Free The Unquiet Bones by Mel Starr

bones might have entered the cesspit there. It seemed to me unlikely that a killer would try to stuff a body through a garderobe. I walked across the muddy yard to inspect the cover more closely. It was near two paces long and as high as my waist, and little more than an inch thick. Its maker had nailed planks together against two backing boards. I bent my knees, pushed my fingers under the cover, and strained at the planks. It resisted, then broke free. With little effort I had the cover ankle-high in its vertical tracks in the tower’s foundation stones. A whiff of the cesspit below persuaded me to let it drop back to its place. One man might lift the cover and push a corpse through the opening. But more likely, it seemed to me, two would be required for the task.
    This did not answer my question; it merely raised another. Did the girl’s body enter the cesspit here? Certainly more people had access to the outside of the garderobe tower than to the inside. But this also meant possible witnesses to such a deed. Would a killer risk discovery here in the castle yard?
    While I pondered this new discovery, my attention was diverted. A farm cart, loaded with hay, entered the castle forecourt, proceeded with Wilfred’s blessing through the gatehouse, then made its way across the castle yard to the marshalsea.
    A stableman appeared from a darkened stall and together he and the carter pitchforked the load of hay to an empty corner of the stable.
    I watched this activity because I could think of nothing else to do. I did not intend to eavesdrop on their conversation as the men worked. Indeed, they said little, concentrating on their labor. But as they finished their work the stableman addressed the carter.
    “You can leave t’cart right here. Unhitch t’horse an’ put ’im in yon stall. You’ve got a nice soft bed of hay there t’keep you warm tonight. An’ if you ask at t’kitchen ’round back, they’ll have a loaf an’ more for your supper.”
    I approached the stableman as the carter strode off to the kitchen. “You’ll be wantin’ Bruce, then?” he asked.
    “No. About the hay…Is that fellow,” I nodded toward the departing carter, “a villein of Lord Gilbert’s? I’ve not seen him before, I think.”
    “Nay. He’s Sir Geoffrey Mallory’s man, from Northleech.”
    “Must Lord Gilbert buy hay from Sir Geoffrey?”
    “Aye, an’ oats as well. You’ll remember how’t rained so in t’spring? Hay an’ oats rotted in t’fields.”
    I knew that harvests this year had been poor due to the cool, wet weather early in the season, but my occupation required of me little thought about agricultural vicissitudes. So long as I had patients who could pay my fees, I did not concern myself with crop yields. When the price of bread rose, then I gave attention to the harvest. In the past months this I had begun to do.
    “Then Lord Gilbert is forced to buy fodder?”
    “Aye. Well, not yet, like, but if he waits ’til winter price’ll go higher. Hill country over to Northleech drains better, so they wasn’t so bad off as us. Got enough an’ to sell.”
    “So Lord Gilbert is buying now. Is this his first purchase?”
    “Nay. See t’loft there?” I peered into the dim stable. The loft was filled with hay. “This’ll be fourth, fifth load.”
    “All from Sir Geoffrey?”
    “Nay. Got a load of oats from up north. One o’Earl Thomas Beauchamp’s tenants. Back in t’spring it was, just after Whitsuntide. Lord Gilbert saw trouble comin’, the hay bein’ so poorly an’ oats little better.”
    Whitsuntide? A cartload of oats? My mind was unsettled for a moment, then I made the connection. Margaret’s lad.
    “The oats; did Lord Gilbert send a man for the load?”
    “Nay. A lad came with nine sacks. All his cart would carry.”
    “Did you help him unload?”
    “Nay. T’smith was here an’ we had horses to shoe. Lad said as how he’d take t’sacks to loft. Strong young fella. Didn’t need no help.