The Good Death

by S. D. Sykes

  This apology came as quite a surprise. It was welcome, of course. But it was a surprise nonetheless. William had never apologised to me for anything, in his whole life. For a moment I was rendered speechless. ‘Yes, William,’ I said at length, feeling a surprising twinge of affection for my brother. ‘I can forgive you.’ I paused for a moment. ‘But only if you can forgive me?’

  William looked up and laughed. ‘Why on earth would you need my forgiveness?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  And so I told William about Agnes. There and then, as we stood on the ancient, uneven stones of the tower, with the heady scent of the dog rose lacing its way through the air. I couldn’t wait any longer to hear news from Brother Peter. It had to be then.

  William listened with interest and surprise at first. He was understanding and even a little dismissive, especially when I told him about meeting Agnes in the forest and then making the mistake of chasing her into the river. It wasn’t your fault, he argued. Of course you hadn’t meant to hurt the girl, so you have no reason to feel guilty. But his lips began to part and face soon drained of colour when I told him about my conversation with Agnes’s mother.

  ‘What was the woman’s name again?’ he asked me.

  ‘Beatrice Wheeler.’

  His nose wrinkled and he shook his head. For a moment, he seemed relieved. ‘No. I don’t know anybody by that name. She must have been lying to you.’

  ‘Wheeler is her married name,’ I said. ‘You met Beatrice before she wed.’ William’s face clouded over again, so I added. ‘Apparently you were both sixteen. She used to come to the house when her father brought the hounds.’

  ‘Her father?’

  ‘He was our fewterer.’

  William stared at me without speaking – his face frozen in horror, before he steadied himself by reaching out for the wall. I could see that my brother remembered Beatrice only too well now. The truth was written all over his features.

  ‘I’m so sorry, William,’ I said.

  He waved me away, before stumbling towards the steps.

  ‘But William—’ I said, chasing after him. ‘I would have told you before, but—’

  ‘Just leave me alone Oswald,’ he said, pushing me away. ‘I don’t want to talk to you.’

  As William descended the steps, my first impulse was to pursue him – to tell him about my investigation and the fact that I’d identified Sawyer as Agnes’s attacker. William had only heard half of the story. But then it was very clear that William didn’t want my company right now. I sank down against the wall, feeling dejected. My confession had not lifted my guilt. If anything I felt worse than ever.

  I gave a deep sigh, before realising that I was still holding the little knight that my brother had returned to me earlier. I lifted him to my eyes and took a moment to study his tiny face. Now that I had a chance to examine him, I could see that his head was too big and his neck was too long. In fact, he was badly cast in every respect – the sort of common trinket that’s churned out by the pewterers of London and sold to pilgrims. This toy hadn’t been the special gift from Father that I’d always remembered. Instead it was just some cheap souvenir that he’d picked up at a market stall. I dropped him to the floor, listening as his hollow shell tinkled against the flagstones, not understanding why I had ever cared so much for him.

  It was then that Gilbert appeared at the top of the stairs, pulling a frown as soon as he saw my face. ‘I told them to look here,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Lazy churls.’

  ‘Told who?’

  ‘The kitchen boys, of course.’

  ‘What do you want?’ I asked, rising to my feet.

  ‘There’s somebody here to see you,’ he said, looking at me strangely. ‘It’s a woman.’

  ‘A woman?’ I responded with some disappointment. For the briefest of moments I had hoped to hear Brother Peter’s name.

  ‘Without doubt,’ he grunted. ‘And this one’s been tupped and no mistake.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Says she wants to speak to you in private.’

  I understood his grubby insinuation immediately. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Says her name is Aldith Brewer.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘By the back porch,’ he replied. ‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered, trying to nudge me. ‘I’ve kept her out of your mother’s way.’

  ‘There was no need,’ I replied. ‘The child is nothing to do with me.’

  I sped down the stone spiral stairs of the tower and ran across the grass towards the back porch, leaving Gilbert to follow in my wake. In the distance, I could see Aldith sitting on the grass, her belly now resting between her legs like a giant bundle of washing. Unfortunately, her presence had already drawn a small crowd of onlookers – a gaggle of servants, all eager to see the heavily pregnant woman who had requested an audience with their young master. They clearly were of the same opinion as Gilbert. That I had fathered her unborn child.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked, once I’d helped Aldith to her feet and led her out of their earshot.

  ‘I heard you’d left Kintham and gone back to Somershill,’ she replied. ‘I needed to speak to you.’

  ‘You’ve come here all the way from Stonebrook?’

  ‘I’m taking my children to an aunt in Reigate,’ she said, before lowering her voice. ‘Everybody is trying to leave Stonebrook,’ she told me. ‘Since plague arrived.’ I stepped back from her instinctively. ‘Don’t worry yourself,’ she said. ‘None of my family is ailing. You won’t catch nothing from me.’

  I dusted myself down anyway, as if this would somehow remove the seeds of plague. ‘Well, thank you for coming, Aldith,’ I said. ‘But why did you want to speak to me?’

  She paused for a moment. ‘I wanted you to know that it’s happened again, Brother Oswald.’

  ‘What’s happened again?’

  She frowned at me. ‘Two more women are missing. This time it’s Maud Woodstock and Rose Brunham. They left Stonebrook together yesterday afternoon. And they weren’t back by this morning.’

  ‘Maud left with Rose Brunham?’ I said feeling my stomach roll. ‘Are you sure?

  ‘Of course I am.’

  ‘Where were they going?’

  ‘They went to look for herbs in the forest together,’ she replied. ‘Rose asked Maud to go with her, after Maud said that none of us should walk out on our own.’ Aldith wrapped her hands over her belly and shook her head sadly. ‘But it was a trap, wasn’t it? She’s taken Maud to Sawyer, hasn’t she?’

  I ran my fingers through my hair. ‘So Sawyer hasn’t been arrested then?’

  Aldith looked at me with a quizzical frown. ‘Arrested? By who?’

  ‘Brother Peter,’ I replied. When she continued to look mystified, I added. ‘When I returned here to Somershill, Peter promised to search out Sawyer on my behalf. He was going to take a couple of lay brothers with him from Kintham. They were going to apprehend Sawyer and arrest him.’

  She shrugged. ‘Don’t know anything about that.’ She said.

  ‘But Peter promised me,’ I repeated.

  Aldith folded her arms. ‘You should have listened to me, Brother Oswald. We should have hunted down Sawyer with some men from the village. As soon as we found out about Jocelin’s bracelet,’ she said. ‘Instead we left him free to strike again.’

  She was right, and I felt chastened. ‘Has John Roach looked for them?’ I asked, trying to think rationally.

  Aldith laughed at this. ‘You must be joking. The Cockroach hasn’t come out of his house for days. Least of all to look for missing women,’ she said. ‘Thinks he’s going to catch the Plague, doesn’t he?’ She then hesitated, and looked away. I think she suddenly felt embarrassed. ‘I would have looked for Maud myself, Brother Oswald. But I have my children to think about,’ she said. She gave a short, awkward sigh. ‘And we needed to leave Somershill quickly.’

  I placed a hand on her arm, only to hear giggling erupt from the group of servants who were now clustered a
round the door like a gaggle of goslings. Gilbert was mother goose, stretching out his long neck to get the best view.

  ‘Get back to your work,’ I shouted across the grass. ‘This is none of your business.’ When they didn’t react immediately to this command, I shouted again. ‘Go on. Before I tell my father that you’re all sitting around and doing nothing.’

  As they reluctantly wandered back to their chores, we heard Aldith’s children in the distance, wailing for their mother.

  ‘I had better go and see to them,’ she said, suddenly looking very tired. ‘They’re hungry and we’ve still got miles to go.’

  ‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘But listen. I’ll tell the cook to give you some bread and cheese for your journey,’ I said. ‘Just don’t say anything to her about plague in Stonebrook.’

  She nodded her thanks. ‘I’m sorry to bring you this news, Brother Oswald,’ she said. ‘I know you’re fond of Mistress Woodstock.’

  ‘I admire her courage,’ I said quickly. ‘That’s all.’

  Aldith smiled. ‘If you say so.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘So you’ll go after Sawyer yourself now, will you?’ she asked, fixing her eyes on mine.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Of course I will.’

  * * *

  I searched the house for William, wanting to tell him that I was leaving – but he was nowhere to be seen. Eventually I spotted my brother sitting by the stew pond, where he was staring into the muddy water, steadfastly watching the tangle of eels as they thrashed about in the waters. He looked so sad and reflective that I felt too nervous to disturb him. He was still coming to terms with the truth about Agnes, and I didn’t have the heart to bother him.

  Instead, I collected some food and ale from the kitchen and then made my way to the stables, where I hoped to find my horse and leave Somershill without being noticed. Unfortunately Richard was there, unsaddling his horse after returning from his latest excursion into the forest. His hounds were flopped across the straw, panting with exhaustion, and there was a sheen of foaming sweat across his horse’s neck. Richard also looked weary. His hair was stuck to his skull with perspiration, and his tunic gave off the pungent, spicy stink of sweating armpits. When he saw me looking at his hair, he quickly replaced his bycocket – the light immediately catching the vivid threads of the embroidered peacocks.

  I stepped over the dogs and nodded to my brother, before throwing a saddle over my horse and pulling at her reins. As I led her out of the stable, the dogs only moved out of the way when they saw the hooves approaching – reluctantly shuffling to one side so that we could pass.

  I had reached the doors when Richard suddenly addressed me. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked.

  I turned back to face my brother, finding myself surprised to hear him speaking. In my five days at Somershill, Richard had yet to address me. I noted that his voice was rather fey and juvenile, not unlike the man himself. ‘I’m just going for a ride,’ I said. ‘I need to get some air.’

  ‘Does Father know about this?’ he asked.

  I lifted my left foot into the stirrup and then swung my right foot over the saddle. ‘Oh yes,’ I lied. ‘I told him earlier.’

  Richard frowned at this. My attempts at nonchalance had only succeeded in making him more suspicious. ‘Where did you say you were going?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘Just a little way into the forest.’ I kicked at my horse. ‘See you at supper,’ I called out, as I quickly trotted out towards the gate of Somershill, before breaking into a canter and heading for the cover of the forest. I feared that Richard would follow me, so I dismounted to hide in some coppiced chestnut, and sure enough Richard soon appeared, mounted on a fresh horse and clearly in my pursuit. I wondered why he had taken such an interest in my whereabouts and decided that Father must have told him to watch me. Whatever the case, Richard certainly seemed concerned about something. I had rarely seen him this motivated.

  I stayed in my hiding place, until I was certain that my brother was not coming back, and then I re-emerged onto the track and set off in the direction of Sawyer’s pits. It was my intention to search out Sawyer myself – but I had only got a mile or so along the path before I came to my senses. The last time I’d tried to apprehend this man, he had nearly killed me. The truth was, I couldn’t do this alone. Brother Peter had let me down before, but this time he would help me… I would insist upon it.

  And so I rode for Kintham.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  I reached Kintham by dusk, only to find that the gates to the monastery were now locked against all visitors, including me. It was Brother Thomas himself, the novice master, who shouted down from the gatehouse to gleefully advise me of this fact. ‘You can’t come in, Brother Oswald,’ he shouted. ‘The Abbot won’t allow it. You could be carrying plague.’

  ‘I just need to speak to Brother Peter,’ I said. ‘It’s urgent.’

  ‘Peter isn’t here,’ he replied.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked, feeling my heartbeat immediately quicken. ‘Where is he, then?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ came the reply. ‘Perhaps you can tell us? The man has disappeared.’

  ‘Disappeared?’ I stared back for a moment, lost for words. ‘How long has he been missing?’ I asked, once I’d finally found my tongue.

  ‘Since the day that you left for Somershill,’ Thomas replied. ‘We wondered if he’d followed you there.’ A smile tickled at the edges of his drooping lips. ‘We know how fond Peter is of you.’

  ‘He didn’t come to Somershill,’ I replied. ‘I haven’t seen Brother Peter since I left Kintham.’

  ‘Then it’s a mystery,’ said Thomas. ‘Now go home, because you can’t come in here.’

  ‘But Brother Thomas,’ I shouted. ‘Please. I need to know more. Did Peter tell anybody where he was going?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’

  ‘Did he take any of the lay brothers with him?’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘Please,’ I begged. ‘Let me in. I need to speak to the other brothers. Somebody must know something.’

  ‘We’re not letting anybody come in or out,’ he replied, as he withdrew from sight. ‘It’s the Abbot’s orders. So go home.’

  * * *

  I trotted away reluctantly, bringing my horse to a halt in a quiet glade, where I gave myself the chance to think. Peter hadn’t followed me to Somershill, so he must have gone in search of Sawyer after all – just as he had promised. I felt guilty for having doubted him now, especially as he hadn’t returned from this expedition.

  I now needed to find Sawyer, if I were to stand any chance of finding my missing tutor or, indeed, of rescuing Maud. Sawyer was undoubtedly behind both of their disappearances – but where to look for the man, other than the one place where we had met previously – his charcoal pits? After all, it was where I had told Peter to go. In all honesty, I felt it was unlikely that Sawyer would still be camped out at these pits, but, in the absence of any other ideas, it was a place to start.

  I rode through the night – picking my way with difficulty through the darkness of the forest, until reaching the crossroads near to Sawyer’s pits by the following dawn. Remembering how dangerous the man could be (I was still finding scabs in my hair from the wound he had inflicted on the back of my head), I tethered my horse to a tree a few hundred yards away from his camp and then crept towards the pits. I trod softly over the damp forest floor, aiming for the firmer ground and avoiding the nettles, until I reached a vantage point that overlooked Sawyer’s hut. I saw immediately that his pits were no longer smouldering – not even with the thin, blue smoke that marks the final stage of the burn. Nor did the air hold the acrid stink of a bonfire this time, so I assumed his pits had not been tended for days.

  However, I was still in no rush to enter Sawyer’s camp until I knew if the man were there – so I waited behind the trees, hoping to spot him moving about in his long, hooded cloak. I watched for a while, but saw no
signs of life. Either the camp was deserted or he was hiding inside his hut – so I crept forward again, passing the piles of seasoned hazel and oak and the blackened pot hanging on its tripod over a long-extinguished fire. When I felt the side of this pot and found it was stone cold, I slowly lifted the lid, only to release a sulphurous cloud from the same rabbit stew that had been cooking at my last visit. It was untouched – the bones and flesh now fermenting in a mouldy froth.

  I replaced the lid and then continued to the opening of Sawyer’s hut, where I peeked around the rudimentary door to see that the place was empty. I stepped inside to find a makeshift mattress on the floor and a shelf of Sawyer’s belongings on one wall. Along this shelf were a selection of different objects, all lined up like a collection of small reliquaries at a shrine. There was a leather purse. A small shoe. A string of beads. A wooden crucifix. A bronze thimble. A belt buckle and a circular shawl pin. Items that I wouldn’t have expected to find in the hut of an itinerant charcoal burner. Items that Sawyer must have taken from the missing women.

  I stepped outside quickly, needing some fresh air, when I found that my eyes immediately came to rest on a patch of disturbed earth in the distance. I hadn’t noticed this at my last visit, so I quickly walked over to investigate. It was a low mound, roughly the length and breadth of a person, and looked very much like a recently dug grave.

  My heart thumped, as there was no way of knowing who was beneath this mound of soil, unless I looked. What if it were Peter? What if it were Maud? But who wants to confront the reality of a rotting corpse, especially in the first days after burial? Especially when it could be the body of somebody that you know and love? I might have been practised at dealing with the newly dead of the monastery, but I had never conducted an exhumation.

  I closed my eyes for a moment, wiped my face with my hands, and then took the deepest of breaths. I looked around to see if I could find a spade, for this grave had not been dug out by hand. Sure enough, I found the tool tossed away into a nearby bush, still muddy with earth from its recent excavation. And then I set about my grisly task, holding my breath each time I dug out another spade of soil, knowing that the blade would thud against the hardness of a body at any moment.