk and busy himself there. As Kate drew near she came between her father and me. I looked past her and was relieved to see a smile at the corner of his lips, rather than a scowl across his brow.
We made small talk for some time before I announced that I had come for parchment and a pot of ink.
“Do you return to Bampton this day?” Caxton asked.
