by Paul Doherty
‘But the pain?’ he murmured.
‘You have the flux?’ Kathryn asked.
Wormhair nodded.
‘And your bowels are very loose?’
A lugubrious groan answered her question.
‘Well,’ Kathryn added briskly, ‘this is what comes of eating tainted meat. You should tell your master to give his apprentices something better. Now this is what you must do. First, never eat anything which smells suspicious. Secondly, try to keep your hands clean. I don’t know why, but my father always taught me that dirty fingers disturb the humours of the body. Now, I am going to give you a flask of sweetened water. Oh, yes, and don’t eat anything until Monday morning.’
Wormhair’s jaw fell.
‘I mean that,’ Kathryn insisted. ‘Otherwise you will make your present complaint even worse.’
‘And the medicine?’ Wormhair asked expectantly.
‘Wait here.’ Kathryn went into her shop, then came back carrying a small phial. ‘This is mugwort,’ she explained. ‘It can be found in any hedgerow. Now, mix it with the water, a few drops, then let it stand for about the space of five Aves. You take it in the morning, at noon and before you go to sleep. I promise you, this time tomorrow, you will feel much, much better.’
‘I feel better now,’ Wormhair replied.
Kathryn smiled. ‘And just ignore Wuf. He speaks everything he thinks. He means well. God bless him, he has yet to understand what death means.’
Kathryn went back to the kitchen. Colum disappeared to his chamber. Wormhair left, saying he had to prepare the sanctuary for the morning Mass. An hour later Kathryn and her household ate their evening meal in relative silence, for they were all tired. After everyone had retired, Kathryn sat on the edge of her bed, slowly undressing. She paused and laughed softly. The last few days had been so busy; she and Colum had walked around like a man and wife who’d been married a lifetime. Nevertheless, she knew the Irishman was worried: Frenland’s disappearance, the allegations of his waspish wife and the realisation that he might have to explain to the King about Erpingham and the lost taxes weighed heavily on his mind. Kathryn finished undressing. She put on a nightgown, doused the candles and sat for a while with the blankets heaped around her. She wondered about Erpingham. How had he been murdered and the taxes stolen from his room? What had Vavasour been doing out in that frozen meadow trying to cross an ice-covered mere? And, above all, what had she glimped in the dead clerk’s room? Kathryn lay down and pulled the blankets over her head. She heard Thomasina come upstairs and the cheerful banter as she passed Colum in the gallery.
‘Good night, oh sweetest and plumpest of them all!’ the Irishman called.
‘And good night to you, oh prince of liars!’ Thomasina teased back.
Kathryn closed her eyes and drifted into sleep, Emma Darryl’s face, strong and tear-stained, fresh in her mind.
The next morning she woke, feeling slightly heavy headed after a restless night’s sleep. Nevertheless, she roused the household; they dressed and went out into the icy street to St. Mildred’s Church. They sat just inside the rood screen. Kathryn was pleased to see that Wormhair was looking better and, throughout Mass, kept winking slyly at Agnes, who shyly hid her face. Father Cuthbert preached a pithy sermon on the need for everyone to prepare for Christ’s coming at Christmas. He made no reference to the deaths at Blunt’s house, though Kathryn saw many of his congregation, like herself, gaze sadly at the unfinished painting behind the altar. Instead, Father Cuthbert emphasised the need for his parishioners to have their sins shriven and ensure harmony was maintained in the parish community. Colum had to hide his face behind his hand as the old but venerable priest stared pointedly at Widow Gumple who sat on a small stool in front of the altar steps, her ridiculous horn-shaped headdress up like a banner around her. Kathryn joined in the laughter when a few minutes later, as they took part in the offertory procession, Widow Gumple’s headdress became snagged on the edge of a statue of St. Mildred and sent it rocking dangerously on its plinth. Gumple tried to extricate herself but this only made matters worse and the laughter grew as Wormhair dashed forward and, without being asked, pulled his knife from beneath his surplice and cut the good widow free.
The Mass ended in more merriment than Father Cuthbert would have liked. Afterwards Colum and Kathryn stayed in the churchyard with Father Cuthbert; he asked Kathryn to visit the Poor Priests’ Hospital and enquired what plans she had for Christmas. The old priest kept blinking and coughing nervously.
‘What is it, Father?’ Kathryn asked. She grasped his vein-streaked hand. ‘You are always telling me you have known me since I was knee-high to a daisy, which means I know you just as well.’
‘It’s not really you, Kathryn,’ the old priest stammered, looking up at the dark-faced Irishman. ‘I would like a word in private with Master Murtagh.’
Colum stared across the cemetery: Wuf and other children were shouting and screaming as they ran along a slide just beside the great wooden lychgate. Agnes was deep in conversation with Wormhair whilst Thomasina was volubly discussing the intricacies of Widow Gumple’s headdress with other parishioners.
Colum smiled. ‘This is as good a place as any, Father. Whatever you wish to say to me can be said in front of Mistress Swinbrooke.’
Kathryn hid her own nervousness: was Father Cuthbert going to question Colum about their private lives? As she had often said to Thomasina, people might wonder about Colum staying in her house but they had no right to draw any conclusions.
‘Well, two things. First, for the Christmas crib may we have some straw and a manger? I heard of the building work out at Kingsmead. Perhaps . . .?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Colum interrupted. ‘Anything you ask, Father. The second thing?’
Father Cuthbert’s voice dropped. ‘I notice you never take the Eucharist.’
Kathryn’s stomach lurched: Colum went to the altar rails but only for a blessing; never did he take the bread and wine.
‘I am sorry to ask,’ Father Cuthbert stammered. ‘But, but . . . I have a duty under God for the souls in my care.’ He smiled weakly at Kathryn. ‘Especially for a young woman whom I regard as more than a friend.’
Colum glanced away, staring up at the snarling face of a gargoyle carved above the church door. He watched a snowflake, dislodged from one of the sills, float gently down.
‘I have had a violent past, Father,’ Colum answered slowly.
‘Yes, I know,’ the priest exclaimed. ‘They say you killed men. The reason I ask is, just before the snow fell, I was in London. I stayed at Blackfriars, and people there knew you. They said your own countrymen regard you as a traitor.’
‘When I was young, Father, living outside the Pale of Dublin, I ran wild with a group of rebels and outlaws who called themselves the Hounds of Ulster, its name taken from one of the legends of old Ireland.’ Colum’s hand went beneath his cloak and he idly fondled the pommel of his dagger. ‘To cut a long story short, Father, I and others were captured by the English. They went to the gibbet; I was pardoned because I was only a stripling. Now and again the Hounds of Ulster send assassins to kill me.’ Colum pulled a face. ‘So far I have been fortunate, I’ve killed every one.’
‘But that was in self-defence,’ Father Cuthbert insisted. ‘There’s no sin.’
‘There are other things,’ Colum murmured.
‘I do not mean to pry,’ Father Cuthbert apologised. ‘But . . .’ He glanced swiftly at Kathryn who was standing stock still, a vague suspicion forming in her mind. She abruptly shivered and knew it was not the bright winter morning.
‘Have you ever been married, Master Murtagh?’ Father Cuthbert’s words came out in a rush.
‘Yes,’ Colum snapped.
Kathryn went so cold she felt dizzy.
‘Master Murtagh.’ The priest touched the Irishman’s wrist. ‘You may continue this conversation in a different place.’
‘I was married,’ Colum said slowly. ‘A Welsh lass. We had a boy.’
Colum paused. ‘In 1461, ten years ago, Father, I was with Lord Edward at Mortimer’s Cross in the West Country. The Lancastrians landed a force in South Wales to ravage Lord Edward’s estates. They attacked the village where my wife and child were staying. I came back to find my life a smoking ruin. On a morning very like this, I buried them in the cold, hard earth and, at the time, I cursed God with every breath.’ He glanced at the priest. ‘So, that is why I do not partake of the Eucharist.’ The Irishman’s face became hard. ‘I attend Mass, as church law says, but I’ll only go back to the sacraments when the hate has been cleaned from my heart.’ He stared into the priest’s kindly face then clapped him gently on the shoulder. ‘And don’t worry, Father. You were right to ask. No offence has been given and none has been taken.’ He linked his arm through Kathryn’s. ‘And you have my word, Father. This Christmas you will have the finest crib ever!’
Father Cuthbert blessed them and left whilst they walked down through the lychgate. Thomasina gathered from Kathryn’s face that something had upset her, so she stayed behind to shout at Wuf and Agnes to join her.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Kathryn asked softly. She glanced up at Colum. ‘You must have been quite young?’
‘Aye and a great romantic.’ Colum squeezed her hand. ‘I never talk about it, Kathryn. There are certain rooms in everyone’s soul which are best kept locked. I loved the lass and she loved me. I never thought it would happen. I was with Lord Edward on the Welsh march. There was a Lancastrian army in the Midlands and North, then the Bretons landed from the sea and marched through South Wales, burning and pillaging. We caught up with them at Mortimer’s Cross a few miles north of Hereford.’ Colum’s voice became hard. ‘We won the battle. Very few of the Bretons were taken prisoner. I have done my share of killing,’ he added. ‘And all it does is beget more.’
‘Is that why you keep the chest in your room locked?’ Kathryn asked.
‘Mementoes.’ Colum squeezed her hand. ‘Bits and pieces of a former life.’ Colum stopped and stared narrow-eyed at her. ‘Now you know I am a dreadful man.’ He pushed his face closer. ‘A wicked, evil beast,’ he teased. ‘A ravisher of maids.’
‘Watch your step, Irishman!’ Thomasina called, coming up behind him.
Kathryn was glad of the interruption, as was Colum, who immediately started to quote phrases about Thomasina’s maiden feet and how
‘Like Candace in The Squire’s Tale
Thomasina sauntered at an easy pace.’
Kathryn let the teasing and banter pass by her. One more piece, she thought, to the puzzle behind this Irishman. He was now hiding his own hurt behind the banter with Thomasina: he smiled and chattered, but his body was stiff with tension. Kathryn quietly vowed she would never refer to Colum’s long-dead wife unless he wanted to. Any further reflection ended as soon as they reached home. Thomasina took over the kitchen, loudly declaring, ‘To roast pork in caraway sauce is a skill best left to me alone!’
Kathryn went to her writing chamber whilst Colum, eager not to be questioned any further, went out to watch Wuf play in the garden. Kathryn still wondered about the Irishman. What other secrets did he hold? She felt embarrassed at her nagging curiosity. Who was she to condemn anyone? After all, she had secrets which, as a city official, she had a duty to make public. Yet what could she do? She wandered back down the passageway to the kitchen door. Wuf was beside the carp pond, sliding his polished wooden disc across the ice, knocking down stacks of pebbles.
‘Be careful, Wuf,’ Kathryn warned. ‘Colum, for God’s sake, the ice is melting and the water’s cold enough to kill!’
She watched Wuf play under Colum’s careful tutelage and abruptly recalled Vavasour walking out across the frozen mere. An idea occurred to her.
‘No!’ Kathryn whispered. ‘That’s ridiculous!’
She stepped out into the garden but then hurriedly returned at a loud, insistent knocking on the front door. Agnes went to answer and Luberon, red-cheeked, his eyes glittering, strolled down the passage as grandly as a bishop.
‘Mistress Swinbrooke, good day. Where is Master Murtagh?’ The little man positively quivered with excitement.
‘What do you want?’ Thomasina asked archly. ‘Like any man, you can smell a good meal a mile away!’
Luberon handed Agnes his cloak and rubbed his hands in glee. He closed his eyes and savoured the fragrance of the roasting pork.
‘Oh, Thomasina, you’d not turn a poor man away? Surely the best cook in Canterbury has a morsel for poor Luberon?’
Thomasina turned away, blushing. Colum, drawn by the noise, came into the kitchen.
‘You have found Frenland, haven’t you?’ Kathryn asked.
Luberon’s eyes almost popped out of his head. ‘How did you know?’
Kathryn smiled and invited him to sit at the table where Agnes was setting out the platters.
‘Come on, Simon, join us for dinner. Colum.’ Kathryn waved the Irishman to the head of the table.
Colum sat down and stared quizzically at Kathryn. ‘You mean to say you knew Frenland was not dead?’
‘Of course,’ Kathryn laughed. ‘First, wild dogs can be dangerous but not that dangerous. They’ll hunt a child or a wounded animal but not a fully grown man. Secondly, Frenland hadn’t far to go. According to the map, the road he fled down leads to a number of villages and hamlets. Thirdly, I was intrigued how he questioned you about Alexander Wyville. I think that gave him the idea.’
‘For what?’ Colum asked.
‘For running away from a shrewish wife.’ Kathryn laughed self-consciously. ‘Trenland does have another woman, doesn’t he, Simon?’
‘Yes, yes. A rosy-cheeked, pert-eyed widow.’ Luberon raised his voice. ‘A lot like you, Thomasina.’
‘Watch your tongue!’ The red-faced cook warned laughingly.
‘Finally,’ Kathryn concluded, ‘I looked at the blood-soaked, tattered cloak. I found scraps of leather, very similar to that of a wine skin. What Frenland did was fill such a leather pouch with animal blood, which can be easily bought at a slaughterhouse. He took his cloak and sprinkled it with blood and away he goes. I found traces of the leather pannikin amongst the ragged remains of his cloak.’
She took the cup of posset Thomasina placed on the table and passed it to Luberon. The little clerk sighed and sipped appreciatively.
‘When I found Frenland,’ he declared, ‘I informed him about his wife’s allegations.’ Luberon grinned. ‘It’s a private, civil matter between the two, or should I say three of them.’
Colum leaned back in his chair and laughed softly. ‘Oh, by all that is holy, how complicated life can become!’ He patted Luberon on the arm.
Kathryn studied the clerk who kept looking down at the leather bag which he’d brought with him. ‘There’s something else, isn’t there, Simon?’
Luberon put the cup down on the table. ‘Blunt’s dead,’ he remarked quietly.
Kathryn whirled round as Thomasina dropped a dish to clatter against the stone hearth.
‘He died during the night,’ Luberon continued. ‘He just slipped away. The guards came to rouse him; leaning against the cell wall he was, eyes closed. I’ve been to tell Emma Darryl.’ He looked over his shoulder at Thomasina. ‘Oh, by the way,’ he added, ‘the prisoner never ate or drank what you left him.’ He opened the leather bag and drew out a small linen-covered bundle.
Kathryn took and opened it carefully. The bread and cheese were now stale, but the little purse of powder Thomasina had slipped in was still tightly bound. Kathryn picked up a knife, cut the cord and sniffed at the powder.
‘It’s valerian!’ Kathryn exclaimed.
‘I know,’ Thomasina replied, coming over. ‘Not enough to kill, Mistress, but sufficient to keep him drugged. I also know how he died. I went to see Blunt’s old physician.’ She smiled faintly at Kathryn. ‘Someone you know, Roger Chaddedon. He sends his regards and hopes to see you over the Christmas season.’
Kathryn blushed. Chaddedon was a wi
dower who, much to Colum’s annoyance, made no attempt to disguise his deep liking for Kathryn.
‘What did he say?’ Kathryn asked, trying to avoid Colum’s eye.
‘That he met Blunt on the feast of All Souls and examined him carefully. He had, at the very most, a few weeks to live. His lungs were rotting, coughing up black blood. Chaddedon thought this was caused by the paint and other noxious substances Blunt had used over the years. I am sorry about the valerian, Mistress, but no man should experience the full horrors of hanging, especially someone like Blunt.’
Kathryn turned to Luberon. ‘And you have told Emma Darryl?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Very little. She smiled faintly but then said something strange: “You must go because I have to prepare something to eat.”’
Kathryn started, and a cold shiver ran up her spine.
‘Thomasina, we will not be eating now. Colum, Luberon, quickly, get your cloaks!’
‘What’s the matter?’ Colum exclaimed.
‘We have to see Emma Darryll,’ Kathryn snapped, rising to her feet.
Colum grabbed her arm. ‘Why?’
Kathryn took a deep breath and looked apologetically at Luberon.
‘Because Blunt did not kill Alisoun or her two suitors!’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ the Irishman said. ‘We saw the arrow wounds. Blunt, by his own confession, was a master archer.’
Kathryn shook her head as she wrapped her cloak about her.
‘Mistress Swinbrooke, what are you saying?’ Luberon rose to his feet, draining his posset cup and looking round for his cloak. Agnes and Wuf were now standing in the doorway of the kitchen, watching and listening expectantly.
‘I’ll tell you as we walk,’ Kathryn murmured.
They left the house a few minutes later and hurried up Ottemelle Lane. Apart from the wandering dogs, the occasional beggar and a desperate red-wigged whore looking for custom, the streets were deserted. The sun was beginning to dip. The air had grown colder and the soiled snow was now dirty ice. Once they crossed Church Lane, Kathryn slowed down.