Vale of Tears

by Sarah Hawkswood

  The priest was not at home or in the church, and so Bradecote and Catchpoll abandoned thoughts of speaking with him for a while and went to corner Leofwine the Steward. Their first desire was to inspect the stables, but they were prevented from doing this by Leofwine himself, for he crossed the bailey as they entered, fully intent that they should not ‘keep the lord’s servants from their work’.

  ‘Oh, we are not here to do that.’ Catchpoll sounded very content for a man hunting a murderer, if not two.

  ‘And the lord de Nouailles is out riding, so you may not speak with him.’

  ‘No matter, for we are here to speak with you, Steward. We would like you to show us where the body was found.’ Bradecote echoed his serjeant’s tone, which made Leofwine the more suspicious.

  The steward’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘You know where it was found. Your man will have told you.’

  ‘But it would be better if you came and showed us exactly how it was you came upon it, and him.’

  ‘I cannot come just now, because I am waiting upon my lord’s command.’ Leofwine sounded a little desperate, which was all to the good.

  ‘Far be it from us to put you in bad odour with your lord,’ murmured Bradecote. ‘We can wait, but we will speak with you until the lord de Nouailles has given you his instruction.

  ‘Come into the buttery, then, if you must.’

  ‘I think we must, don’t you, my lord?’ Catchpoll suppressed a smile, badly.

  ‘Indeed, Serjeant, we must.’

  Leofwine glowered at the pair, but led them up the steps into the hall and then turned into the dimness of the shuttered buttery. A mouse scurried behind a tun.

  ‘So, what would you ask of me … my lord?’ It did not sound as if Leofwine’s answers would be willingly given.

  ‘Several things perplex us. The first is what you were doing that led you to find the body, since the villagers were working in the field some distance away, and if you were overseeing them, how came you to be there?’

  Leofwine licked his lips, and there was a heavy pause. They could almost hear the man thinking.

  ‘I was not overseeing them. I had been to Lench, upon the lord’s business, and was returning.’

  ‘Good.’ Catchpoll sounded as though he was glad the problem was cleared up. ‘They can confirm that in Lench, then, and give proof you were not on hand when the wench died.’

  ‘When the … You think that I killed her?’ Leofwine paled. ‘No, I cannot have done so. I found your man by the body.’

  ‘Nothing easier than doing the deed and then hiding, on hearing someone approach. There’s good enough cover among the trees and bushes. If nobody had come by, you would have either taken a long way back and been surprised when eventually she was found, or played clever and “found” her yourself, much as you did with Walkelin, but without the advantage of a scapegoat.’ Catchpoll was matter-of-fact.

  ‘There is also the matter of the charge of rape you made so swiftly and with so little cause against the sheriff’s man, Walkelin.’ Bradecote pressed home the advantage. ‘And it is very odd that you were so vehement that he was the girl’s killer and yet did not mention that you were not alone when you discovered him by the body. You would think that you would have both declared the crime, especially if you believed you had the culprit.’ Bradecote emphasised the ‘if’ as though to stress that he knew full well Leofwine had never thought the statement true, and made no mention of the horse, which Catchpoll silently applauded. ‘Unless you had an accomplice.’

  There was a moment of silence. ‘Not alone? You have no cause to suggest that.’

  ‘Not alone, I say, and we do.’

  ‘Nobody saw—’ Leofwine choked back his next word, which Catchpoll would have sworn was an ‘us’.

  ‘But we have seen that you were there, Master Steward, and with another man, and a horse. There is evidence in the ground, and the good earth does not lie. It is strange that you did not put either the body or the unconscious Walkelin across its back and lead it home. Your lord said the maid’s body was brought back on a hurdle, and though you do not look weak, why carry a man as good as dead weight all that way?’ Catchpoll was guessing that, in reality, Walkelin had been slung across the beast at least as far as within sight of the manor gates, and then Aelfric had made himself scarce while all the commotion took place. He might even have gone to de Nouailles’ nearest holding to lie low again.

  Leofwine was breathing fast, and his eyes held fear.

  ‘No need to look worried, Leofwine.’ The new voice was cold rather than comforting.

  Undersheriff and serjeant turned as one. Brian de Nouailles stood in the doorway, looking vaguely displeased, and very superior.

  ‘The reason he did not mention it was because it was unnecessary. You do not think I go about on foot among the peasantry, do you? The rider on the horse was me.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘You?’ Bradecote and Catchpoll spoke in unison, and with total surprise in their voices. It was not an option they had considered.

  ‘Yes. Me.’ De Nouailles sneered at them. ‘I do not expect to be dragged into this mess. I met my steward as I was riding and we took that path back. He saw all that was needful to report. My eyes are no better than his.’ He shrugged.

  ‘Interesting then, my lord, that you were crying rape to us when there was no sign of such a crime upon the body, and yet you had seen it close up,’ Catchpoll spoke carefully, not quite accusing.

  ‘She was on her back; he was leaning over her. It was a natural assumption.’ De Nouailles sounded bored.

  ‘And although he does not recognise many of your villagers, Walkelin does recognise you, de Nouailles, and you were not the man he saw on the horse.’ Bradecote made no pretence at believing the lord of Harvington.

  ‘He was rendered senseless and it is his addled wits against the word of my steward, and against mine. Think what you will, Bradecote. I will swear it was me, and you can do nothing to prove it otherwise.’

  ‘Then show us the horse you rode.’ The undersheriff’s eyes flashed anger.

  ‘If you wish. It is just a horse like any other, four legs, two ears, two eyes …’ De Nouailles shrugged again and turned to leave his hall, with the sheriff’s men following. Leofwine, unsure whether to follow, remained in the buttery and regained his composure before going to the kitchen and making the cook’s life a misery.

  De Nouailles strode to the stables and yelled for the stable boy, who appeared from a stall.

  ‘Show the lord Undersheriff my horse.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  The youth turned immediately to a stall and brought out a big bay horse. This bay had three white stockings and a proud, finely chiselled face with a wide, white blaze down its very straight nose.

  ‘Was this the horse your lord rode yesterday?’ Bradecote spoke firmly but without heat.

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ The answer was swift.

  ‘Was it the only horse he rode?’ Catchpoll asked, quietly.

  ‘It is his favourite horse.’

  ‘That was not what I asked, lad.’ There was no increase in volume, but Catchpoll’s voice menaced.

  It was, thought Bradecote, the horse de Nouailles had been riding when he found them at the mill.

  ‘It was the only horse he rode.’

  ‘Was there a new horse in these stables yesterday at any time?’ Bradecote persisted.

  The stable lad swallowed convulsively, and could not resist glancing at his lord, unsure what answer he would wish him to give.

  ‘I did not see a new horse in these stables, my lord,’ the boy mumbled.

  ‘So that is the end of the matter.’ De Nouailles sounded matter-of-fact. ‘Now, you can leave my servants alone to get on with their labours.’ His tone was dismissive, and Bradecote did not like being dismissed.

  ‘The matter is ended when I say so, de Nouailles, and I promise you that is not yet.’ He almost ground his teeth, and de Nouailles laughed. />
  ‘Mere words, Bradecote, mere words. You will find nothing. You choose to waste your own time, but do not waste mine.’

  There was little more the undersheriff and serjeant could do than stalk out, the laugh ringing in their ears. They saw Walkelin coming towards them, and his mouth opened to speak, but he caught the look on the undersheriff’s face and thought better of it, and so turned and fell into step with them. Only when the gates closed behind them did he ask what had happened. He shook his head at what he heard.

  ‘No. For the horse I saw was almost certainly Walter Horsweard’s, my lord, a big-nosed bay with a white off-hind and—’

  ‘De Nouailles says it was him on the horse, and his own bay is in the stables, the bay he says he was riding.’ Catchpoll growled the words.

  Walkelin’s jaw dropped.

  ‘But that is a lie.’

  ‘Of course it’s a lie. You know that, we know that, and he knows we cannot prove it,’ Hugh Bradecote snapped. He was not a man given to outbursts of rage, but his jaw was working and his brows met in an angry line. ‘I’ll see that bastard hang, because he is as guilty as hell, and he thinks he is beyond the law. Well, the law doesn’t agree with him.’

  ‘That’s the way of it, my lord,’ agreed Catchpoll, just as angry and yet holding back a smile as he realised just how far Bradecote had come. He was thinking like a serjeant, in a grander way, perhaps, but getting the outlook that Catchpoll had long held, and it pleased the older man. ‘The cockier he gets, mind you, the likelier to put a step wrong, and we will have him.’

  Bradecote’s reply was pithy, rude, and much to both his subordinates’ taste. It was a threesome in total accord that stopped before the church, where the priest was bending to talk to a lad who must be nearly of an age to be part of the tithing. Father Paulinus looked up.

  ‘You do not look well pleased, my lord.’

  ‘No, Father. We have good evidence that the horse Walter Horsweard was riding when he was killed has been seen about the manor, but no way of proving it in the face of denials. It is a pretty distinctive animal too.’

  ‘Might I have seen it?’

  ‘Probably not, Father. It is a big bay, with a heavy nose and—’

  ‘A white stocking on one hind leg.’ The boy looked up, with a mixture of diffidence and confidence. He certainly had their attention. ‘I saw a horse like that this morning, tethered by the cottage in the woods where old Ketel lived.’

  ‘How long ago?’

  ‘This morning, when Mother took us out into the field to work. My brother is young, and gets bored. He slipped away into the woods to play, and Mother sent me after him.’

  ‘What exactly did you see?’

  ‘It was just the horse I noticed. I like horses. Father Paulinus lets me groom his mule.’ The boy frowned. ‘It was a strange place to see it. Nobody has lived there since old Ketel died.’ The child crossed himself. ‘I wouldn’t go close. Some as say he’s still there, and …’ He looked nervously at the priest, who smiled and shook his head.

  ‘That is just a foolishness.’

  ‘But I heard his spirit in torment, Father.’ The voice was a trembling whisper now.

  ‘What did you hear, lad?’ Catchpoll tried to sound like a kindly oldfather, but the ‘kindly’ seemed very lacking.

  ‘He screamed.’

  ‘Often?’

  ‘No, once I heard, I ran away, and I did not tell Mother because she would say I was frightening my brother, and it is not a tale. I would not say so before Father Paulinus if it was.’

  ‘The good Father speaks true, boy. What you heard was no spirit, but a living man, or at least living until the scream ended.’ Catchpoll’s face had hardened into grimness.

  ‘Excuse us, Father. We wish to speak with you, but it must wait. Where exactly did Ketel live?’

  The priest described the place.

  ‘But we are committing Hild to the earth. Will you not be present?’

  ‘I am sorry, Father, but this is more urgent, and if as we fear, may bring more work for the gravedigger.’

  The three men ran to the stable, unconcerned at the interest this aroused in the few villagers who saw them, and within minutes were galloping up the road that headed northward.

  Brian de Nouailles’ pleasure at goading the undersheriff did not stop him turning a snarling visage to his steward when he returned to his hall, and ordering the lad who was setting down a basket of wood for the brazier to get out or feel his boot.

  Leofwine was morose, in full expectation of feeling his lord’s wrath. De Nouailles was scowling as heavy as a thundercloud, and showed no lightening of his features when he began to speak.

  ‘So.’

  ‘My lord?’

  ‘Tell me, Leofwine, what happened yesterday.’

  ‘My lord, I did not kill the maid.’

  ‘Of course you didn’t.’ He made it sound as if it were a weakness. ‘Tell me how you found her.’

  ‘On the ground on her back and—’

  ‘Jesu, give me strength! You sound as lack-wit as Aelfric. How was it that you came upon her at all?’

  ‘Aelfric found me, and said he had come across her, dead.’

  ‘Where did he find you?’

  ‘In my chamber, my lord. He said he came in through the postern, which had been left open a-ways, and none saw him.’

  The scowl became a frown.

  ‘Why did he not ride in, telling of his “find”?’

  ‘I did not ask, my lord. He seemed upset − and who would not be? I was just thankful that he had done so, what with sheriff’s men about. He said he wanted me to come and be the one to find the body, then he would come home, but I told him how things stood, and said he was best out of sight and mind until the fussing died down. I said at the time it was rash, him—’

  ‘I have no interest in what you said then nor think now. I am only interested in keeping Aelfric from a noose.’ De Nouailles’ sneer was pronounced. ‘So, he persuaded you to go with him?’

  ‘Yes, my lord. Out the postern gate and with none the wiser. Everyone was working the East Field. We was taking a roundabout way so as not be in the view of any as lifted their heads, and then Aelfric sees the sheriff’s man-at-arms coming along in the distance. That red hair of his is easy to spot. Aelfric was leading the horse, you understand, so wasn’t too likely to have been seen. He half-dragged me into the spinney and said this was even better, if we found a stranger there to blame.’

  ‘Why should he need someone to blame?’ De Nouailles was suspicious.

  ‘He said the chances were it was a stranger, anyway, and it could be said the same man had killed Horsweard. I told him that would not work, because the red-haired man was the sheriff’s man. Then he laughed and said accusing him would take the law’s attention away from Horsweard good and proper, and I thought as you would like the idea, my lord, being as you dislike the undersheriff.’

  ‘You have that, right enough. Sets himself up as righteous and nigh on saintly, and pushes his nose into private matters. He even had the gall to tell me he had lost a wife, knew what grief was. He knows nothing; he was not married to her.’ He did not say his wife’s name, but his expression became intense, and Leofwine knew that for a moment Brian de Nouailles was not looking at him.

  ‘So we came up through the trees, knowing he would stop by the body, and Aelfric got on the horse, in case he ran, he said, though I thought that unlikely, and we, well, ambushed him, called him murderer and violator for good measure, and I hit him over the head with a stout stick. We put him over the horse’s withers in front of Aelfric and came back carefully, as close as we could to the manor gate, then I slung him over my shoulder and staggered in the last hundred paces, and Aelfric slipped away to old Ketel’s place.’ Leofwine paused. ‘If you want to know more, you must ask Aelfric, my lord.’

  Brian de Nouailles had good reason to know that Aelfric would give him no answers, and, though a man not prone to regret, wished he had thought to ask c
ertain questions of him whilst he could.

  The tumbledown dwelling was slowly being absorbed into the woodland, and was not easy to find, even with the leaves of oak, ash and chestnut only unfurling from bud. From the evidence of the boy, they did not expect to find the horse still tethered by the crumbling walls, and the only proof it had been there was the pile of fresh droppings, roughly scattered, and hoof prints in the soft ground. There was silence, except for a robin singing lustily, and the scrabbling of two squirrels, mere flashes of chestnut red, chasing each other in the upper branches of a gnarled oak. They did not bother to draw steel before entering.

  As their eyes adjusted to the gloom, they knew what they were likely to find, but there was no corpse. Catchpoll flung open a shutter, which disintegrated and hung like a torn flag from its hinge. The trio blinked at the sudden light.

  ‘The bastard is still one move ahead of us.’ Bradecote kicked a broken pot, viciously.

  The other two both knew whom he meant.

  ‘Let us just see if we can be sure Aelfric was here, my lord. You never know, there might be something useful. If de Nouailles came here to get rid of him and the horse, he might have got careless.’

  ‘And to think he was here, even as we were snuffling like hogs in leaf litter where the girl was killed. Are we going to end up handing back a string of bodies to grieving relatives and never wiping the sneer off de Nouailles’ face? I so want to do that Catchpoll, even if it is only as the rope tightens about his neck.’

  The undersheriff was too aggrieved to search, and Catchpoll did not mind if Bradecote vented his natural ire, while he looked, and looked carefully. That there had been someone in the single chamber was clear from the tell-tale blackening and traces of ash half-rubbed from the long disused hearth, and the detritus of decay upon the floor that was disturbed.

  ‘We know that Aelfric cried out, so we can be pretty sure he died here, and there are scuff marks enough this side to suggest he backed away, if you look. He would have taken whatever blow it was to the front, since he wasn’t making for the door.’ Catchpoll knelt on the floor and felt, with a surprising delicacy of touch, among the half-rotted rushes, blown in leaves and accumulating earth. ‘It is a cool day, and there is dampness here.’ He held up his fingers to the light from the gaping window. They showed smears of red.