The Field of Blood

by Paul Doherty

  ‘Why?’ Sir John asked. ‘Just tell us that, Kathryn, why?’

  ‘I loved him,’ she began. ‘God forgive me, Jack, I loved Ralph Hengan more than life itself, even more than Stephen. I met him before my husband died. He wasn’t as fine a man as Stephen, Ralph was secretive, withdrawn, but, Brother, it’s as if your heart isn’t whole, then you meet someone and it becomes so.’

  ‘You knew he was interested in the treasure?’ Athelstan asked

  ‘Yes and no. Oh, he asked questions, but nothing out of the ordinary. He often came to Paradise Tree when it was fairly deserted and, on reflection, he was always wandering around. Occasionally, I’d see him talking to Bartholomew but, again, nothing out of the ordinary.’ she paused. ‘After Stephen’s death I actually thought of asking Ralph to marry me, yet he anticipated that. Well,’ she raised her head. ‘He told me he had no love or liking for womankind. Perhaps he was trying to save me the humiliation of a refusal! I was happy with his friendship. I could see that something about Bartholomew agitated him. I didn’t inform Ralph that the clerk was trying to buy the Paradise Tree. So,’ she shrugged. ‘Life went on.’

  ‘And at midsummer?’ Athelstan asked.

  ‘Well, on the evening of the twenty-fifth of June, Bartholomew came to the tavern. He was truly sweet on Margot. I didn’t really care. Bartholomew was pleasant enough though I always thought Margot was ruled by her pocket rather than her heart. Anyway, Bartholomew was very excited. He and Margot sat in a corner whispering. They said they had to go out.’ She shrugged. ‘I let them go. It was only afterwards that I realised they had not left by the front or side entrance but though the garden.’ She smiled through her tears. ‘You’ve also learned the truth about First Gospel? I wondered if he was up to any villainy.’

  She glanced across the taproom. Athelstan could see she was no longer there but retracing her steps on that fateful summer evening.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. They had gone out of the back gate through the back garden into Black Meadow. So I went out myself. It was a beautiful evening; the sun was like a fiery red ball and the garden was full of perfume. Strange, isn’t it? I stopped to look at the sundial: Stephen was very proud of that. He loved such curiosities.’ Kathryn wiped her eyes. ‘I went into Black Meadow. The shadows were growing longer. I couldn’t believe my eyes. At first I thought two dark pieces of wood were lying beneath the oak tree. I ran across to find Bartholomew and Margot sprawled there. They were dead, terrible expressions on their faces. It was apparent that they had died in agony. One thing I must say to you, little Margot’s Book of Hours? She always took it with her. I noticed it was gone while some one had also been through Bartholomew’s chancery bag. I did not know what to do. Two corpses, murder victims in my meadow! I was the last to see them alive. I’d discovered their corpses. It was obvious to a simpleton that they had been poisoned and that I would be accused.’

  ‘So you returned to the tavern?’ Athelstan asked.

  ‘And told everyone to leave?’

  ‘Yes, of course I did. Later, in the dead of night, I went out. I dug shallow graves and heaved the bodies in. Then I started to think. Black Meadow is not used by customers, it’s private land.’

  ‘Did you wonder about your brother the First Gospel?’

  Kathryn smiled. ‘He’s a rogue born and bred, but murder? I did wonder if it was Ralph. The next morning I went down to see the Four Gospels but they could tell me nothing.’

  ‘Of course,’ Sir John put in. ‘And you found it difficult to suspect our lawyer friend because Master Hengan was supposed to be in Canterbury?’

  Kathryn tightened her lips, fought back the tears and nodded.

  ‘I had the oak tree pruned,’ she continued, ‘to hide any signs. When Ralph returned I watched him closely but I didn’t notice anything untoward. I loved him then and I love him now, perhaps that made me blind.’

  ‘But why didn’t you say anything?’ Athelstan insisted. ‘Why not just tell the truth?’

  ‘You are a good friar.’ Kathryn took Athelstan’s hand and squeezed it. ‘But you’ve also got the mind of a lawyer. You know the reason why. Who would believe me? What real proof did I have? How could I approve someone else like Alice Brokestreet did, lay false allegations? I wasn’t sure myself. Was it Ralph? Would my brother be blamed?’ She shrugged. ‘I left it in God’s hands and God replied.’ She glanced at Sir John. ‘Sir Jack, if you would take me back to the Paradise Tree. I would love to bathe, change and sleep in my own bed. Brother, when I am more fit and merry company, you must be my guest.’

  ‘Will you come?’ Sir John asked.

  Athelstan shook his head. ‘For once, Sir John, let me be the last to leave the tavern, not you!’

  The friar watched them go. He sat in the deserted taproom then raised his tankard in a silent salute.

  ‘Whom are you toasting, Brother?’

  Athelstan glanced round to see the merry-faced taverner’s wife standing in the doorway wiping her hands.

  ‘Why, mistress, I’m toasting love: in all its beauty and all its terror!’