Had they succeeded, this house would hold no gold or silver for me to find. No, John Thrale had died rather than give up his secret. And what was this secret? I understood some small part of the reason for the chapman’s death, but there was more to know.
The day was near gone and little light now entered through the cracks between the ill-fitting shutters. Only the cresset gave illumination to the chamber. I took the three leather pouches from the larger chest, then locked it and replaced the key in the iron pot.
I then set in order the bed and its covering. When all was as it had been I departed the house with the three sacks, locked the door, replaced the key under the manure and straw, then set off for the marketplace and the New Inn. It was near time for curfew, and dark enough on the streets that the three pouches were invisible against my brown cotehardie.
I slept fitfully that night. You would have also with ten or twelve pounds’ worth of gold and silver under your pillow, and a half-dozen other fellows snoring in the shared chamber. I was pleased when dawn showed through the cracks in the shutters, and I was able to rise and see to Bruce’s preparation for returning to Bampton.
I fixed the three pouches to a belt under my cotehardie. This caused me to appear a trencherman, but seated upon Bruce, the effect was diminished and I was reassured that no man would guess the wealth I carried. I would return to Abingdon to seek John Thrale’s sisters, but I was not prepared to leave the chapman’s hidden wealth either at his house or at the inn while I searched for his family.
I drew Bruce to a halt before Galen House just past midday. The old horse would have continued down Bridge Street, to the castle and his stall, so I was required to yank firmly upon the reins to turn him into Church View Street. Perhaps no harm would have been done had I gone first to the castle, then walked home with the three sacks. Or perhaps I might have left the bags with John Chamberlain, but I felt uneasy about doing so, for no reason I can now explain.
So I entered my house with three sacks of silver and gold, much to Kate’s surprise, and took a moment to tell her how I came by such riches before I placed the pouches in my chest.
Kate was not much pleased when I told her that I had planned to return to Abingdon again on the morrow. Bruce would likely be unhappy about it as well. The old beast often seemed pleased to set out upon a journey, but was happiest when he entered the castle forecourt and knew a stall and bucket of oats awaited him. I was not enthusiastic about the journey myself. Had you spent a night amongst the snoring residents of the abbey’s New Inn, you would understand. But a man was dead, murdered upon Lord Gilbert’s land, and it was my duty to seek those who slew him, and return his possessions to his heirs, could they be found.
Chapter 3
Next day was Friday, so when I arrived at the New Inn there was no roasted capon for my dinner, but boiled stockfish. The fish had been poorly salted, or had been too long in the barrel, for no matter how hot the pot from which it was drawn, it stank of age. I could manage but a few bites, then completed my meal with two maslin loaves which, unlike the fish, seemed fresh.
I sought again the haberdasher who had supplied John Thrale with some of his wares, and questioned the fellow about the chapman. He knew of Thrale’s sisters, but knew not of their abode. One, he thought, had wed a cobbler of some nearby town, but he could not remember that the chapman had ever named the place. The other sister lived nearby, he thought, perhaps in Abingdon, but he could not say of a surety. He thought their names were Julianna and Edith, but which lived near and which had wed a cobbler he knew not.
This information was not of much use, but was more than I had known when I picked at my stockfish. I next walked to East St. Helen Street, intending to again visit the pepperer’s wife, to see if the two names might spur her memory. She answered my knock upon her door readily, probably assuming a customer, with her infant yet propped upon her ample hip. I saw recognition in her eyes. “You again?” she said.
“I have learned that John Thrale indeed had two sisters,” I began. “Julianna and Edith. Do you remember him speaking of them? Where they might reside? His goods should be surrendered to them.”
“Why would you need to know? He’s nothing left now for any kin, but for the house. You said ’e was murdered for ’is goods.”
“Not so. The goods found in his cart are safe in Bampton Castle. And some possessions are in his house.”
“No more. The night after you was last here two men entered John’s house. My Alfred heard ’em in the toft, long past curfew. He thought to stop ’em, but saw there was two of them and but one of ’im, so come back to bed. Went out come morn yesterday an’ saw they’d broke into the place.”
“What was taken? Could your husband see in the night what they were about?”
“Nay, an’ didn’t stay to watch.”
“Did he or any other inspect the house after the men had gone?”
“Nay. But them fellows come back the next day. Thought one was you. Tall, skinny fellow with, beggin’ your pardon, a big nose.”
“For what did they return?”
“Didn’t find whatever they sought, I suppose. Asked of John, if he had kin nearby, just like you, an’ wanted to know had ’e left goods with us for safekeeping. I told ’em, ‘Nay,’ on both counts, an’ they went to every house on the street. Askin’ the same questions, I’d guess.”
“You can describe the men?”
“Oh, aye. Like I said, one was as tall as you an’ slender, an’ wore a beard trimmed short, like you. The other was not so tall, an’ had more belly than a man ought. His beard needed trimming.”
“What of their clothing?
“The tall one wore a brown cotehardie, much like yours, an’ the fat one wore grey.”
“What color was their hair?”
“Brown, both of ’em.”
“Of what color were their caps?”
“Tall one wore red, the other wore blue.”
I was about to thank the woman for her assistance when she added, “Told ’em another had been here day before, seekin’ the same knowledge.”
“What did they say when you told them this?”
“Asked who ’twas. Told ’em I knew not, that ’twas some bailiff where John was found murdered.”
Here was a distressing announcement. If the two who had entered John Thrale’s house were the men who had murdered him, they knew who it was who sought them, and if they knew of and coveted the gold and silver from his chest, they now knew where it might be if it was not found in Thrale’s house. But of these villains I knew nothing but a description which might match a quarter of the men of Oxfordshire. I began to wish I had taken the three pouches to John Chamberlain in the castle for safekeeping.
I went to three other houses on East St. Helen Street to learn if any resident knew of Edith or Julianna. Only one resident had heard their names, and did not know more of them.
Before I returned to the New Inn I decided to see what damage was done to the chapman’s house. I walked behind the place and saw that the shutters had been torn from the single small window which looked out upon the toft. The oiled skin which had closed the window to the chill October nights was ripped asunder. Likely the two men climbed in through the torn window.
I sought the shed, and with the rake tested the filthy straw until I found the key, where I had returned it two days past. Here was evidence that my assumption was correct, for thieves would not trouble themselves to replace a key, and had they found it they would not have awakened a neighbor by forcing entry to Thrale’s house.