‘It is bearing false witness; it is a sin,’ announced Father Paulinus, simply.
‘Worse are committed every hour, in every manor in the shire, Father. And show me a man who says he does not lie, and I will show you a liar.’ De Nouailles did not look penitent.
Some of the servants looked at their feet. What the priest said was true, and they would not speak against him, but they all knew that what their lord said was realistic.
Catchpoll sucked his teeth, and his face contorted in a manner his superior correctly interpreted as ‘we get no further this way’. Bradecote knew both his men were as convinced as he was of de Nouailles’ guilt when it came to Aelfric, but everything was thrown back at them. He wondered how he might extricate themselves in any semblance of good order. It was the priest who came to their aid.
‘My lord, if you will permit, and Master Steward also, may the body be taken straight away to the church and be laid out there? Whatever sins Aelfric died with upon his soul, it is our duty to pray for him and to see him buried decently.’ The priest made sure that de Nouailles thought the remark addressed to him, but cast Bradecote a glance of furtive swiftness. It was de Nouailles’ bailey, but the corpse ‘belonged’ to the law as yet.
‘I have no objection. Leofwine?’
Leofwine blinked as though his mind had been elsewhere, and he nodded. Father Paulinus stepped forward, took the reins of Walkelin’s horse from Serjeant Catchpoll and led the horse so that he might give them to Leofwine.
‘Bring him to church, my son.’ The priest spoke calmly, and turned to walk slowly towards the still opened gates. Leofwine followed, and Bradecote, gathering his men swiftly with a glance, simply stepped forward and formed a line of three with them and took station behind, as if in some solemn parade. They left the bailey without a word, with de Nouailles staring after them. They did not look back, but might have been cheered had they known that the lord of Harvington was no longer smiling.
Bradecote and Catchpoll did not go as far as following priest and steward into the church. Walkelin helped Leofwine take the body from his horse and carry it inside, but absented himself thereafter and joined his seniors in the priest’s house.
‘I wish I could say I felt at least some satisfaction over this, but I can’t,’ complained Hugh Bradecote. ‘Two murders are solved in deed, but we have no solid motive, and we know that the murderer was killed by the man who set him upon the path of killing in the first place, and looks like remaining free. What justice is that?’
‘Poor justice, my lord, but it clears our path a little. The murder of the maid we can set aside now, for whatever his reason to kill her, it was Aelfric who took her life, and in order to place Aelfric’s death at the hands of his lord we need to prove he set Aelfric to kill Horsweard.’
‘What chance Leofwine will give us that? He looked as if unpleasant thoughts were in his head.’ Walkelin did not sound as if he thought this more than just a hope.
‘Possible, but if he now believes his nephew killed the girl, and it was news to him, he might not be swift to point the finger at his lord.’ Bradecote shook his head. ‘No, we have to try and do this ourselves, not pray for the steward to lose faith in de Nouailles.’
‘But he may question whether his lord killed Aelfric, knowing he was absent this morning, and knew where Aelfric was holed up like a rat.’ Walkelin looked a little more cheered by this thought. ‘Kin are kin, murderous or not.’
‘And a man’s loyalty can sometimes be beyond kindred.’ Bradecote sighed. ‘We go back, and back again. Our problem is firstly that however hard we look at it, de Nouailles really does not seem to have murdered his wife. I mean, we agree that de Nouailles did not push the loved-by-all Edith to her death?’
‘Physically, my lord?’ queried Catchpoll.
‘Yes. We will look at whether his actions upset her and led indirectly to that fall, in a minute.’
‘She was not pushed, my lord. All who saw agreed about that.’ Walkelin spoke with assurance.
‘Good. Then do we think she was dead when he found her or did he take advantage of the fall and kill her thereafter? I say she was, and no.’
‘I will agree with that, my lord. I have wondered on it, but I agree.’ Catchpoll sniffed. ‘Which means de Nouailles had no reason to threaten his erstwhile brother-in-law over it. We have been looking at a crime that never happened.’
‘Which means Horsweard must have heard something else, my lord, and that surely was about Thomas the Clerk.’ Walkelin had his intent look, which his superiors were learning to read as him having a thread that he would tug at until it pulled clear of any muddle. ‘And it is unlikely he heard about him in Evesham, so someone here must have spoken to him about the man.’
‘A fair thought, young Walkelin. We sort of set that too far out of the way.’ The serjeant nodded his approval. ‘It also gives us several possibilities. Perhaps the brother heard of the assault and that there was no theft at all, and that it had overset the lady, the hanging of the clerk. He might therefore blame de Nouailles and threaten to say that what had been done was not legal, and thus murder. The lady died indirectly because of her husband’s acts and he could not prove anything in law, but with Thomas the Clerk, there was a killing being covered up. There was a murder, but not the one we thought at first.’
‘Of itself it might be enough, Catchpoll. De Nouailles clearly does not like de Beauchamp and may think he covets his lands. Being brought before him would stick in his gullet, and he would not worry about removing Horsweard.’ Bradecote sat upon a bench and steepled his fingers. ‘But if that was his reason, it would be mighty difficult to prove, even if we found who told him of it.’
‘That part, surely, is not hard, my lord.’ Walkelin looked surprised.
‘Go on.’
‘Your lady has a tirewoman, yes?’
‘Of course.’ Bradecote absent-mindedly poured a beaker of cider, and handed it to Catchpoll.
‘Then what happened to the lady de Nouailles’ tirewoman? Did she assume other duties in the manor? Is she now just one of the villagers?’ Walkelin gasped. ‘And I take back what I said about Evesham, my lord. She might have wanted to leave after her lady’s death and gone away to Evesham and there met Horsweard, which would be why he returned as he did, despite the previous threats.’ The last sentence tumbled out in a rush.
‘I must be giving you too much time without tasks, lad. You’ve been doing a rare amount of thinking.’ Catchpoll gave Walkelin a wry smile, and took a draught of sweet cider.
‘Finding her would be very useful, so I hope she has not left Harvington,’ murmured the undersheriff, providing himself with a beaker, ‘but if that is the sum of the reason, I am not sure we can arraign de Nouailles. She might be too afraid to state what she said to Horsweard before the law, and it comes down to hearsay and one word against another. She would not expect her word to be taken over de Nouailles’.’
‘I had not finished the possibilities, my lord, and the second is more hopeful for us,’ continued Catchpoll. ‘If Horsweard heard about the clerk and the murder dressed as lawful process, would he not ask himself why? His kinsman is a monk of Evesham. He might have heard about a dispute—’
‘Or the tirewoman told him all about it,’ Walkelin interjected, ‘once she started the tale. Her being female and liking gossip.’
‘There are times as I thank the Almighty for gossip,’ agreed Catchpoll, ‘though it can as easily be a confusion. Bit like having a subordinate butt in while I am a-making of a case.’
‘Sorry, Serjeant.’ Walkelin did not look very sorry.
‘Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, Horsweard hears about the clerk and the lease and does some of his own thinking and threatens de Nouailles with revealing his thoughts to the Abbot of Evesham. That would be a very good reason to get rid of him quick and quiet. And, what is more, if we can lay hands on that lease, we may be able to prove it false, which gives us something solid against de Nouailles. At the very least he would
lose that mill he claims.’
‘A small victory, but something, yes. You do not read, Catchpoll, and I have to say that although I do, I am not sure I could tell if a document was “wrong”.’
‘Begging your pardon, my lord, but I did not think you would be the man for that. Father Paulinus might be, or else we take it to Evesham and let their scriptorium brothers read it.’
‘Which is all very well, but first we have to … er, obtain the document from wherever de Nouailles keeps it. I cannot see him handing it over to me for inspection.’
‘No, my lord, nor do I. We will need to get inside his solar when neither he nor his steward are on hand, which means a plan.’
‘And have you got one, Catchpoll?’
‘Not as yet, my lord, but you may be assured I am working on it.’
‘Will you work the better for another beaker of cider?’ Bradecote picked up the jug and proffered it.
‘That I might, thank you. Too much addles the wits, but the right amount is like oil on a hinge, makes the workings sweeter.’
‘I thought you was going to say less noisy, Serjeant.’ Walkelin grinned.
‘Do you want any cider?’ Catchpoll sounded curmudgeonly, but his eyes twinkled.
There was a pleasant air of camaraderie and almost light-heartedness, and the fermented apples had surprisingly little to do with it. Hugh Bradecote set aside his frustration, and the permutations chasing themselves round in his brain. The sheriff’s men had, despite no man in custody, solved two deaths, and knew the culprit in the third, or fourth if one counted the clerk’s death as an unlawful killing. They had reached the point where to take matters further they needed fresh minds, and it had been a tiring day.
Father Paulinus, coming from the shrouding of the second corpse in his village in as many days, frowned at the three carefree countenances as he entered, and looked pointedly at the jug.
‘I am sorry, Father.’ Bradecote’s smile faded. ‘I know you come from contemplating untimely death. We are not merry for drink, nor are we heedless that what we investigate from without is a tragedy to the families within. It is just,’ his smile reappeared, though it was twisted, ‘we know what is left to be proven, and after a day of chasing about the countryside, we cannot get to grips with it. Better we cast it and gloom aside for the evening, and start afresh on the morrow. I would ask, however, if you think you could tell if a document was a deceit.’
‘And can you tell us who was the lady de Nouailles’ tirewoman?’ Walkelin’s tenacious mind still held that as a key fact.
Father Paulinus blinked, and addressed the first question.
‘I have never looked at any document distrustingly.’
‘Leases can be forged, Father. You know that as well as I do. Over the years, even the Church has “found” some that do not bear study. Answer me true, would your former monk be able to forge a document? Had he the skill?’ Bradecote knew the answer, he was sure of it.
‘He had worked in the scriptorium, had a good hand, which is why he sold his services as a clerk thereafter, and would have seen old leases. But surely he would not have—’
‘A man living hand to mouth, paid for every letter, wandering the shire for work, would be a man less scrupulous.’
‘But it is wrong.’ The priest’s own innocence vibrated in each word.
‘Men sin in many ways. And if he did try to molest the lady de Nouailles, he was not above some pretty big sins.’ Catchpoll was angling for more details.
‘You know, I doubt that he did.’ Bradecote was thinking hard, and did not see Catchpoll look aggrieved. ‘Doing so, with the wife of a lord, the wife of a man who clearly has a bad temper, it would be reckless in the extreme. If he wanted a wench, there would be easier, and willing no doubt. We saw how de Nouailles was ready to use his rights over theft caught in the act to remove Walkelin, whom he knew to be innocent. I say he has used this ploy before. He employs a clerk to forge his lease, and only he and the clerk know it is forged. The clerk is therefore a risk. He might reveal it when drunk, or might even be rash enough to think of blackmail. No, the safe way is to remove the clerk, and that means murder and stealth, or making it look legal.’
‘Murder by stealth would be easy enough, though, my lord.’ Catchpoll rubbed his nose. ‘An itinerant clerk would have no kin to note his absence if he disappeared sudden like.’
‘Yes, but de Nouailles likes to remind people how harsh he is, likes to have people fear his wrath. This way he does that.’ Bradecote really did not like the man.
‘True enough.’
‘Father Paulinus, is there anything you can tell us about how the lady de Nouailles was before she died, that is not completely covered by the sanctity of confession? Lives depend upon it.’ Bradecote looked gravely at the priest, whose expression had become distressed.
‘I … She was troubled.’
‘You told us that much, for you said her brother knew she was troubled and her husband the source.’ Walkelin reminded him.
‘And that she feared God might judge her lord harshly,’ added Bradecote. ‘If she knew that there had been no assault …’
‘But I do not understand. I am sure there was. I can tell you she said she wished she had not been burdened with a form that brought men to sin, and how else could that be read?’
‘The clerk need only have looked at her lustfully to bring that thought to a pious lady, and could she not have meant that his jealousy about any man looking at her had led her husband to sin and have the man killed?’ Catchpoll pressed home the argument, and before the three of them the priest wavered.
‘It is possible, and that would—’ He stopped, and shook his head. ‘I can say no more.’
‘Could you tell if a document was forged,’ Bradecote repeated his earlier question, ‘or if it had been altered in any way?’
‘A good forgery would be hard to detect, I am sure. Vellum is expensive, and so there are ways to erase mistakes, of course, made when writing.’
‘Ways Thomas would know.’ Walkelin spoke almost to himself.
‘Yes. But he must have known that the abbey might wish to study the lease, see how it matched their own, so he would have made it as good as possible.’
‘If we found it, could you tell if it was altered or forged?’
‘I cannot say that I could, my lord. I was not gifted in writing, not a precise enough hand, and did not work in the scriptorium.’ The priest gave a small smile. ‘God called me to a flock, not a goose feather.’
‘What about if we took it to Evesham itself?’ Bradecote did not want to give up.
‘That is more likely, but then if they denounced it, Brian de Nouailles would say either that they had forged it to discredit him, or were telling a falsehood.’
‘But if it was their forgery he need only present the original, and they could go to the lord Sheriff, who employs a scribe, to confirm they were telling true. Our problem lies in getting hold of the document itself from the hall.’ Bradecote sighed.
‘I do not know how you will manage to get it from the manor, my lord, but what if you were to ask Abbot Reginald to come here and demand to see it in person? It would be very difficult for the lord de Nouailles to refuse the Abbot of Evesham on his doorstep.’
‘Father Paulinus, that is inspired.’
‘Then the thought is from the Almighty. I am but a simple man, my lord.’
‘I will enjoy seeing the look on de Nouailles’ face when we prove his fraud, but before we rush to that pleasure, can we avoid him slithering from the noose yet again? He will make no admission of guilt to make things easy for us.’
‘He has wriggled free thus far, my lord,’ offered Walkelin, ‘but each time it was more difficult. This afternoon, in his own bailey, I saw doubt on the faces of his people, aye, even on the face of Leofwine, his most loyal man.’ Walkelin felt deep down that justice simply had to win.
‘Let us see. We prove the lease a forgery, and with the added evidence that it was a scribe
trained in Evesham, it puts beyond all reasonable doubt that Thomas the Clerk was the man who made it for him. That loses de Nouailles the mill. If we speak with the tirewoman, and if − an important “if” − she says that she knows the clerk was hanged without just cause from the words of the lady de Nouailles, and if she told Horsweard of it, we have a case good enough to take before the sheriff and then the Justices. It would be reasonable that he had his man Aelfric do the killing. If he denies it, there is still a chance he avoids a hanging for that. As I see it, our problem then becomes we have no proof it was him that killed Aelfric bar our common sense, and circumstance.’ Bradecote was looking at possibilities.
‘Yes, and just who was the tirewoman?’ Walkelin was now nearly shouting this vital question that kept being overlooked.
‘Why, Agatha, the mother of Hild.’ Father Paulinus said it as if it must be known the length and breadth of the shire.
There was silence as this sank in. They had been absent from Hild’s interment, and had not, it must be said, considered her kinfolk in their questions. The connection made their theory the stronger.
‘Well, there you are, my lord. We may only have sense and circumstance, but to my mind we have damning levels of both, surely?’ Catchpoll’s face contorted in a slow grimace. ‘The man was killed this morning. The evidence of the corpse itself, plus the child hearing the scream and his cap in the shack, makes any other reading mere fancy, and the Justices are not fools, well, not often. De Nouailles was from home at that time, and only he and Leofwine knew where Aelfric was hiding. Only he had a motive for silencing him, and the convoluted tale he told of how it must have been the mythical brigands, that did not even convince peasants. We also have a reason why Aelfric might have had cause to silence the maid Hild, if mother spoke to daughter, as is likely. It is even possible that Aelfric, hearing the tale of Thomas the Clerk, might have thought to make his own position more secure by letting de Nouailles know that he knew the full story of why he had been sent to kill Horsweard, and the more fool him if he did. No, in the face of all that, the lord Sheriff would not see any arraignment as foolish, and since they do not like each other, will probably be happy that de Nouailles lingers in chains for a while, even if the case cannot in the end give a hanging. I even think there is a chance he will confess out of anger rather than guilt.’
Vale of Tears Page 18
