Blood Runs Thicker

by Sarah Hawkswood

  ‘No.’ Bradecote wondered at this flash of insight, but then Hamo continued.

  ‘No, for she cannot help being a Daughter of Eve, and thus easily tempted, as Eve was by the Serpent.’ He shook his head. ‘Only a fool would be tempted by a snake, but women are fools.’ With which statement he got up, dusted his knees and walked to the door without another word.

  The lady de Lench had been right; Hamo would make a very bad priest, but a good monk.

  Bradecote heard his stomach rumble, reminding him of his lack of sustenance, and then turned at the sound of footsteps. Walkelin entered, reporting that the steward was now fully conscious and very afraid.

  ‘He got off more lightly than the Widow Brook, I will say that, my lord, when it comes to the beating.’

  ‘I doubt not he could at least try and fight back, Walkelin, which is more than she could do.’

  ‘Aye, my lord, but I think part was done when he was half strangled. He has cloudy memory of it all.’

  ‘He is fortunate then.’ He paused. ‘Have you seen Serjeant Catchpoll?’

  ‘No, my lord.’

  Bradecote therefore explained how the lord of Lench would be kept from his potential victims.

  ‘Bar the door to any but the girl Hild. Sweet Lady Mary, she is needed by too many this day.’

  Catchpoll came in, a half-smile on his face.

  ‘The priest was concerned that we wanted him to actually stand over his lord and prevent him leaving, but I reassured him that the guarding is with us.’

  ‘Good.’ Bradecote sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. ‘What did we do to deserve all this, I ask myself,’ he grumbled.

  ‘Well, we takes the task seriously, and does it as well as we can. That means sometimes it gets all knotted, my lord.’ The serjeant did not take the question as rhetorical.

  ‘All I want is to eat, think, and sleep, and if I fall asleep thinking it will not be a surprise. Baldwin de Lench is like a bolt of lightning – you never know where he will come to earth and what damage he will do. I pity this manor.’ He sighed. ‘I have no idea if a meal is in preparation or not. Walkelin, go and find the cook and make sure it is yet to come. I would have words with the lady de Lench alone, but when you return, await me, both of you, and we will try, and I mean try, to make sense of what Parler has given us.’

  Walkelin just nodded and went out, already thinking for himself so he could contribute upon his return. Catchpoll set the stool upon its legs, and sat on it, leaning forwards and with his hands loosely between his knees. He looked as though his mind was blank, but the mind of Serjeant Catchpoll was always working if he was awake, and sometimes even when he was asleep.

  Bradecote went to the solar door and knocked upon it, though he entered straight after, and was prepared to avert his eyes if it was seemly. The lady was, however, laid upon the bed on her stomach, her face turned towards the door and her hand, clenched into a fist, pressed to her mouth. The old woman was not alone, for the youthful healer was now present, and placing strips of linen, soaked in some concoction, upon the red stripes of damaged flesh. He assumed she had been brought from Gytha in her travail. For a minute or so Bradecote said nothing, his mind filled with the thought that once, when Christina would have been no older than the girl Hild, she had been the victim left in the same position as the lady de Lench now. Had anyone even been allowed to tend her, solace her? Then he frowned, because a lash was not what a man commonly carried. De Malfleur would have sought out his child-wife and been prepared for what he had planned to do to her, but if Baldwin de Lench had simply discovered the lady and the steward together, how come that he had a whip to hand? He must also surely have rendered the steward incapable before he set about the lady, for a man, other than her strange son, would not stand by and see a woman he cared for being hurt and demeaned. Asking questions at this minute would be ridiculous, and so Bradecote simply turned away and waited, a silent presence in the chamber.

  A short while later Hild came and begged his pardon, so he turned about. She had a bowl of torn strips and the remnants of her poultice, or whatever it was balanced on one hip, which made her obeisance clumsy.

  ‘My lord, all is done as can be. I would be going back to the birthing now.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I hope it goes well. Look in upon the steward when you have time, if you have time before …’

  ‘It will be a time yet, so I can do that, my lord. Babes is oft born at night, and I think this one will be so. Mother Winflaed says … said … as it is good to keep the place dark, then the babe is not surprised by the light, nor fearful to come out into it. Too long a travail is bad for the mother and the child both.’

  ‘Yes. To your duty then, Healer, and God aid you.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord. I …’ her voice became for a moment a confidential whisper, ‘I wish I had had more time.’

  ‘Your time is now, and you will learn from what you do, just as you learnt from watching. A score years hence all Lench will be saying “that is what Hild the Healer says” as if it was a law from the king.’

  ‘Hild the Healer,’ repeated the girl, with a dawning smile. ‘It sounds right, don’t it?’

  ‘It does.’ He smiled at her, and she bobbed again and departed, leaving the old woman and the lady upon the bed.

  ‘You wants me to stay, my lord?’ the oldmother questioned, unsure.

  ‘There is no need. The lady is safe, and I would speak gently with her, but privately.’

  The old woman looked at him, and what she saw confirmed the truth of his words. She could go with an eased heart.

  ‘There’s not been enough gentleness in this manor for far, far too long,’ she commented, sagely and departed, shaking her head.

  Bradecote approached the bed. The lady de Lench lay now upon her side, a coverlet drawn up to her neck, with the pale face, and a hand clutching a kerchief, the only parts of her visible.

  ‘I warned your steward, and I see that I ought to have warned you, lady. Your husband’s son leaps to thoughts that others come to slowly. What possessed you to be alone with the man Fulk? It could do no good and immense harm.’

  ‘It was not intended.’ Her voice was a whisper. ‘I had thought to stay quiet and on my own, for I have much to think upon. But those thoughts brought me to weeping. I acknowledge my sin, will confess it and do whatever penance the Church sets me, but always the blame lies with the woman, the shame at least. Even Hamo thinks it. What happened between Fulk and me, it was the intent of neither to seduce, to betray. It just happened. The Church would not blame Osbern for being an uncaring and cruel husband, but would condemn me, the wife; one not simply neglected, which is bearable, but the wife he would hurt when he needed to take out his ire upon someone. It was never his sons, shout as he might, never them, only me. And though Baldwin wanted to act as Osbern would have acted with Fulk, to everyone else … he may even seem daring. It was not daring. He just cared a little.’

  Hugh Bradecote did not want to listen to more, more with which he wanted to disagree, and yet felt sympathy. The killing of Osbern de Lench was that of a man, and assuredly by a man, but suffering women had been what they had faced since; this sad and almost unwilling adulteress; the worn out but loyal and betrayed wife of Raoul Parler; the Widow Brook reduced to selling herself to unpleasant but powerful men to survive. Winflaed the Healer had been strong, but right at the last, she had become a victim too. In comparison, the harm to Edgar of Flavel, and to Fulk the Steward, seemed so much less important. He gave himself a mental shake. He was becoming soft-hearted and Catchpoll would tell him how much that was to be avoided.

  ‘Lady, I am not the Church, I am the Law, and what I ask is not judging, just truth-seeking. Baldwin found you and the steward together. You were, he said, holding hands, and you were smiling at the steward. Why does not matter, but what happened after may have importance. Tell me exactly what happened, from the moment Baldwin came in.’

  ‘It seemed to happen so fast. Fulk told me th
at all this would pass, and that once I was not in this place, life could be better, would be so. He had no cause to say it, of course, but it was a nice thing to say. Then Baldwin was there, shouting, so loud and angry, and then my flesh stung as the end of the lash caught me.’

  ‘So he had it in his hand when he entered.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose he did, though why … Fulk pulled back, charged at him, Baldwin sidestepped and hit him with the butt of it and as he fell …’ the woman closed her eyes at the remembered horror, ‘he looped it about his neck and strangled him with it. I tried to stop him, but he pushed me away and I fell, and then he came and stood nigh on over me, and it began. All I could feel was the sting and the wet blood and hear screams, my own screams, and Baldwin shouting about “this time it is right”. I think after a little while I was not aware, for I remember Hamo being there, and I do not know how or when he came, but he was blaming me, and then there was nothing, a blackness, nothing until I was outside and bound and Baldwin was going to …’ She sobbed.

  Bradecote set all she had said in order. He had mentally assumed that Fulk had been rendered unconscious trying to protect her, though it seemed she had risked as much to protect him. What was patently clear was that Baldwin had not been taken by surprise as much as he had implied. Had he suspected, and followed the steward into the hall? If so, how come this suspicion blossomed today of all days?

  ‘He will touch neither the steward nor you, lady, but I think the steward was right. Your life will be better elsewhere. Rest your body and spirit, and face tomorrow when it comes.’ He sounded solemn.

  ‘I wish it might not come at all,’ she murmured, and pressed the kerchief to her lips, stifling a sob that rose within her.

  There was nothing that Bradecote could say in answer, and so he turned and left, closing the solar door behind him.

  Both his subordinates awaited him in the hall, Catchpoll still upon the stool, and gazing into space. Walkelin looked a little uncomfortable, since disturbing his serjeant’s cogitations would bring harsh words, and yet standing, pretending to be thinking as deeply, felt silly.

  ‘How does the lady?’ he asked, glad to speak.

  ‘She’ll mend, though I think it is her spirit that is more broken than her skin. What news of eating?’

  ‘My lord, the cook says as there is some good, thick pottage and a spitted woodcock. It will be brought shortly. She says as the pottage did catch, on account of everyone going to see what was happening, but only at the very bottom, and she will see as you do not get that bit. It can be served as soon as you say.’

  ‘Thank you, that will be soon, and I want you to eat with the steward. We speak now, but best you get to your guarding as soon as may be.’

  ‘He can have the burnt bits,’ suggested Walkelin, hopefully, and the undersheriff nodded, not fully attending.

  ‘What the lady said that is interesting was that when she and the steward were discovered by the lord Baldwin, he had the whip already in his hand.’

  ‘I had been a-wondering about that, my lord,’ mumbled Catchpoll.

  ‘But if he had an idea of what had been between them before, would he not have acted as we saw he did? Why wait?’ Walkelin looked confused.

  ‘Because, young Walkelin, today is when he found out, and if your mind was clear, not half asleep and full of woodcock, then you would not ask foolish questions,’ chided Catchpoll. ‘So either steward and lady have been more open than ever they were when the lord Osbern was living, and since we warned Fulk, mark you, or else the lord Baldwin has been told by someone. That might possibly have been by intent, but more probably by a slip of the tongue that gave him the thought.’

  ‘Or,’ added Bradecote, grimly, ‘he obtained the knowledge by force.’

  ‘You are thinking he might have learnt it from Mother Winflaed, my lord?’ Catchpoll looked dubious.

  ‘Is it not possible?’

  ‘Aye, but he would need to have been thinking of it before that, or else why ask “What do you know of the lady and Fulk the Steward?”, and we have seen as he does not take a thought beyond its first awakening, and just acts. He would have acted upon that first thought, not seeking proofs from anyone else.’

  ‘That is true, Catchpoll. I think my head must be like Walkelin’s. Yet it is firm in one thought, but that does not give enough to bring the man before the lord Sheriff, and then the justices.’

  ‘You’re right about the lord Parler, my lord, if you is thinking as I am sure you are. I’ve been sitting here looking at it every which way, and there is only one end it all comes to. If he got to the hilltop a mite early and thought to come across the lord Osbern on his way up, it was easy enough for him to have met him, killed him, cast the clothing aside, but kept the hat and the cloak, and lead the grey to the top, so that he might appear as the man everyone would expect to see. At that distance, and if he sat none so tall in the saddle, he would be the lord Osbern. If he then loosed the horse to amble home, and it knew the way after all these years, all he had to do was ride back down the other slope to join the Evesham road a little north of the village, cast hat and cloak away, and then, very pleased with himself, take his usual path to miss the village and head into Evesham and all its delights. That way the lord Baldwin, coming from Evesham, passed the track from the hill when his father lay dead upon it, and the false Osbern was near the top to be seen. Which is all wonderful, except for—’

  ‘And, my lord, I was thinking too, and if the lord Parler killed the lord Osbern, when did he bury the dagger?’ interrupted Walkelin, eager to show he too had pondered the matter, but earned a frown from Catchpoll.

  ‘That is not all, either.’ Bradecote grimaced. ‘Come on, Catchpoll. I want you to make my day end well and give me the answer that makes it all work, but you were going to tell me it all falls to ruin if we have Parler as the killer, which is a shame, because the world would be the better without him.’

  ‘As you say, my lord. While the lord Parler could have done the killing, and as we was coming away from the bastard it did seem a very good answer, we have the problem, one the size of the barn out yonder.’

  ‘Which is, why would he bother with the deception at all?’ Bradecote sighed. ‘Why go to all the trouble to pretend to be Osbern when all he need do was kill him and carry on to Evesham? By that measure Parler must have been telling true, because of the hat and cloak north of Lench. Pox on it all. So Parler did not do it, I would swear oath Hamo did not do it, Fulk looks as if he did not do it because the lady sounded honest when she said he did not leave, which means that Baldwin de Lench must have killed his own sire. That is what happened, I am now fairly sure, but there is simply no reason.’

  ‘Then let us see if it fits, my lord, and await a reason. If he came from Evesham and met his father coming down the hill after the lord Osbern’s happy gazing upon his lands, then there is a mite of a problem in the grey getting back to the hall, and him arriving back to the harvest. It was close, but the horse had not far to come. If tethered it meant a risk. So we looks the other way round and as when we thought Parler might have done it. It would mean the lord Baldwin was not coming from Evesham, but from Tredington, and had cut up off the Alcester road on the same path Parler took, but earlier. He met his father as the man was on his way up the hill, not coming down, killed him, and to deceive all, kept the hat and cloak. Thing is, if he took but those things, it would lead us to think of that deceiving, so he also removed tunic and boots, as for a robbing, and trotted a short way so they would be not seen with the body, and threw them away. I am guessing he was urgent in this, for he did not stay to see where it all landed, with one boot a little in view, which it why Alnoth the Handless saw it. Then he cantered the grey up to the top of the hill, leading his own mount, to pose as the old lord.’ He then left the grey and came down the northern way to discard the hat and cloak, hoping the horse would not come home swift like.’

  ‘Do you not recall the groom spoke of the grey mare having bruised a foot the
week before?’ Bradecote was trying to make things fit smoothly. ‘It might have been after Baldwin was sent to Tredington, but equally might have been something he knew of, and hoped it was still a little sore. Besides, the animal knew the track up and down the hill, took it every day, so would as likely just amble back at its usual pace.’

  ‘That would make him more confident, yes, my lord.’

  ‘The dagger and badge he could have kept, to supposedly find later, for he could have hidden them in his trappings from his stay in Tredington. It would also give him something to make Hamo look even more guilty, if he could not get him hanged for the crime straight away. So he enters from the north, which would mean even if the grey was there before him, he could just pretend to be surprised. Since the horse was not yet there, he went to the field so that he was seen by all and could be as stunned as they were when the riderless animal came home. He must have expected there to be a groom waiting, though not Fulk the Steward.’

  ‘It does all fit, my lord,’ exclaimed the eager Walkelin.

  ‘Oh, it does. My sole problem is still why he did it. We could take him to Worcester on what we have, but the justices would come and ask why it was that this man was before them. What cause had he to kill the father from whom he would inherit anyway, especially if he thought him growing tired and morbid, rebuilding the church and such? Everything he has done since has been proving he is in his sire’s mould, being the son of Osbern, and his defence of the man’s honour today is one with that. He has admitted they were often angered with each other, as men of the same temper might well be, but if it was because of the refusal to accept the mercer’s daughter as the future lady of Lench, then why did Baldwin not act earlier?’

  ‘What if the woman is with child, my lord? If he is determined, as he says, that she is the only woman for him, and has reason to say she is carrying, he would want that child to inherit.’ Walkelin proffered the thought, but Catchpoll sucked his teeth.