Blood Runs Thicker

by Sarah Hawkswood

  ‘A comely woman, a woman needing the protection of a good, strong man, and you a good, strong man? It looks almost certain. In fact, I wonder that it did not occur to the lord Osbern. Did it? Is that the suspicion that made him angry that morning, and did you simply take a horse from the stable, ride up the hill and end the threat to her, and to you?’ Bradecote posed the questions very calmly.

  ‘No, my lord. I swear oath I did not kill the lord Osbern. I never left the hall.’

  ‘Just stood there looking at ’er, were you, seeing she could move her arms and legs?’ Catchpoll joined in, sounding equally doubting. ‘That would not take long.’

  ‘We talked.’ Fulk looked somewhere between sulky and guilty.

  ‘’Bout what? You’ll never tell me she was asking how many sheaves had been cut that morning.’

  ‘No. Other things.’

  ‘But not killing her husband.’

  ‘No, not that.’ Fulk looked beseechingly at Bradecote. ‘Whatever you thinks, my lord, I never killed the lord Osbern.’

  ‘And where were you after you came and told us that the lordling Hamo had gone off hawking?’ Bradecote did not want the man to regain any sense of balance.

  ‘This morning? I was here putting the pebbles in the bag.’

  ‘What?’ Catchpoll stared at him, but Bradecote did not look confused in the least.

  ‘So you were accounting all the sheaves that had been brought in.’

  ‘Aye, my lord. It is a good sign, though of course you can have a poor yield from plenty of stalks. It gives an idea of what we would expect to thresh.’

  ‘My steward does it thus, but it does not take him so long, I think. And it is not so far to where Mother Winflaed was found dead.’

  This time Fulk went pale and his response was stammered. He crossed himself.

  ‘No, no … m-m-my lord, I would not, could not do such a thing. Why would I?’

  ‘Because I think she was of my mind, and thought you and the lady were lovers, and if you thought that either she would tell the lord Baldwin or let it slip even by accident, your life and the lady’s would not be worth one of those pebbles you count.’

  ‘I had no idea of that, and secrets were safe with her, always. That is the healer’s way, bit like the priest. No, my lord, I did not kill Mother Winflaed, and would take up my hatchet to him that did. Seek her killer elsewhere.’

  Undersheriff looked at serjeant, who shrugged. What had begun as lies, easy to see, had become as good truth, and if he was lying now, it was an amazingly swiftly learnt ability.

  ‘Very well, but I suggest you be very careful in when you see the lady and what you say before the lord Baldwin. Until the killer is caught I am minded, for all your swearing, that you had good reason to see both dead.’

  With which Bradecote gave a jerk of his head and led his men out into the open air.

  ‘Did he do it, Catchpoll?’

  ‘Wish I knew, my lord. It fits together like a nut in its shell, but yet I do not feel he took a knife to either.’

  ‘Nor me. Oh well, let us speak with our battered man, not that it will aid us. There is something, somewhere, that will make all plain, but either we have not found it or we have missed it, and I hate both options.’

  Chapter Twelve

  The man Edgar was sat up, his legs still stretched out before him, leaning forwards with his hands on his knees. He looked beaten and he looked in discomfort, but he no longer looked a man addled of wits. How much was down to the efficacy of the draught prepared by the girl Hild and how much to his own constitution was impossible to tell. He looked far more aware of his surroundings and could hardly fail to be aware of his carer, who was dabbing some preparation on his bare back, which made him wince at even her most delicate touch. Hild looked torn between knowing she was looked upon as a mere slip of a girl and that she held the position of Healer, which commanded respect and gave her authority. Having been nearly silent when she was the mere attendant, she was now voluble, using the phrases that her mentor had used. Hearing motherly advice issuing from such youthful lips was remarkably disconcerting, and Edgar looked ill-at-ease as well as aching of body as he was admonished and cosseted in equal measure.

  ‘If you feel pain, my friend, it is a good thing, for it shows you are fully in this world.’ Bradecote sounded cheering. ‘I am Hugh Bradecote, Undersheriff of Worcestershire, and I would ask questions of you, but know the answers will give you no blame. We need truth, that is all.’

  ‘And truth is what you will get from me, my lord, as best I can give it,’ the voice was stronger, ‘but I could not tell you sure if today was Tuesday or Friday, and that’s a fact.’

  ‘All we need is information about yesterday and your journey here to Lench. We know that you bought a red woollen hat from a beggar on the Evesham road. Can you tell me about that meeting?’

  ‘I did that, my lord. I knew him, o’ course, for all in Evesham know Alnoth the Handless who comes regular to the town. It was not that many a mile out of Evesham. He had that red hat and a cloak too.’ Edgar gave a small laugh that became a groan as his ribs hurt, and Hild shushed at him. ‘The sun shone bright, and there was sweat running down from his brow and I offered to buy the hat to give him ease. He asked tuppence for it and I gave him a penny ha’penny, which was a fair price to us both.’

  ‘There was nothing on the hat?’ enquired Catchpoll.

  ‘Only Alnoth’s sweat.’ Edgar swivelled his eyes towards him, keeping his body as still as possible.

  ‘Hmm.’ Something was niggling the serjeant, whose face was ruminative. He ignored the mild jest. ‘It’s an odd time to leave the manor, when harvest is coming in,’ he remarked.

  ‘Ah, I left it long ago, not days past, and was hoping to reach it afore the harvest were all gathered.’ Edgar sighed. ‘I left Flavel years back and was apprenticed to a wheelwright in Evesham as had married my aunt. The wheelwright in Flavel was young and strong and had no wish to take on a lad then. I served three years and then the pair of ’em upped and died one winter, of the green cough. I was newly a father, and thus a husband also, but thanks be that Evesham has a fair few wheelwrights and another took me on. Then, when I was a journeyman, the child died and my wife followed soon after. Took the spirit from me, that did, for a while. Eventually, well, I became full partner, but there was a fire, end of last month, and it is all gone and old Wulfram with it. No other wheelwright, nor craftsman of any sort, will work with me, for they say as I am cursed with misfortune. True enough that Evesham has brought me no joy for long. Mind you, after what has happened here, I wonders if I am not cursed wherever I go and ought to take up a pilgrim’s staff.’ He looked disconsolate. ‘I never liked the river much, so I doubt I dare cross a big water like sea, but there is St David’s, I suppose.’

  ‘I’d as soon take the sea,’ mumbled Catchpoll, who had never seen more than the estuary of the Severn above Gloucester. ‘There’s an awful lot of Wales to St David’s.’ He shook his head. ‘An awful lot.’

  Nothing, thought Bradecote, would ever rid Catchpoll of his dislike of Wales, but this was not the time to dwell upon Edgar’s future plans. He opened his mouth to speak, but Edgar was before him.

  ‘Well, we shall see. Mayhap my path ends in Flavel, since I was given such a sign.’

  ‘A sign?’ Catchpoll snorted. He was largely dismissive of signs.

  ‘Aye, but to see my lord, and just when I was wondering if I ought to return, it being a time when all are of use, that made me sure.’

  There was a silence, and the sheriff’s men stared at Edgar in stupefaction.

  ‘You met with the lord Raoul Parler? When?’ Bradecote spoke slowly, deliberately.

  ‘Why, but the day before … what day is this? No matter … well, the day before I met Alnoth on the road. I would not say as I met with him, not to speak to nor even make my bow to, but I saw him right enough. He was not cold sober, and the woman on his arm is known to half the shire, if you get me, but I had not seen
him in Evesham these two years past. I took it as a sign.’

  ‘You are sure of this?’

  ‘Of course, my lord.’

  ‘And when in the day?’

  ‘The early eventide, my lord.’

  ‘Walkelin.’ Bradecote turned urgently to the serjeanting apprentice. ‘I know we said we did not need you to go to Worcester, but go now and do not dawdle. Find his woman, and find out when and for how long he was with her, if at all. How much of what he told us was lie or half-truth I do not know, but by the Saints of Heaven I will have the truth from him. Return here, for he will have no cause to think we are interested any more in him and will sit secure in his manor, and I do not wish to confront him without the news you bring.’

  ‘Yes, my lord, at once.’ Walkelin looked to Catchpoll. ‘Can you tell me where to find the Widow Brook, serjeant?’

  ‘Aye, I can that. I will come with you to saddle up, if my lord gives leave.’

  Bradecote nodded, told him to return to the solar, where he would be speaking with the lady, and belatedly wondered why Catchpoll was being so deferential. Then he saw Baldwin de Lench in the doorway. Catchpoll was wily, insubordinate and sometimes outright disobedient, but he knew the value of everyone respecting the office of undersheriff, and he would play the game to accentuate the idea that his superior must be obeyed. No doubt he also had other instructions for Walkelin on how to conduct his meeting with the leman.

  ‘Need this man remain in my hall?’ Baldwin pointed at the injured man. He sounded as if Edgar were an unpleasant smell. To annoy him, Bradecote looked at the girl.

  ‘What would you say, Healer?’ He could give her the title but calling her Mistress would sound as if he spoke in jest and also feel foolish. She would need some years yet to earn that.

  ‘I …’ She wavered, but found that the lord undersheriff’s gaze, and his addressing her with a title, could give a girl courage. ‘I would say, my lord, that he could be brought to Mo … the Healer’s house, and I would care for him there. In a day or two, why then he might go on to Flavel, if he finds a cart going there, or walks slowly, and with a stick. The legs are strong, and ’tis but the breathing that will be hard at first.’

  ‘Then there is your answer, de Lench. Your Healer says he can be moved, so move him, but gently and under her guidance.’ Bradecote hid a smile. Baldwin de Lench would not like that, not one bit. Without looking at the lord, however, he thanked the girl and went to the solar door, opening it as one with the right.

  The lady de Lench was sat upon her chair, and from the size of it Bradecote thought it had always been the lady’s seat. Hamo was on his knees upon the floor, which made the undersheriff’s brows rise, but then he saw that he was taking his pieces of vellum and arranging them in some order which was meaningful to him. He glanced up at Bradecote, hunched a shoulder and resumed his task.

  ‘Perhaps you should take those to the priest, messire.’ Bradecote wanted him gone, for it was hardly likely that he would find out anything about the mother and her relationship with the steward when the son was in the chamber.

  ‘Father Matthias does not need to read them. He knows the words. I am missing one, missing the commandment of the Lord Christ, the one to love one another. It is very hard to do. I do not love Baldwin. I try to do so, but I fail and so I ask forgiveness for it.’

  ‘It might be still in the priest’s house, fallen upon the floor and in a corner. You ought to look for it.’ Bradecote was all helpfulness.

  ‘Yes, but if he had found it, the good father would have brought it to me.’

  ‘Indeed, but remember he has been looking only to the body of Winflaed the Healer and praying for her soul, as we will also.’ Countering logic with logic looked most likely to have an effect, and Hamo certainly looked more pensive than aggrieved.

  ‘Yes. The potions she made were often foul to the taste, but she intended nothing but good. Murder is against God’s commandment, but some seem most specially wicked. I will pray for her too.’

  ‘I suggest that if you go and look for your missing vellum and then go to the church, your prayers and those of Father Matthias will ascend together.’

  Hamo wavered, sat back upon his haunches, and then, gathering his neat piles together, he rose.

  ‘Mother, you will keep these for me? The box is broken but if you place a pebble upon the top they will not become disordered, and Baldwin does not come in here.’

  ‘I will keep them.’ She smiled at the youth, who returned the smile, but as though mirroring it rather than feeling it within himself. He left, and she sighed, turning to the undersheriff. ‘You cannot think he would harm his sire, nor poor Winflaed, my lord.’

  ‘I think it unlikely, I grant, but I have seen also how he can be killing-mad upon a cause most would think should merely give rise to shouting or a raised fist. You cannot deny that he would have killed Baldwin in the hall, had he been able.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘He would not kill in cold blood, I am sure of it, but if he snaps as he did over the box, nothing is beyond him.’ Bradecote realised he was making an even better case for Hamo’s innocence. Neither killing bore any sign of rage in the attack, nor an attempt at defence, which being advanced upon by a man behaving like a crazed fiend would have made certain. ‘I am not here now to talk of your son but of your steward.’

  ‘He is a good man.’

  Her words were guarded, and Bradecote noted she did not give him his name. Was that intentionally stepping back? He did not challenge her but decided to seek at least some of his answers by a different path. He heard Catchpoll enter behind him but did not turn round.

  ‘Tell me about him. Is he the steward by inheritance, following his father?’

  ‘Yes, this I know for sure, since he was not steward when I came here to wed. He was learning, had learnt from boyhood, but his father was steward then.’

  ‘And was learning the sum of all he did? I cannot believe the lord Osbern would see that as a day-long task.’

  ‘Mostly, by then, for his father was stiff of joints and sometimes unable to stand all day, so Fulk gave up his hours with …’ Her eyes widened a little, as she saw a trap looming. ‘His hours with those labouring.’ It was not the real answer.

  ‘How many men-at-arms did your lord keep?’ Bradecote asked, softly, and she reddened to the roots of her hair.

  Catchpoll gave a faint sigh of pleasure. This was serjeanting craft.

  ‘The marks upon your arm, lady, came from being held, held hard.’ Bradecote suddenly lunged forward and took her by the wrist, not too tightly, but watching the instinctive cringing and pulling back, and the fear in her eyes. ‘Yes, you are not unused to such treatment.’ He let her go. ‘Osbern had a temper, as we see in Baldwin, and you say he was not a man as was liked. He was a man who hit and held, wasn’t he.’ It was a statement, and she merely nodded, and rubbed at her wrist as if also from habit.

  ‘I failed him,’ she whispered. ‘I failed him in sons, and I failed him in spirit. He wanted what I could not provide and what I could not be. I think … I think he wanted the wife he had lost, though it was a tempestuous marriage, from what I gathered. Yet when he selected me it was, my mother told me, because I would cause no trouble and be biddable.’ She sighed. ‘Perhaps he did not know what he wanted. Sometimes he was angry because I was quiet, sometimes because I made some mild comment. It was never right.’

  ‘You must have felt very alone.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. I did not question it.’

  ‘And Fulk the Steward tried to protect you?’

  ‘Protect me?’ She gave a shrill laugh. ‘If he had he would have been dead years ago. Osbern had his rights and would brook no interference with them.’

  ‘So if he did not protect, did he solace?’ There was no judgement in the question.

  ‘He was there. That is what meant something. It was as though there was something at my back so that I would not fall backwards into an abyss.’

  �
�Strange. I had not seen Fulk in the light of a listener.’ Bradecote raised a brow.

  ‘Listener? Not really, but listening to him, just him saying that what had happened was wrong … it made it easier. If it had been right, normal, natural, then I could not have borne it for all these years.’

  ‘Fulk must have been angered at times, not being able to protect you as he wished, being only able to speak freely with you when your lord, and his, was up the hill. At least it was at the same time, almost every day. It was your time, yes? To do with as you willed.’ There was no implication that what they willed involved adultery, for if it had been there, she would have heard his disapproval. It was not just a morality about adultery, but about lordship, and the trust within it. For some men it was one way, as with Osbern and the women in his manor, but Hugh Bradecote saw it as a mutual bond. Breaking it broke more than a commandment.

  The lady de Lench lowered her gaze anyway, and her hands found each other for support.

  ‘When you last saw your lord alive, there were hot words, even from you, words that sent young Hamo away to avoid them, and more than words. Your skin tells us that. What was it that caused such heat on both sides?’

  ‘I suggested to my lord that it would be better that Baldwin married and sired sons than did not wed at all.’

  ‘You would have had him bring the tradesman’s daughter as lady?’ The undersheriff was surprised. ‘Even your son thinks that would be demeaning the name of the lords of Lench.’

  ‘Yes. I have not so great a feeling for the name, since it was imposed upon me by my marriage, yet is strange that Hamo has found within himself that much blood. But he is thinking one way only. If he thought more then he would see the advantage to himself. Baldwin has but to sire a son and he can go to the monks and be safe.’

  ‘You thought he was not?’

  ‘No. Yes. I mean the bad feeling between Hamo and Baldwin has been greater of late. What you saw over the box, well, it might have happened at any time, and had you not been there, Baldwin would have killed him and been able to say he was but defending himself against a man gone mad with rage.’