‘If the lady Avelina is more caring than illness alone demands, I doubt the other lady in the case would turn a blind eye,’ murmured Bradecote.
‘If she has seen. Mayhap she has not. They must take it in turn to nurse the man. Now, the interesting thing is that our sick man was not so sick about two weeks past, and was up and about to the point of thinking of returning to his lord, but was then struck back down.’
‘For real?’ Bradecote queried.
‘I have seen such a fever, my lord. A neighbour of ours, he was very sick of a fever that came upon him, and seemed to leave, but returned three times more within a few months. He sweated bad, and had pains, even in his …’ Walkelin winced.
‘That would keep a man to his bed, for sure,’ Catchpoll grimaced, ‘but if he was healthy enough to have met with Hywel ap Rhodri, did he perhaps have an argument with him, over a wench?’
‘It would have to be very serious to end in a killing.’ Bradecote sounded doubtful. ‘Yet it is possible. From the lady Matilda I got a story in words and a story that was not told.’ Bradecote took a deep breath. ‘Whether this has bearing or not, I too do not know, but … The lady Matilda had a younger sister, Emma. A younger sister, mark you, and I think that rankled, for she was wed first. Her sire held Byton, west of Leominster, in land that is so close to Powys that Wales is not “foreign”. She said he liked the idea of a son-in-law who was powerful over that border, as protection in awkward times, and it makes sense. She said Rhodri ap Arwel “came, wooed, won, and took” and she said he too was a roving man with women. There was something in the way she spoke makes me think he wooed her too, either for sport or to test, and then had the younger sister to wife. She said that after the marriage she and her sister did not meet, but that for a couple of years her father went to each and brought news. She had no knowledge of Hywel ap Rhodri, only a firstborn girl, but that her sister knew of Thorold’s birth. She said Hywel was able to recite his ancestry and she had no doubt he was her nephew, but that he would not have stepped into Doddenham if he had been upon his return journey. She was quite open that he was not safe with women.’
‘And the lady Avelina looked quite upset when she heard of his death,’ muttered Catchpoll. ‘She may be tender-hearted, of course, or there was an attraction to having a “real” man about the place, however briefly, and if she thought Durand ailing …’
‘But he was better then, Serjeant,’ Walkelin reminded him.
‘True enough, so I will leave that one merely a thought, but her lord liked telling her, that I swear.’
‘He did,’ agreed Bradecote. ‘Which leaves us with the FitzRoger’s family as follows.’ He ticked off his long fingers. ‘Thorold disliked his new cousin, dislikes his brother, is afraid of his mother, and jealous about his wife, even if he does not bed her. Brother Durand is favoured by his mother, and his brother’s wife, perhaps, and, when well, is impulsive. I doubt he liked having Hywel about the place doing what he used to do, but more thoroughly. Youthful maid chasing is not the same as hunting the way Hywel clearly did. The lady Avelina is frustrated as lady and wife, favours the brother, but when he is sick he cannot give her “comfort”. She was distressed to hear Hywel ap Rhodri was dead, but not heartbroken. Losing her heart would be unlikely in two days, but it might indicate he took advantage as it was offered.’ Bradecote reassessed what he had heard from the lady’s pretty lips.
‘I asked her if the maids made complaint about Hywel ap Rhodri and his wandering hands, if no more. They might well have come to lady rather than lord. She stalled, then talked of the stronger appetite as a blessing as well as a curse, and I felt that she had responded to that, which makes sense if she was starved of it in the lordly bed. Had she enjoyed his blandishments, his attentions? Had she been tempted to more, or indeed given in to that temptation?’ Bradecote pondered. Many lordly couples did not love each other, but muddled along, as he knew from experience, but he had sensed a desire in her husband to hurt her, and she liked him as little. ‘There is no love lost between lord and lady here. Adultery is a great risk as well as sin, but did she weigh it against frustrated boredom, and think that Thorold would be glad to show he was not impotent, if there were results from that sinning? What better way to make an unfulfilling husband pay, and if the child were male, then it would supplant the brother with whom he did not get on, as heir. Yes, she might have taken her chance.’
‘Even if she has feelings for the brother, Durand?’ Walkelin had his doubts.
‘If it is as the steward believes, and she thinks him likely to die, she might have thought it her one chance for real excitement, or even a revenge.’ Bradecote shrugged.
‘And Hywel ap Rhodri sounds the sort to enjoy cuckolding a relative who probably showed his dislike and played superior,’ added Catchpoll.
‘I doubt mightily if the lady Avelina wanted him dead, but she might be a reason to kill. The lady Matilda might have ordered his death, for she has the stomach for it, I am sure, and something in the past pricks her like a thorn in a horse’s frog. What is more, Thorold declared he had no idea why Hywel was in the shire, but when I gently asked his mother if Hywel might have returned “on his way back from Gloucester”, she turned not one hair. She knew, and so did Thorold, because his lady told me he had said Hywel ap Rhodri must have left before the household was risen because he had lingered too long upon his task and could make up time on the good road from Worcester to Gloucester.’
‘They knew his mission?’ Catchpoll asked.
‘She looks no fool, and nor is Thorold, and sense says even if the Welshman tried to keep that quiet, if she knew it was to Gloucester, and knows Madog ap Maredudd was at Lincoln, then she guessed aright. The thing is, Thorold knew also, yet he lied. Why?’
‘The man has shown no interest in either side, so what reason would that be for murder?’ grumbled Catchpoll.
‘We have but possibility, many possibilities. If there is more beneath the surface, and somehow I think there is, either brother might have had motive.’
Catchpoll sighed, and scratched his ear.
‘Well, whoever did it, it was here,’ announced Walkelin, who had been concealing his news with difficulty. It got just the reception he hoped to see. Both his superiors stared at him.
‘Why?’ asked Catchpoll.
‘Because the stables have five horses within. Two are riding horses for men, so the lord Durand’s horse was brought back when he came home sick, in case he died no doubt, one is a lady’s mount, and two look for work, if they wants horses not oxen for carts and such. All were stalled. There was another stall, but it was empty, of a horse. However, there was straw upon the ground and horse dung among it, fresh.’
‘Interesting. Go on.’ Bradecote nodded at Walkelin.
‘I counted the bridles, my lord. There were six, though I saw no sixth saddle, I admit. I would say there was another horse in that stable this morning, and it was removed while we were in the lord’s hall.’
‘A fair assumption, young Walkelin. Well spotted.’ Walkelin blushed at Catchpoll’s praise. ‘The trouble is, that shows others in the manor know something, if not all. I would swear the steward was too keen to say that the servant killed the master, as his lord had done before him.’
‘And with the villagers in the fields, who would see a horse led, or more likely ridden, out of the manor itself?’ Bradecote frowned. ‘Though I would have thought better bridled and bareback, rather than saddled and in a halter.’
‘Mayhap the saddle was on, and the rider told to hurry up and not worry about the bridle.’
‘So we need to find out who rode the horse, and where. Finding the animal would make denying involvement with the death very difficult.’ Bradecote was thinking.
‘But if everyone is involved, at least after the event, who is guilty?’ Walkelin felt a little deflated that his good news provided more of a problem than an aid.
‘There was one wound in his back, Walkelin. One man − and it was more likely to
be a man who had the weapon in hand − actually killed Hywel ap Rhodri, whosoever ordered it.’ Bradecote wanted things as simple as possible. ‘If half the shire were complicit, well, would you bring them before the Justices, if they helped hide the killing of a rapist and murderer?’
‘But we have no proof they knew he was either, nothing proven beyond they thought he was lecherous with serving maids.’ Catchpoll sucked his teeth.
‘My lord, I spoke with the cook, and she had no good word to say of the man. She said he had made her niece cry, and her a girl of but a dozen years, and modest too. Whether that was casual groping of the girl, or worse, was not said, and when I tried to speak a little to the girl it was with the aunt present, and the girl was very shy and said nothing.’
‘We ought to try and speak with her alone, then, but gently.’ Bradecote sighed. ‘There would have been others, by what was said in the hall.’
‘I think, my lord, she is too scared to speak to anyone. She looked at me as if I were a wolf.’ Walkelin was very unlike a wolf, and the sort of young man most women confided in with little compunction. If the girl was scared of him, it had meaning. ‘I heard from another servant girl though, older, but not old. Aldith was aggrieved, and told me she had slapped Rhodri’s face, “lord or not, for placing his hand where none but a husband might”, and I would say it was she who reported him to the lady Avelina.’
‘In view of his previous behaviour she was lucky to live,’ murmured Bradecote.
‘Aye, but it was likely within the manor buildings, so perhaps he dare not, my lord,’ offered Catchpoll.
‘There is one thing more, my lord.’ Walkelin paused. ‘I think the cook knew Hywel ap Rhodri was dead before I told her, and not because she learnt of it swiftly, after we arrived. She was interested in the detail of us finding him, and that I am sure was new to her, but when Aldith was ranting on about him, she said, “He is dead” to her, not like someone revealing news, but reminding her to be wary of sounding too delighted.’
‘Lucky for the cook he was stabbed, then, not beaten over the head with something flat and heavy, else she would be a suspect.’ Catchpoll gave a death’s head grin, but was thinking. ‘Trouble is, my lord, as I says, we have no proof Hywel ap Rhodri was killed because of his way with women, but if that is the belief here, they will lie until Doomsday to protect whoever they think gave real justice to maids like this Aldith.’
‘And we cannot be sure it was the true motive. No.’ Bradecote shook his head. ‘We need to find things, namely a brown horse, a grey pony, and Rhydian the loyal servant, who argued with his master … yet was “faithful unto death”.’
‘Whose death is worth considering, my lord,’ offered Catchpoll.
‘But they know of Hywel’s death here, have had the horse here, Catchpoll.’
‘Aye, my lord, but if Rhydian did for his master, and they knew, even connived at the hiding of the corpse, they might have bid him depart with thanks for the deed, not wanting him taken up for the killing.’
‘I had not thought of that, true enough. I had it either the killer was of the manor and it was done here, or Rhydian did it, and somewhere upon the road to Worcester. This ought to be simple, and yet it is not.’
‘Simple things is sometimes more complicated than you would guess, and difficult prove easy.’ Upon which philosophical pronouncement Catchpoll folded his arms, and turned, as the church door opened with a clunking of the hinges.
Chapter Seven
A thin, ascetic-looking man entered, his expression questioning, but not unfriendly. Tonsure and garb proclaimed his calling.
‘Good morrow, Father.’ Bradecote smiled at the priest.
‘A good morrow to you, also. May I be of help to you?’ His voice was soft, but not weak.
‘In all seriousness, a prayer for us to find things would be an aid.’
‘You have lost something, my son?’
‘Specifically, one horse, one pony, a man who may well have departed this life, and the truth, which is not so much lost as hidden from view.’ The smile twisted.
‘That is quite a list.’ The priest blinked. ‘I am Father Dunstan, priest of this parish, and since truth is always a good thing, I will assuredly aid you to find it.’
‘Alas, Father, sometimes the finding of it means discovering evil, and pain to even the innocent.’ Bradecote became more serious. ‘A man was murdered, almost certainly within this manor, about two weeks past. His body is found, and buried, and prayers said over him, although he probably needs more prayers than a parish might provide. We seek why he was killed, and who killed him.’
‘Yet you said you need to find a man who may be dead, so another man also?’
‘Father, the missing man was servant to the first, but if he did not kill his master, then the chances are he is dead.’ Catchpoll had been watching the priest closely.
‘I am about to recite the Office, but if you would join me, I am sure your prayers will be heard, and I can offer you some cider, bread and good butter, if you would care to eat thereafter.’
With the promise of food, and perhaps background information upon the manor, within and without, they stayed.
Father Dunstan ate little but was unstinting in his hospitality. In the soft gloom of his simple dwelling, Hugh Bradecote asked questions, but circumspectly.
‘We know you cannot reveal anything learnt from confession, but we have several problems, as we said. One is that a horse has gone missing from the manor stable, and it is likely to be the horse of the man that was murdered. If it is, and we find it, then that is proof that what happened is known here. At the least, we need to know what sort of manor Doddenham is − contented, or at odds with itself, whether one might hold grudge against another and implicate them out of malice, that sort of thing.’
‘I have not seen a new horse, but then I do not go to the stables, and it would have to be very unusual to have attracted my attention if it has been ridden. I look at people, not the animals of God’s creation. As to this manor, well, it is a very close community, and the warp and weft of kinship bind it.’
‘The cook said her niece was one of the serving maids,’ corroborated Walkelin, hoping that Father Dunstan would expand upon the relationships, and earning an approving look from Catchpoll.
‘Ah yes, Milburga, the daughter of her brother, Tovi the Wheelwright. And his wife was sister to Brictmer the Steward, whose son Corbin will follow him, and in the end marry Aldith, once he has …’ The priest paused.
‘Father? You said truth is a good thing.’ Bradecote reminded him gently.
‘It is.’ Father Dunstan sighed. ‘And he is guilty of no more than youthful adoration. He is nineteen, and full of youth’s excitability, and the lady Avelina means nothing by it, it is just her manner.’
‘Fallen under her spell, has he?’ suggested Catchpoll, in a fatherly voice. ‘Calf-love, no doubt.’
‘Indeed. I am sure he does not lust after her, at least, not much,’ the priest blushed, ‘but he has her set very high. Aldith and he, well, they have always been close, but perhaps so close neither can see what is before them, and now he is in thrall to his lady, Aldith has to sit second in his affections, which has, for the while, put her off all of the male sex.’
‘Bit of a fancy name, Corbin, for a son of Brictmer.’ Walkelin was thinking upon a single point that niggled.
‘Ah yes, but his wife, may she rest in peace, gave him two sons before Corbin, alas also departed this life. Brictmer loved her dearly, and gave in to her wish to name the third son Corbin. She said as how it might help him advance in life, not thinking he would follow his father as steward, if his name was not “the old sort”.’
‘No cause to give a decent Englishman a foreign name, though,’ grumbled Catchpoll, without thinking, and then screwed up his features as Hugh Bradecote laughed.
‘And you berated Walkelin for insulting me, Catchpoll. As you say, good job I have a sense of humour.’
Father Dunstan looked from
one to the other and smiled. There was an ease between the three men, though divided by both rank, and ancestry, and a strong bond existed also. In times of division that pleased him.
‘Father, the lady Matilda I have met, and from report also hear that she is one who finds stepping back from commanding a hard task. How do her son and his wife cope?’ Bradecote made the question sound more rhetorical, and shook his head a little to aid that impression.
‘Ah, well in honesty, I do not think that she ever tried to “stand back”. Even when her lord was alive, she was the rod of iron and he the willow that bent.’ The priest sighed. ‘It is difficult for her, of course.’
‘Difficult? How so?’ Catchpoll queried.
‘I came after she was wed to the lord Roger, but I always felt that … she concealed some disappointment. I fear she despised her husband, however much she remained dutiful at his side. He was not a strong man, in will, and she …’
‘She is the tough sort, aye. But surely she would be happier with a man who let her rule the roost?’ Catchpoll persisted.
‘I always assumed she was the style of woman who would have preferred a strong husband and been pleased to show subservience, submitting her own will to that strength like an offering, but in its absence could not bear to watch weakness and took over.’
‘That is an interesting thought, Father.’ Bradecote had not considered that option before, but it had a sense to it. ‘So in a way she resents doing what she does well, and despises those unable to match her.’
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