I saw Roger reach out a finger and gently prod the footprint, then move to another print to inspect it.
“A horseman,” he said. “The heel is meant to catch a stirrup. See here, just before the heel, something has worn a cross groove into the leather of the sole. A stirrup, I think.”
“These are not heels to make a man appear taller than may be?” I asked.
“I think not… ’though they be some higher than most. These prints were made by the boots of a horseman.”
“You are sure of this?” I asked, bewildered.
Roger chewed upon his lower lip before responding. “Sure of it? Nay, but ’tis likely.”
“Have you made boots like these?”
“In times past, for knights an’ squires who serve Lord Gilbert… but ’tis a waste of leather to make a heel quite so tall as that which left this mark. Such a heel would not much help a rider keep ’is seat, an’ might hinder ’im when ’e walks about.”
I thanked Roger for his opinion, and when he left the toft I turned to Kate, who had heard all while standing in the door.
“What man who bore a grudge against Thomas atte Bridge owns a horse?” she asked.
“Hubert Shillside does not. Peter Carpenter owns a runcey to draw his cart. I’ve never seen him atop the beast. Arnulf Mannyng may, but if he does possess horses they will be for plowing, not for riding.”
“There must be some other man atte Bridge angered,” Kate said thoughtfully. “A man you do not suspect of murder, but who has learned of your doubt that atte Bridge took his own life, and believes you in pursuit.”
“And wealthy enough to own and ride about upon a horse. A short, wealthy man, who may wish to appear taller than he is.”
“Perhaps not,” Kate objected.
“What? The man does not own a horse?”
“I meant that he may not be short. Gentlemen may be as vain as any lady. The villain may be as tall as you, yet wish to be thought taller yet.”
Kate ended her conversation abruptly, wrinkled her nose, then darted for the door and disappeared into Galen House. I followed, and found her at the hearth, where she drew an iron pot from the coals. The contents of the pot, my dinner, had boiled over and the scent told Kate something was amiss.
Small harm was done. Kate had prepared coney in cevy, which was so tasty I nearly forgot the pain in my arm. I attempted to bring food to my lips with my right hand, but gave up the experiment and consumed my meal left-handed. I laced another cup of ale with hemp seeds to complete my dinner, then moved to the toft and sat upon a bench there in the sun to consider my wound and the man who made it. The hemp seed did its work. I sat with my back against the warm west wall of Galen House and was soon drowsing under the effect of the sun, the herbs, and a full belly.
I spent several hours pursuing nothing but my own comfort. This I only partially achieved. A man may more readily advise patience and endurance who has never suffered pain. I will be more tolerant of the ill and injured who seek my care henceforth.
Kate’s hens clucking about my ankles and the renewed throbbing of my arm drove lethargy from me and at the ninth hour I entered Galen House to prepare another cup of ale with hemp seed. Kate halted her work to observe the procedure, then came to me and clasped her arms about me, careful to avoid my aching arm.
“What are we to do this night?” she asked. “Mayhap the villain will return and this time succeed in burning us in our bed.”
I had considered the possibility, but had not wished to alarm Kate while I thought on it. “Would a man who failed in his purpose try again so soon after discovery?” I asked, speaking more to myself than Kate.
She provided the response: “One so filled with anger or hate or fear, whatever it was drove him to the attempt last night, will not think clearly.”
I agreed with my bride. The thought brought much unease. But if such a felon was so driven as to make another attempt, perhaps the man might be surprised at his work and apprehended. The position of bailiff to a great lord often brings with it onerous obligation, but also some privilege. I told Kate I would assign three grooms from the castle to watch, hidden in the toft, so as to seize any man prowling about Galen House after curfew.
At the castle I found Arthur and told him of his duty for the night. I told him to seek two others to accompany him, and arrive at Galen House at sunset. With three keeping watch, one might sleep while two kept vigil. I would spend part of the night with the grooms, although with my aching arm I would be of little use in apprehending a felon should one appear.
I next visited John Thatcher at his home and workshop on Broad Street and made provision for Arthur to remove from John’s yard several armloads of reeds which, when strewn upon the mud aside the hen coop, would keep the sentinels dry and hidden in that dark corner of the toft.
Arthur was at my door before the sun had set, and had with him Uctred and Anketil Mere, a youth new to Lord Gilbert’s service who was fleet of foot. I saw the lad win a footrace a few months past. If someone bent on mischief approached Galen House this night, and escaped Arthur’s bear-like grasp, Anketil would surely run the man to ground. I was well pleased.
The reeds were dry. They rustled and crackled with each movement of the men who sat upon them. Arthur, however, understood that the plan was not to frighten the arsonist away, but to capture him. He sternly bade his companions to remain immobile. I left them there, alert and eager for complete darkness. This was sport, a rare game in the dullness of ordinary castle life when Lord Gilbert was in residence elsewhere.
I climbed the stairs to our chamber, where Kate was already abed, but not asleep. She asked was all prepared and I assured her it was. I did not disrobe. If the grooms surprised a man in the toft I wished to be upon him quickly. I left open the chamber window, so I might hear plainly even a slight sound from the toft, and left my dagger upon a stand where I might seize it quickly.
I slept fitfully, and when I lay awake I could sense that Kate was also alert. When the night was young I sometimes heard the rustle of reeds through the open window as one of my guards shifted his position, but soon even this sound ceased. Either Arthur and his companions had disciplined themselves to some fixed position or they had fallen to sleep. The thought did not bring me rest. Once in the night I heard a snore, but this was quickly silenced as a more wakeful watcher delivered an elbow to the sleeper’s ribs. I was reassured that at least one of the three, if not fully awake, at least slept as fitfully as Kate and I.
When I saw dawn begin to lighten the east windows of our bedchamber I left the bed and stumbled down the darkened stairs. Uctred and the youth were awake and watching, while Arthur slept. When Uctred saw me leave Galen House he stood, stretched, and spoke: “No visitors this night. Arthur was that displeased. Took the first watch, ’e did. Said as how a man bent on mischief wouldn’t want to wait overlong to be about it. Likes a bit of a scrap, does Arthur.”
This observation was true. Arthur is a good man to have standing by one’s side in a brawl. His enjoyment of such a contest is probably due to the fact that he is generally victorious. It is difficult to appreciate a fight if one is usually vanquished.
Uctred’s words woke Arthur. He and Anketil stood, stretched, and brushed dust and bits of broken reed from their garments. As they did so Kate’s rooster left the hen coop, cocked a curious eye in our direction, then announced the dawn.
No man had sought my life this night, and I thought Arthur and his cohorts might think they had been summoned to Galen House to spend a cold night on a fool’s errand. Not so. Arthur was apologetic that no felon had appeared, and voiced unwillingness to abandon the watch.