The Hunter’s Tale (17 page)

Lady Elyn broke into open sobs. Lucy in the circle of her mother’s arm and Ursula huddled against Lady Anneys’ other side could cry no harder than they were, but Lady Anneys sat with lifted head, looking dry-eyed at her son. Only the pleading in her haunted eyes begged for it to be over soon. Frevisse saw Master Hampden glance toward her before going on to ask what Hugh had done next.

‘I cried out. I stood up and I shouted for help.“

‘Who were you shouting to?“

‘No one. Anyone who could hear me.“

‘There was no one there who might have seen your brother fall?“

‘I didn’t see anybody.“

‘But somebody came?“

‘Finally. From one of the further fields where they were barley-harvesting. Somebody heard me and some of the men came and we carried Tom home.“

‘But they hadn’t heard or seen anything before then?“

‘No.“

‘Are those men here?“

Hugh moved one hand toward the jurors. “There. In front.”

The five men on the nearest bench acknowledged that with nods.

‘So you were first-finder of the body but they came immediately afterwards.“

‘Yes.“

‘What did you do then?“

The questions and answering went on, through sending one of the men running for Father Leonel while the others carried the body to the hall, to sending one of the manor men to Sir William to tell him Tom was dead and to bring Lucy and Lady Elyn back to Woodrim to sending another manor man away to find out and tell the crowner he was needed.

‘You didn’t send or go yourself to seize Sir William,“ Master Hampden said. ”Why?“

Hugh had to have known that question would come. By law and under penalty of fine, the first-finder of a body, when the murderer was known, had to raise the hue and cry and, joined by everyone who heard him, pursue the murderer. If taken, the murderer was then to be held until the crowner came and claimed him into custody. But firmly Hugh said, “I saw no likelihood Sir William would seek escape. He knew and I knew that he never meant harm to Tom. It was chance and nothing else that Tom… died.” He choked on the word and for the first time bent his head, tears thick in his voice.

Master Hampden drew a penknife from under the papers in front of him, laid it on the open palm of his hand, and held it out for Hugh to see. “Is this the penknife you saw in Sir William’s hand when your brother was wounded?”

Hugh raised his head and looked. “Yes.”

Master Hampden asked the jurors if they had any questions of their own for him. They did not and Master Hampden thanked him and bade him sit down.

Sir William was next. He was solemn, as well he should be, but he carried himself assuredly. To the crowner’s questions he said much the same things as Hugh had. That he had asked Master Woderove to come to him in order to discuss the planned marriage. That they had somehow fallen into a quarrel, Sir William was not sure how. “One nothing thing leading to another. That was all. He had his father’s hot humour and Sir Ralph could go into a fury over things most men would not.”

There was general head-nodding agreement from the Woodrim manor men of the jury and among the onlookers. Master Hampden noted it. It was his task to learn as much as he could about what had happened and where blame should be laid, if blame there should be, and because he had the right of inquest, he had the power to ask all the questions he could think to ask and to expect answers for them under oath; but he was also expected to make use of anyone who best knew the accused and victim, to better understand what might lie behind and around the actual crime itself. So the jury was made of local men and a competent crowner gave them heed.

Frevisse had known a crowner who, unless forced to it, never bothered with more than his own opinion of who the guilty should be. He had been a dangerous man in his narrow way and she was thankful to find that Master Hampden was a different sort.

He was come now to the moment Sir William had struck at Tom. “He leaned toward you and you swept your hand with the penknife in it at him. Is that what you say?”

‘And that I’d forgotten I was holding the knife, yes.“

‘Were you frightened at that moment? Did you fear he was going to attack you?“

‘No, sir, I was not frightened. He was angry, he was leaning too close, I wanted him to stand back. That was all. I never meant even to touch him. I didn’t know I had.“

‘But you admit that you did?“

‘I must have but I was unaware of it at the time.“

Outside the day had grown grayer and the rain begun to fall, soft as weary weeping. The questioning went on. Sir William readily admitted the penknife was his own, the one he had had that day, and agreed that, yes, it was very sharp; penknives had to be able to trim tough quills to usable points.

‘What did you do after Master Woderove and then his brother left you?“ Master Hampden asked.

‘I called one of my servants to saddle my horse and set out after them both, to find out how badly Tom… Master Woderove was hurt. I meant to apologize, before the matter could fester into something worse.“

‘You were not angry?“

‘I was irked it had come to this. A petty quarreling for no good reason except he was young and hotheaded. But I was not angry. I simply wanted to end it before it worsened.“

‘In regard to Master Woderove’s death, what would you say you’re guilty of?“

‘Of misadventure,“ Sir William replied firmly. ”I didn’t strike at him with intent to hurt, much less to kill. I didn’t mean to strike him at all.“

Master Hampden gave the jurors their turn to ask whatever questions they might have, but they had few and Sir William was permitted to sit again. They asked to see and handle the penknife and then talked among themselves, twisted around on the benches, heads close together, and Frevisse noted the stiff wariness among them was gone. When they had finished and all faced forward again, Master Hampden asked if they had come to a conclusion and one of the Woodrim men stood up to say that to all their minds Master Woderove’s death had been by misadventure. The other jurors all nodded their agreement and after that everything was nearly done. Master Hampden asked if there were three men here who would stand bond for Sir William to appear at the next county court. Five men among the onlookers stood up. Master Hampden accepted all five, told them to speak to his clerk, and declared the court ended.

People who had been standing began shifting from where they stood. Those who had been sitting began to stand up, Sir William among them. He turned to say something to the men behind him. He would almost surely be found guilty of lesser manslaughter at the county court and somewhat fined for it, but from everything that had been said here, he had no great guilt in Master Woderove’s death. So far as the law was concerned, the matter was all but done. All that was left, Frevisse thought as she stood up along with everyone else, was for the two families to come somehow to peace with each other and to terms with their grief. If there had been outright murder done, there would have been a harsh sundering of one kind or another—outright rage at Sir William and maybe crude satisfaction for his punishment—but because it had been mischance, not murder, somehow, for the sake of everyone, there would be healing.

At least Frevisse, watching Lady Elyn rise and go to her mother, prayed there would be.

Chapter 10

The crowd thinned as the manor folk shifted out the door. The rain was still lightly falling, barely enough to dampen anyone or harm the harvest-ready crops, but there would have been no work in the fields today even without the inquest and the manor folk were not heading out to work again, merely removing themselves now that they were satisfied about their lord’s death. Some of the neighbors and others who had come were in talk with Sir William; others were going to Hugh; the five men who had offered to stand bond for Sir William were with the crowner’s clerk at the high table; most of the women were gathering toward Lady Anneys.

Beside Frevisse, Sister Johane said, “At least it’s over.”

The inquest was, Frevisse thought; but nothing else. “When will the funeral be?” she asked.

‘I think we’re meant to go from here to the church for it.“ Sister Johane lowered her voice and leaned close to say, ”It’s been four days.“ As if it were a secret that burial now would be best since no body would keep for long in this warm weather.

Frevisse made no answer. She was watching Sir William excuse himself from the men with whom he had been in talk and went toward Lady Anneys. Miles, seeing him, too, moved to Lady Anneys’ side. Frevisse, finding herself very interested in what would be said among the three of them, went, with Sister Johane following her, to join the cluster of people drawing away to either side to let Sir William reach Lady Anneys, who stood stiffly looking at him, saying nothing when he stopped in front of her.

‘Lady Anneys,“ he said, holding out his hand as he had before, ”let it end here?“

‘Let what end here?“ she said back at him. ”My son’s death?“

Sir William did not withdraw his hand. “I’m acquitted of guilt in that.”

‘You’re acquitted of willful guilt,“ Lady Anneys said quietly. ”You never purposed Tom’s death. I accept and believe that. I hope in return you’ll accept that my pain is still too new for me to be willing toward peace with you.“ She looked down at his out-held hand. ”And that is still the hand that killed my son.“

Sir William had begun to redden above his collar. He drew his hand back. “We can’t ignore each other. By Sir Ralph’s will you and I must—”

‘Work together. I know. But not for this while. Not soon.“

Sir William’s color deepened. Frevisse suspected he was not used to being interrupted or refused, and Lady Anneys had just done both.

At Lady Anneys’ side, Miles said—as quietly as Lady Anneys but with warning below the words, “Leave it, Sir William.”

Sir William’s eyes narrowed with the anger he had been holding back from Lady Anneys, but Hugh slipped between people to his side and said calmly, respectfully, “Master Hampden asks leave to speak with you, if you please, Sir William.”

Sir William turned his head, looking as ready to snap at Hugh as at Miles, except that Hugh added, “And Philippa would like to speak with my mother, if she may.”

As Lady Anneys said with warm affection, “Of course she may speak with me,” Sir William’s angry look went to Philippa standing just behind Hugh, then shifted quickly back and forth between them, his anger giving way to some other thought, and with a curt bow of his head to Lady Anneys, he stepped from Philippa’s way and went toward the crowner at the high table. A look passed between Hugh and Miles, agreeing on something before Hugh followed Sir William and Miles turned to talk with several men nearby. Lady Anneys, keeping one arm around Ursula, took Philippa by the hand with her other hand and drew her close so they could talk with their heads close together, leaving Lady Elyn and Lucy to the other women come to offer their comfort and regrets. Sister Johane shifted to join them, but Frevisse drifted away in Sir William and Hugh’s wake with some vague purpose of speaking at least briefly to the crowner.

That proved easier than she had supposed it might. Whatever Master Hampden had to say to Sir William was short. Well before Frevisse was near, Sir William had gone on along the table to where the five men who were to stand his bond were signing papers for the clerk and pressing their seals to wax. Hugh in his turn said something to Master Hampden, who answered him and then Hugh went away, too, toward the hall’s outer door where Father Leonel was waiting for him.

Taking her chance, Frevisse stepped onto the dais across the table from Master Hampden, who was now gathering together his papers. He looked up, gave a slight bow in answer to the respectful bending of her head to him, and asked, “May I help you, my lady?”

‘I’m Dame Frevisse of St. Frideswide’s priory.“

‘I know of it. A worthy house. You’re here as comforter to Lady Anneys, I believe.“

She slightly bent her head to him again, admitting that but saying, “I met one of your fellow crowners a few years ago. Master Christopher Montfort. I wondered if you could tell me how he does?”

Master Hampden smiled. “Young Christopher. Yes. I saw him two weeks or so ago. He was in fine health and doing well. He’s to be married close on to St. Edward’s Day, I hear.”

Frevisse expressed her pleasure at that and said, before Master Hampden could excuse himself or else his clerk come to rescue him, “I’m here because Lady Anneys was visiting her youngest daughter at the priory when word came of her son’s death. As you said, Sister Johane and I hope to give what help and comfort we can. Our trouble is that we hardly know the family and fear we’re as likely to say the wrong thing as the right in trying to comfort her. We don’t want to pry among the servants to learn more and know no one else to ask. Could you, as someone outside it all, tell me something about Lady Anneys’ husband’s death and how things seem to you here, so we’d have a better chance of giving help instead of hurt?”

Master Hampden considered that with a slight, not unfriendly frown. Farther along the table Sir William and the other men had finished their business with the clerk and were going away. The clerk, gathering up his papers, pens, and ink, was watching with a careful eye to see if Master Hampden wanted rescuing or not, and with a small lift of one hand, Master Hampden let him know no rescue was needed yet before saying to Frevisse, “I can willingly tell you everything that’s generally known. Come aside and we’ll talk.”