with her lad, but he come back a day later, said he’d took a cart of oats to sell for his father. Moped around for weeks, he did. Still looks like devil’s got him by the ankles last time I saw ’im.”
“What was the girl’s name?”
“Margaret.”
“How old was she?”
The old woman screwed her face in concentration. “She were born afore my John died o’plague…maybe seventeen, eighteen years old.”
“Where can I find her family?”
“Just her father, Alard. Mother died seven, eight years back. His smithy’s down by the river, just across the bridge. Lord Thomas won’t let him set up on town side ’cause o’ fire.”
I found the smith easily enough. The man stood outside his hut and cast a practiced eye at Bruce’s gait as I crossed the river and approached. He seemed surprised as I drew up before him. Evidently he had seen no flaw in Bruce’s pace which would dictate a need for his services.
“You are Alard, the smith?” I asked by way of greeting. The question was rhetorical. One look at his forearms was enough to assure me of his trade, whatever his name.
“Aye,” he replied, unmoving.
“I am told you have a missing daughter.”
His back stiffened and his eyes, once dull, flashed.
“Aye. Four months now. Who are you? Have you news of her?”
I identified myself and told the smith the reason for my visit. But I did not tell him everything. If Lord Gilbert’s skeleton was this man’s daughter, he did not need to know yet where she was found or her condition when discovered.
“Had your daughter any injuries…broken bones?” I asked.
“Nay…She were a strong lass. Wait; when she were small she’d follow me about the smithy near all day. Could hardly get my work done for tumblin’ over her. Tried to pick up my sledge once. She were but seven or eight years old. ’Twas too heavy for her. Dropped it on her foot. Swole up an’ turned black for two weeks an’ more, but she were up an’ runnin’ again in a month or so. Troubles her now and again.”
“She limps?” I asked.
“Aye, a bit, when t’weather turns.”
“She may have broken a bone in her foot,” I remarked.
“Aye…so I thought,” he shrugged.
“When did you last see your daughter?”
The smith’s shoulders slumped as he thought back to the summer. “’Twas soon after Whitsunday.”
“Had she given sign that she might run off?”
“Nay. She were quiet, though, seems to me as I think back on it. Thought at first as she’d run off with her lad, but they’d no reason to do that. Tom’s a good lad. His father has a yardland near Shilton of Lord Thomas. Tom’ll come to it, as he’s oldest.” He paused. “Margaret were my youngest…all I had left. Her brother died at Poitiers, an’ two sisters gone when plague come first time.”
“Why did you think she might have run off with her lad?”
“He were gone, too. I went to see his father when I heard t’boy were gone. Tom’d gone off with a cart of oats to sell. Came back next day an’ seemed confused as t’rest of us.”
As he spoke the smith’s demeanor drooped with his shoulders until I feared he might fall. He seemed to want to talk of the girl, yet paid a terrible price for doing so. News of his daughter’s death would collapse him even more, but I thought it better to disclose what I knew than await a recovery of his distressed spirit, only to strike him down again.
“The dead girl, found in Lord Gilbert’s castle, had suffered a broken bone in her foot,” I told him.
The smith sat heavily on a sack of coals. “Which foot were it?” he asked.
“I cannot tell. I know only that one of her feet received a blow which broke a bone.”
For all his distress, the smith retained a keen mind. He saw the meaning of my answer. “She’s but a skeleton, like, then.”
“Aye. That is so.”
“How did she die?” he whispered.
I told him of the gouged rib, but could not bring myself to tell him where she was found.
“We’ve
“What was the girl’s name?”
“Margaret.”
“How old was she?”
The old woman screwed her face in concentration. “She were born afore my John died o’plague…maybe seventeen, eighteen years old.”
“Where can I find her family?”
“Just her father, Alard. Mother died seven, eight years back. His smithy’s down by the river, just across the bridge. Lord Thomas won’t let him set up on town side ’cause o’ fire.”
I found the smith easily enough. The man stood outside his hut and cast a practiced eye at Bruce’s gait as I crossed the river and approached. He seemed surprised as I drew up before him. Evidently he had seen no flaw in Bruce’s pace which would dictate a need for his services.
“You are Alard, the smith?” I asked by way of greeting. The question was rhetorical. One look at his forearms was enough to assure me of his trade, whatever his name.
“Aye,” he replied, unmoving.
“I am told you have a missing daughter.”
His back stiffened and his eyes, once dull, flashed.
“Aye. Four months now. Who are you? Have you news of her?”
I identified myself and told the smith the reason for my visit. But I did not tell him everything. If Lord Gilbert’s skeleton was this man’s daughter, he did not need to know yet where she was found or her condition when discovered.
“Had your daughter any injuries…broken bones?” I asked.
“Nay…She were a strong lass. Wait; when she were small she’d follow me about the smithy near all day. Could hardly get my work done for tumblin’ over her. Tried to pick up my sledge once. She were but seven or eight years old. ’Twas too heavy for her. Dropped it on her foot. Swole up an’ turned black for two weeks an’ more, but she were up an’ runnin’ again in a month or so. Troubles her now and again.”
“She limps?” I asked.
“Aye, a bit, when t’weather turns.”
“She may have broken a bone in her foot,” I remarked.
“Aye…so I thought,” he shrugged.
“When did you last see your daughter?”
The smith’s shoulders slumped as he thought back to the summer. “’Twas soon after Whitsunday.”
“Had she given sign that she might run off?”
“Nay. She were quiet, though, seems to me as I think back on it. Thought at first as she’d run off with her lad, but they’d no reason to do that. Tom’s a good lad. His father has a yardland near Shilton of Lord Thomas. Tom’ll come to it, as he’s oldest.” He paused. “Margaret were my youngest…all I had left. Her brother died at Poitiers, an’ two sisters gone when plague come first time.”
“Why did you think she might have run off with her lad?”
“He were gone, too. I went to see his father when I heard t’boy were gone. Tom’d gone off with a cart of oats to sell. Came back next day an’ seemed confused as t’rest of us.”
As he spoke the smith’s demeanor drooped with his shoulders until I feared he might fall. He seemed to want to talk of the girl, yet paid a terrible price for doing so. News of his daughter’s death would collapse him even more, but I thought it better to disclose what I knew than await a recovery of his distressed spirit, only to strike him down again.
“The dead girl, found in Lord Gilbert’s castle, had suffered a broken bone in her foot,” I told him.
The smith sat heavily on a sack of coals. “Which foot were it?” he asked.
“I cannot tell. I know only that one of her feet received a blow which broke a bone.”
For all his distress, the smith retained a keen mind. He saw the meaning of my answer. “She’s but a skeleton, like, then.”
“Aye. That is so.”
“How did she die?” he whispered.
I told him of the gouged rib, but could not bring myself to tell him where she was found.
“We’ve
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