The Lord Bishop's Clerk

by Sarah Hawkswood

  It was a pretty reasonable attitude, and Bradecote could not fault it.

  ‘Did you know that she was going to the king, for his approval?’

  ‘Not until after she had set off. I came here to recommend she go home.’ He shook his head, and added, as a man like any other, perplexed by the female of the species, ‘Why is it women cannot leave it all up to us, eh?’

  ‘And you did not know that Eudo the Clerk threatened the lady d’Achelie that he would send to the king saying that your alliance was already sealed?’

  ‘No, I did not,’ he spluttered. ‘If I had I would have taken a whip to him. How dare he upset her! It is not true either! Mind you, I cannot imagine how he reached that conclusion, because we have been mightily discreet.’

  ‘I believe he intercepted a note written to you by the lady.’

  De Grismont groaned and put his head in his hands. ‘There should be a law forbidding the teaching of either reading or writing to women. I had thought it an admirable, if rare, accomplishment, but now I see its dangers. It is bad enough that women simply have to tell someone if they have a secret. Now I find out they cannot resist writing about it too. Heaven protect us. If you sire daughters, Bradecote, keep them from ink and vellum, whatever happens.’

  Catchpoll, who, Bradecote noted, had maintained the blank look of one who understood little of what was being said, was struggling to suppress a grin. Bradecote was aware of fellow feeling for de Grismont when it came to the constant mystery of the opposite sex. It was also mildly comforting that a man whose reputation with them was predatory, could still be amazed by their behaviour.

  ‘My lady d’Achelie did not inform you of what had passed, then?’

  ‘I told you, I knew nothing.’ De Grismont’s good humour faded. ‘She probably did not want to tell me, because she would know it would displease me. At least she understood that much. What I cannot understand is why the clerk should want to meddle.’

  ‘From what we have gathered, my lord, “meddling”, or perhaps more accurately, “menacing with lies”, was what he did most. It would certainly not be the first time he had tried to have women purchase either his silence or a good word. I believe this time he thought that lady d’Achelie might consider granting a manor to the New Minster.’

  The frown that had been gathering on de Grismont’s brow grew more pronounced, and he ground his teeth. He no longer sat at his ease, but upright and with fists clenched in his lap.

  ‘Well, I don’t care what the law says, I think someone did us all a service putting that cur where he deserved to be, firmly underground. Jesu, if I had known all that I would have been more than happy to do it myself. I cannot see why you are bothering to look for his killer, unless to thank them for a worthy deed.’

  ‘Justice cannot be meted out by all and sundry, my lord, or else any murder could be claimed as justified. It must come through the law.’ Bradecote was not unsympathetic, but was firm nonetheless.

  The lord of Defford did not appear in any way mollified, but his temper was not Bradecote’s concern.

  ‘Could you tell me where you were between Vespers and Compline, my lord?’

  ‘Look, Bradecote, do I have to prove where I was for the entire evening? This is getting ridiculous, and so I shall tell de Beauchamp when next I see him.’

  ‘Nonetheless, I need to know.’ Bradecote was losing patience. His headache, which had remained merely a background irritation for an hour or so, was now thumping behind his eyeballs, and his brows beetled with the pain.

  ‘I went to supper with the abbot, as he and everyone else there can verify. When I left I cannot say whether anyone saw me or not. I was not trying to ensure that I was seen far from the crime, since I had no anticipation of a crime being committed. I went to my chamber, but I saw nobody as I arrived. I left some time before Compline and went to the stables to see that my groom had returned with my horse. He had taken it out for a gallop because it was misbehaving in the stalls. Neither my horse, nor I, enjoy confinement.’ He pulled a wry face. ‘I saw that all was well. Then the bell began to toll, and I headed for the cloister door. I met young FitzHugh crossing the courtyard and we entered at the same time. That will have to suffice, because I can provide no more detail.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord. I appreciate your co-operation. I realise it must seem an intrusion, but we have to build a picture of what was going on that evening.’

  De Grismont rose, and if he did not leave with the good humour in which he arrived, he was at least calm and polite. ‘I take it this does not yet mean that I can depart, so I will await your further pleasure, Bradecote.’

  Catchpoll held open the door for him and closed it carefully behind him. He heaved a big sigh.

  ‘Not a man to cross, my lord, clearly. I thought at one point he was going to get up and leave, and I tell you straight, I did not fancy stopping him, not without playing dirty.’ He sucked his teeth. ‘You can see his point, mind.’

  ‘But can you see him murdering the clerk?’

  ‘He admitted he would have been happy to, but that was certainly no confession. A man like that, and that angry, surely he would have gone up to the clerk quite openly, pinned him against the wall, and then shaken him until his lying teeth rattled.’

  ‘That’s what you would have done, Catchpoll.’

  ‘Yes, my lord, it is.’

  ‘As would I, and it would not be murder.’ Bradecote closed his eyes, and hoped his serjeant would only think he was concentrating.

  ‘We have spoken to everyone now, my lord. What do you intend next?’

  That was the difficult question. Did he start all over again, probing for cracks in everyone’s answers? If so, then he had best spend a while with his vellum and consider whether any questions had been missed. He had no wish to ask Serjeant Catchpoll how he should proceed, and wondered if the man was angling for it to remind him of his novice position.

  ‘I need to think first, Catchpoll, and to get some fresh air. Let us think independently and pool our thoughts after we have eaten.’ He got up and walked out without waiting for Catchpoll’s reply.

  He had hoped to find a breath of breeze outside, and he had a desperate need to get away to the herbalist without Catchpoll knowing, but the air was oven-hot. His head was now throbbing as if bludgeoned by a blacksmith’s hammer.

  Two

  Isabelle d’Achelie was trying to look inconspicuous, which was difficult. She lingered within sight of the abbot’s lodging, hoping to catch sight of Waleran de Grismont as he left. Since she had been asked about their relationship, and knew he had not yet been interviewed, it was reasonable to assume he would be next to occupy the seat in the abbot’s parlour. She was almost pleased with herself for making this deduction when she saw the serjeant escorting the commanding figure to the lodging door. She wondered if his sense of honour would have him deny her, and hoped his nobility had not put her in the position of a liar. She waited, fiddled with her shoe, walked towards the guest hall only to think better of it and turn back as if she had forgotten something. Had anyone been observing her, she would have looked suspicious. However, the brother who did espy her was so overcome with thoughts that his calling should prevent that he did not actually think about her actions. At last de Grismont strode from the lodgings, his face marred by a scowl. Unthinkingly, Isabelle hurried to him and grasped his arm. He looked down at her, and the scowl did not lift.

  ‘You did not deny me, my lord?’

  ‘What good would it have done, since it seems you declared all? Would you have someone announce also from the bell tower to any who wish to be privy to our intentions? And what possessed you to write me a note, Isabelle? By the Rood, you have less sense than your own palfrey.’

  He was clearly not in good humour.

  ‘But they pressed me so, my lord.’ She made it sound almost physical. ‘And what harm is there, since all we admitted was our affection, and they will not be sending to the king about it?’

  ‘I think p
rivate matters should stay private, that is all, my lady.’ His mouth was set in a firm line. ‘And I dislike kicking my heels in this dismal hole of chanting monks.’

  She blinked away a crystal-clear tear, but saw it had no effect, and so tried to soothe him from ill humour.

  ‘My poor Waleran. The heat is oppressive, and has put you out of sorts. Let me fetch you something from my …’

  ‘Oh, by all the saints, woman, leave me alone.’

  He flung away from her and strode to the guest hall, leaving her standing forlorn.

  Hugh Bradecote was beginning to wonder whether his head would break before the weather. The hammering inside it made him feel physically ill, and he had decided to visit Brother Oswald, the abbey herbalist, rather than the infirmarer, because he might treat him more discreetly. It occurred to him, however, that he did not know where to find the brother. The easiest answer would be to ask Brother Porter, in a good official manner, as though it was part of his investigation. The black mass of cloud was looming ever closer from the west, gradually casting over the heavens like a leaden blanket. The storm would come, was coming, but overhead the sun ignored the threat. Bradecote did not stride directly across the court, but kept as much as he could to the shade cast by the walls of the abbey church, and was just passing the corner of the scaffolding-clad north transept when there was a clatter, and a swift cry of warning. He looked up, and jumped back as a chisel fell within five feet of him and embedded itself to the haft in the ground. He looked up, and saw Master Elias looking down upon him, his face livid.

  ‘My lord, you are unharmed?’ The master mason called down as he descended as fast as safety permitted.

  ‘Since I still stand, that is clear. Had I been struck, I would not be living.’ If his first thought had been self-preservation, his second was whether the act had been an accident, or intended, and his heart was pounding nearly as much as his head. He regarded Master Elias closely as he reached the ground. The man’s face was a mask of anger.

  ‘Thanks be to God! My lord, I cannot say as it never happens, but …’ He shook his head. Behind him a young apprentice stepped from the bottom rung of the ladder, but came no closer, fearing retribution in hand and word. ‘Foolish boy!’ Master Elias had turned his head to glare at him.

  ‘It wasn’t me, Master,’ grizzled Wulfstan the apprentice.

  ‘Fool, and liar also! Come here.’

  Wulfstan came, most reluctantly. Bradecote judged him on the verge of sprouting from boy to man, for his voice was not settled, but he was small and wiry, and his age could be anything from thirteen to eighteen if he had been used to mean fare. His eyes were full of fear.

  ‘Now, you slack-handed whelp, apologise to the lord sheriff.’ Master Elias elevated Bradecote without a thought, and to one as young and lowly as Wulfstan the difference was almost meaningless. He was addressing official power, greater than he had ever approached within three strides, and never would he have dared speak to such a personage. He trembled, and cowered.

  ‘It was not –’

  Elias’s hand cuffed him smartly. ‘Truth now, or I will have you sleep on the floor of the transept and have the brothers wake you for the night offices every night till Sunday.’

  ‘I … I am sorry, my lord. It slipped, my lord. It just … slipped.’ Wulfstan was not sure whether the lord would hit him, or get Master Elias to do it for him. ‘My lord.’ The apprentice bowed repeatedly.

  ‘Carelessness, and disobedience. I have said, over and over, always to bring tools in there.’ The master mason pointed at a leather pouch attached by two loops at the back of Wulfstan’s belt, where it would not impede climbing.

  ‘It was full and you said …’

  ‘If it is full, you make two journeys. Nothing but bread and small beer for you this day, Wulfstan. Now go, before the lord sheriff has you taken up for assault upon his person.’

  Wide-eyed and on the verge of tears the lad backed away, and then ran into the masons’ workshop.

  ‘It is sorry I am, my lord. I teach ’em, but sometimes lads forget.’

  ‘No harm was done, Master Elias.’ Bradecote’s heartbeat was back to normal. He leaned down and yanked the chisel from the earth, and handed it, haft first, to the mason, who regarded it balefully.

  ‘No, my lord, but if …’ He shook his head. ‘And it will take a goodly time to get the edge back upon it now. The lad will have to do it, and you can be sure I will explain just what might have happened. If he fears enough, the lesson will not be forgotten.’

  Bradecote said nothing. It was probably as had been said, an accident, but what if Wulfstan had been speaking truthfully, and taken blame for fear of greater punishment from his master? Master Elias looked grim, but was it an easy mask to wear?

  ‘I had best get back up, my lord. The weather will not hold, and we must make use of every moment at height.’

  ‘Yes, I understand.’

  With a nod as obeisance, the master mason headed back up his ladders. Hugh Bradecote stifled a groan and crossed to the abbey gate, where Brother Porter gave him directions to the herbalist’s little wooden hut. Bradecote was fighting nausea now, and took not the direct path but a more circuitous route out towards the fishponds, where he retched for some time.

  There was, thankfully, no likelihood of his men observing his weakness, but when he finally raised his head, he was surprised to see the tall, habited figure of Sister Edeva walking alone beside the ponds. Her upright pose and measured gait made it clear it was her and not Sister Ursula, even at distance.

  Disturbing her solitary cogitation felt an intrusion, and he would rather have had time to muster his thoughts, but he had to grab whatever chance he could to gain insight into this woman. He approached her from behind, but made no attempt to surprise her; rather he wanted her to be aware of his presence. At such a dangerous time it was not his intention to frighten anyone.

  She turned at the sound of his footfall, and for a moment he thought her face brightened before she assumed her more distant expression. He wondered at it.

  ‘Good morning.’ He smiled hesitantly. The term ‘sister’ still stuck in his throat like a fish bone, and suddenly he was unsure how to begin. ‘I think the weather will break before this evening. The ponds will not stay low.’ He fell into step beside her, feeling suddenly as inadequate and tongue-tied as if he were a callow youth. She cast him a brief sideways glance.

  ‘Indeed, my lord. Your concern for the fish does you credit.’ She avoided his eye, and he would have sworn her lips twitched.

  There was a silence between them, with which the nun seemed perfectly at ease, and Bradecote highly uncomfortable. He tried another gambit.

  ‘Your name. It is a Saxon one.’

  ‘Yes. We are not ashamed of our Saxon blood where I come from. It flows in the veins of most families to some degree, and is as red as any from Normandy. Indeed, it shows that our connection with the land goes back long before the sainted Confessor. My family has given daughters old names since the Conquest.’

  ‘And where does your family have holdings? Near Romsey?’

  There was a slight pause. ‘Not close by, but further east, beyond Winchester.’

  ‘I should have thought you would have entered the house of nuns there, then.’

  ‘I chose not to go to Winchester. An aunt of mine had been at Romsey.’ Sister Edeva halted and faced Bradecote. ‘What is it you wish me to tell you, my lord?’ Her voice was very calm.

  Bradecote was taken aback. ‘The truth would help.’ He had not meant to say that, but it had risen to his lips before he could think.

  ‘Nothing that I have told you is untrue.’

  ‘And “nothing” is largely what you have told me … Sister.’ The word games were annoying him now. His head hurt; he felt sick again.

  ‘So? If there is nothing that I have to say that is relevant, I will say nothing.’

  ‘It is up to me to decide what is or is not relevant,’ he snapped, and winced as his e
yeballs threatened to explode.

  She made no answer, and her face, at which he risked only one swift glance, betrayed no emotion at all.

  ‘How long before the Compline bell did you leave the church?’ Bradecote specifically did not say ‘the chapel’ because he knew she would be exact, and if she had gone elsewhere in the church, would be unlikely to tell him.

  ‘Not long before.’ She paused a moment, sensing his irritation. ‘I had time to go, directly, to the guest hall and wash my hands and face before the bell rang. Sister Ursula can confirm that.’

  Yes, he thought, she had given him information that could be discovered elsewhere, but little else. She was most provoking.

  ‘Why have you come here?’ The question was put plainly.

  ‘I thought it would be cooler, and …’

  ‘No, Sister Edeva, not “here” but to Pershore.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ The faint smile returned. ‘I did not mean to be obtuse, my lord. Sister Ursula and I are here to offer Abbot William both coin and a fine illustrated manuscript in exchange for a finger bone of the blessèd St Eadburga, whose sister was of our house. Abbot William told us yesterday that he and the brothers had agreed to our request. We will return to Romsey as soon as you, my lord, give your permission.’

  ‘And you did not know that the lord Bishop of Winchester’s clerk would be here?’

  ‘Of course not. How could we?’

  ‘Had you met the murdered man before? At Romsey, perhaps?’

  ‘I never saw him there, no.’ There was a long pause; an important pause.

  ‘But?’ Bradecote voiced the word which hung unspoken at the end of her sentence.

  ‘But I knew him many, many years ago, before I took the veil.’

  Bradecote said nothing, and waited. Sister Edeva’s hands locked together beneath her scapular, and, for a moment, she closed her eyes. The acting under-sheriff thought he could guess what she was about to say, though he could not see how Eudo the Clerk, even in his pre-tonsured youth, could have attracted a woman like her. Everything he had heard about the man showed him in a bad light. Had he deceived her and then shown his true colours? Had she taken the veil through disillusionment, or even shame?