If Hubert the Mason had looked suspiciously at Walkelin, he regarded the lord Undersheriff and Sheriff’s Serjeant with blatant fear, and the donkey sensed it and began to back up in the shafts of the cart. Walkelin went to its head and tried to calm it. The mason, with four worked stones cradled in his arms, could do nothing but stand his ground and try to look less panicked.
‘Best you sets them stones down afore you drops ’em on your foot,’ advised Catchpoll, calmly.
Hubert obeyed. He still looked trapped.
‘We would have you show us your belt.’ Bradecote made it a command, and confusion was added to the man’s worry.
‘My belt, my lord? Well, ’tis naught but my apron strings this day. Not as thin as I once were, and all the bendin’ to lift the stones would dig the buckle into the result of the wife’s good pottage.’ He patted his apron-covered belly, but his smile was nervous. He was trying too hard.
‘Where is Simon, your son?’ Bradecote was direct.
‘Gone over to Hampton, my lord, to aid my brother, for the pease be ready early this year.’
‘He is a labourer? I had thought you would have him follow your trade.’ Bradecote’s eyebrows rose, questioning.
‘Oh, he will follow me, my lord, b-but just now I can 56manage alone and my brother cannot.’ It sounded a poor reason, and Hubert coloured slightly.
‘And when did he go?’
‘Oh, must ’ave been a week since, my lord. At the least. Ought to be back in a day or so.’ This was said airily, but Hubert was tense. The lord Sheriff’s men could tell he was lying.
‘And was ’e sweet on Walter the Steward’s wife after she wed the steward?’ Catchpoll did not sound as if it made much difference to him.
‘O’course not, not once she wed. Would not be right.’ Outrage sped the words from the mason’s lips, even as he realised he had confirmed the relationship had existed. ‘Lads go cow-eyed over a girl very easy, but such things does not last. One girl one month, and a new one the next.’ He laughed, though it rang false.
‘Just a passin’ fancy, eh?’
‘Aye, and now forgotten.’
‘Strange that Walter’s widow ’as not forgotten, and assured us otherwise so strong it rang as much as a lie as the one you just spoke.’
‘Women linger on such things. Men move on.’ Hubert shrugged, ignoring the accusation of a lie.
‘And it must be annoying that he is gone to your brother just when there is this commission for the well stones.’ Bradecote kept up the pressure.
‘Never short of work, a good mason, and I am that. This be a simple task. I does not need aid.’
‘But if it is simple, then your journeyman, your son, could have done it alone and you could be working on something needing more skill.’ The undersheriff was very reasonable. 57
‘And we will go and find out just when he arrived in Hampton, if at all,’ added Catchpoll, smiling his most unnerving smile.
‘It might ’ave been just under a week. I did not count the days,’ admitted Hubert, in a rush.
‘Just long enough ago that he could not possibly have been the man to kill Walter the Steward. We understand.’ Bradecote was almost soothing.
‘Though of course it does not mean you could not ’ave done it.’ Walkelin, who had remained silent, spoke up. ‘Nobody liked ’im, as you said afore, and could well be you are one as loathed the man. It would give a reason for the meetin’ bein’ by the well pit.’
‘No. I slept sound all night. The wife will swear to it.’
‘Loyal wives always does,’ murmured Catchpoll.
‘And you knows nothin’ of Walter the Steward if you thinks as ’e would agree to meet where another said. It must ’ave been at ’is own command.’
This, at least, gave a new line of thought.
‘Do not take up an offer of work outside Evesham, Master Mason. We will see how true your words are about your son, and may need to speak further with you.’ Bradecote sounded commanding. The man just nodded, and the shrieval trio left him to his stones.
‘We will cross to Hampton and check the tale of the son and the pease. Walkelin, we want to know if Walter’s widow was seen out and about freely, and alone, or is there gossip that he kept her close and “caged”. Since they wed last Michaelmas, if she is the reason for his death, something must have happened recently, or come to light.’ 58
‘My lord, might Simon ’ave got close again, without ’is father’s knowin? ’Tis not somethin’ a son would want to admit, committin’ adultery.’ Walkelin thought Hubert’s rebuttal of the suggestion had rung true, but might be incorrect.
‘That is a possibility. Take your whittling, or help some old woman with her bundle of washing, and play the helpful stranger. You are good at it.’ Bradecote smiled. ‘We will meet at the guest hall later, though we cannot tell when.’ He gave directions to the steward’s house.
‘Yes, my lord. And what does the widow look like and what is her name?’
‘She is not yet seventeen, good figure, turned up nose, shy. We do not have her name, but you will discover it, no doubt.’ Bradecote nodded a dismissal and Walkelin strode away purposefully. ‘And we are for Hampton, Catchpoll.’
‘Indeed, my lord, and with luck, Kenelm the Ferryman will give us much of what we needs.’
Bradecote and Catchpoll headed south to the green and then west along the northern boundary of the abbey demesne, marked by a hawthorn hedge as it descended gently to the western side of the promontory and the Hampton ferry. At one point there was a gap in the hedge where a blackcap was singing, and a gate, with a track that went southward, bridged over what must be a brook or deep ditch, and led to a cluster of buildings. Perhaps they were the abbey’s stores for the produce of the demesne gardens and orchards, for neat lines of trees were also just visible beyond the hedge.
The ferry was midstream, and bearing a man with a pig. When it arrived, and the pig had been ‘encouraged’ to disembark, the ferryman acknowledged them. 59
‘Do you charge more for a pig?’ Bradecote wrinkled his nose.
‘I ought, and that be a fact. Mind you, that’n crossed none so bad. You needed in Hampton as well as Evesham, my lord? I would think one death enough for you to look into.’
Kenelm the Ferryman knew all the news that came from Evesham, and that which came in from the westward. It was Catchpoll who answered as they climbed onboard.
‘Just castin’ about to make sure what is told is true, friend.’
‘And rare that be as fair-smellin’ swine.’ Kenelm often sifted hearsay from wishful thinking and downright malice.
‘We heard as some from Evesham had come over to help kin with the pease harvest this last week.’ Catchpoll was ‘just making conversation’.
‘It took several trips to get the lay brothers from the abbey across, that is for sure, and they returned but yesterday. The abbey ’as tended a vineyard in Hampton since Abbot Walter’s time, but they gets a good pease yield also most years.’
‘Anyone else?’ Bradecote tried not to sound very interested but was not as good as Catchpoll.
‘There was young Simon, the mason’s son, but ’e only crossed yestermorn, so that would be too late to gather much, and ’e said as ’e were goin’ to Aelfric, an uncle, for a few days since ’is father was on ’is back over the quality of ’is work. I said as we all makes mistakes, and time be a great teacher, but ’e did not look cheered.’
‘Lads takes things to heart too easy.’ Catchpoll sounded the voice of aged wisdom.
‘That they does. That they does.’ Silence fell, letting the 60Avon whisper beneath the planking of the ferryboat. Kenelm might have been thinking about his youth, but the shrieval pair were wondering about Simon the mason’s son. As the ferryman tied up on the western bank, Catchpoll asked directions to the pease field, and Bradecote dropped a silver penny into the ferryman’s calloused palm.
‘I doubt we will be long before we return.’
‘I will be ’ere, my lord, or else on t’other side.’ Kenelm touched his cap and grinned.
The pease field was not empty, but it was clear that the majority of the crop was in, and the haulms were being cut and left to dry for fodder. They asked for Aelfric, who was rather in awe of being spoken to by a lord, and who volunteered that his nephew was the lad with the wide-brimmed straw hat ‘over yonder’. Bradecote and Catchpoll got within about five yards of him, approaching from behind, and then Catchpoll sneezed and the youth turned around, saw two men he did not know but who looked intent on knowing him, and ran. Catchpoll groaned. Bradecote, unconcerned about how it looked that a lord should run, gave chase, and if his legs were older, they were also longer, and although a stone mason would have strong muscles, they were not in his legs. It gave the undersheriff, who rode nearly every day, another advantage. At the same time Simon jinked about like a chased hare, and the others working in the field watched in a mixture of curiosity and some amusement. However, after a few minutes the journeyman mason tired, and tripped over a willow root. He went sprawling, and Bradecote was spared the possible indignity of launching himself to grab about his legs. He 61folded his arms and waited, just beyond arm’s length, breathing fast but not desperate for air. Catchpoll, having gauged the direction and taken the shortest route at a dog trot, arrived, wheezing a little.
‘Landed a fish, my lord? Looks like one.’
Simon was certainly trying to get as much air into his lungs as possible. He had rolled over and lay looking up at them, very frightened. They noted that his cotte was girdled by a narrow belt with a curved strap end, one that had a heart shape crudely etched into it.
‘Mornin’.’ Catchpoll grinned at him, and the youth’s bowels nearly opened. ‘You are Simon, son of Hubert the Mason. This is the lord Bradecote, Undersheriff of the Shire, and I am Serjeant Catchpoll. We doesn’t look like outlaws, so why did you run from us?’ Catchpoll sounded curious.
‘It were not me,’ blurted out Simon.
‘That’s good, then.’ Catchpoll’s grin widened, and grew more awful. ‘So now you tells us what you did not do.’
‘I did not kill ’im, on my oath, I did not.’
Catchpoll did not tease further and ask whom Simon meant.
‘In which case, why run from Evesham yesterday morning, and why run from us now?’ Bradecote did not raise his voice, but it held steel.
‘Father told me to. Said I would be blamed for it, since everyone knew I loved Mærwynn.’
The youth, who could be no more than four or five years older than Walter’s wife, sounded as if the noose was already about his throat, and his voice was a trembling gasp.
‘Do you love her still, or was this all in the past?’ Bradecote did not question the passionate verb. 62
‘Still – not that we—I scarce spoke to ’er since she wed. She sort of disappeared, and Father said I must not give Walter the Steward reason to demand more.’
‘Demand more?’ Bradecote and Catchpoll spoke almost in unison, genuinely surprised.
‘Somethin’ about Quarter Day. I knows no more, but Father said as it risked our business, our ’ome. I did not see Mærwynn, I swears it, not ’til a week past. She looked so frightened, like a mouse in a trap, and she begged me not to even look at ’er.’ Simon’s voice strengthened. ‘What sort of man frightens a wife like that?’
‘Did you say anything to her?’ Bradecote wanted to know the source of her fearing he had killed her husband.
‘I said it were not right.’ This was mumbled and Simon did not look at them.
‘Tell us the words, exactly.’ It was a command.
‘I-I said a man like that did not deserve to live.’ There was a pause. ‘But I did not kill ’im, even though I rejoices that someone did. When the widow-time is past, I will ask again to wed ’er. We thought it would be agreed afore. Father and Mærwynn’s father spoke of it, and it were part agreed, then she wed the steward, sudden-like, and without a reason to me. I tried to ask ’er father, but ’e just shook ’is head and said some things could not be.’ He sighed. ‘My lord, it looks bad, I knows that, but what I said to Mærwynn was just words, words sprung from shock. I meant ’em, in a way, but could not ’ave done the deed. When Father came and told me about the body in the well pit, I tried to imagine doin’ it, throwin’ the stone down onto the steward’s head,’ he mimed the action, but halted as if the stone did not leave his hand, ‘but I could not.’ 63
‘Fair enough.’ Bradecote glanced at Catchpoll. Simon had ‘lifted’ the stone with his left hand and thought that it was a lobbed stone that killed Walter the Steward. ‘But between you and your father, and Mærwynn also, there have been lies and a fleeing that has taken us from the real path to who killed Walter the Steward.’
‘But whoever did it did Evesham a favour.’ Simon sounded sulky.
‘It does not make it lawful, and the Law lies there to stop folk doin’ what they wants out of spite, greed, vengeance or “doin’ a favour” for themselves or others.’ Catchpoll spoke almost magisterially, and it was one of those times when Bradecote was well aware that Catchpoll also meant he was the physical embodiment of the Law.
‘If your uncle still has use for you here, then remain for a few days. It may mean, if we are fortunate, that whoever killed Walter the Steward will be taken by then, and even if not, you are better out of Evesham while this is on all lips and in all minds.’ It was the best advice Bradecote could give.
‘Yes, my lord. Will you tell Father? I think a bit of ’im feared I did it, even when I swore I did not.’
‘We will tell ’im,’ Catchpoll assured the young man, and as he and Bradecote made their way back to the ferry, he added that he would personally tell Hubert the Mason that all he had done was make things look worse than they were.
‘I thinks some folk mishear the word “Law” for “wolf” and acts brainless, my lord.’
‘Or the name “Catchpoll”.’
Catchpoll was still laughing as Kenelm took them across the Avon. 64
Walkelin, left to tackle his task his own way, chose not to loiter and whittle some child’s toy, as was his usual ploy, but sauntered past the house where Walter the Steward had lived, and apparently found a stone in his boot. He leant against the wall of the house next door, removed the boot and wobbled a little, tipping out the invisible stone and rubbing the ball of his foot with an expression of discomfort. He had caught the sound of voices within the neighbour’s house, and hoped someone, preferably female, might emerge. He was in luck. A woman younger than his mother but much older than his Eluned, and with the same sing-song Welsh voice, propelled a lad of about tithing age into the street, with the injunction to ‘go back to your father and tell him not to send you next time when he wants to make an excuse for bein’ late. I knows it is the alehouse as calls him’. She glanced sideways to see who was leaning on ‘her’ wall, and Walkelin, exuding ‘innocent man with painful foot’, smiled and grimaced in one expression.
‘Apologies, mistress. So sharp a pain it was I thought a nail was gone through the sole and into my foot.’
‘A nail? There’s bad.’
‘No, Heaven be praised. ’Twere but a stone, though it hurt like a sharp nail.’
‘A bruise can be very painful.’
‘Indeed. I will hobble back to the abbey’s guest hall, for sure.’
Her ears pricked at this. Evesham town was full of Walter the Steward’s death, but all were convinced that what was known within the enclave far exceeded what was known outside.
‘You are stayin’ in the abbey? What is said there about,’ 65she dropped her voice conspiratorially, ‘Walter the Steward, as is done to death, and lived next door?’ She jerked her head to her left. This, thought Walkelin, was just the woman he needed. He decided to be bold.
‘My lord, the lord Undersheriff, knows now that Walter the Steward was not liked in Evesham and …’ he paused a moment, ‘I ought not to speak of this openly.’
‘Come inside, you poor soul, and I will find a pad for that foot of yours,’ announced the woman, rather more loudly than needed. She almost grabbed his hand and he hopped into the darkness of her home. She dragged a stool for him to sit upon, shooed three small children out into the backyard, and came to sit opposite him. The pad seemed forgotten.
‘I said as Walter would end bad. Told his wife as much, years ago.’
‘Years ago? From what I heard, the man was recent married.’ Walkelin continued to rub his foot and grimace, to a least keep up the illusion of injury.
‘Oh, that is the second wife. No, I told the first, after the babe came too soon, see. Only time I ever stepped over the threshold, mind. Would never let anyone in, Steward Walter, never speak neighbour to neighbour, nor even laugh with the other men over a beaker of ale. Only let me in since she needed a woman there. When I told her she must rest in bed for a few days after she lost the child, she said she dare not, for he would not like it and would make her sleep on the floor again. What man makes a wife sleep on the floor? And if he did so when she was carrying his child, well no wonder she lost it. That is when I said ’e would come to a bad end if there was justice in the world. She whispered there was no justice, ’cept in Heaven.’ The neighbour crossed herself. 66‘Mind you, this new one would have gone the same way as the first if the steward had lived. She looks the same, see.’
‘Men often choose a wife who reminds them of the first.’ Walkelin thought this unlikely, but it might get a response.
‘Bless you, no. She looks the same way, not has the same face. Rarely gets beyond the front door, just the same. Nearest she gets to fresh air is feeding the chickens in the yard. She whispers, even to them. Last one whispered too. I hears, or heard, him often enough, orderin’ this, demandin’ that. They went to church together, but the way ’e took her arm was not husbandly …’ she paused to think of the right word, ‘more like a carpenter’s vice.’
‘What happened to the first wife?’
‘Died, she did, winter afore last, coughing so loud I could hear it through the thick walls. But she did not want to live, mark you. Wore the woman down, he did, with misery and nothing being right. And another thing – dressed in fine clothes is the new one when they go to church, but I looks through a crack in the yard wall sometimes and see her in a thin gown even in winter. Something very odd and wrong there.’ She sighed. ‘Mind you, she is free of him now. If she possessed any spirit still, I would say she went after him the other night, quiet as the mouse she is, and pushed him into that well pit and cast the stone after, and small blame to the woman. But she would not have dared.’ The woman smiled. ‘Now, what is it you could not say outside?’
Walkelin had been thinking even as he had listened.
‘Keep it close mistress, but it looks like whoever killed Walter the Steward was bein’ threatened by him.’
‘How?’
‘W—The lord Undersheriff is not yet sure, but this is only 67the first day he is huntin’ the man who did it.’
‘Definitely a man?’
‘Oh yes.’ He rubbed his foot and pushed it back into his boot. ‘The foot feels much better now, mistress. One thing, though.’
‘Yes?’
‘What is the name of Walter’s wife – widow?’
‘Mærwynn. Pretty name. The daughter of Wulfram Meduwyrhta, she is, and I would have thought better of the man, giving his daughter to the steward none would speak a good word about, when there was an honest soul all ready and eager to take her to wife.’
‘There was?’ Walkelin sounded suitably surprised.
‘Ooh yes. A well set-up llencyn, as you would expect in one who uses mallet and chisel each day. Must have been much more to the girl’s taste.’ The woman paused and frowned. ‘Saw him this last week, I did, come to knock upon the door. Must have been some message from his tad, Hubert the Mason, who is working on the well, not that Steward Walter was at home. Knocked three times he did, and only then did the door open and that poor mouse just squeaked at him to go away or else she would pay for it, afore he spoke a single word. Sad, very sad.’ She sighed.
‘And did he go away without passing on the message?’
‘He said something, but quickly, and I was not listening, mark you, so what he had been sent to say I know not, and she was so upset she would have forgotten all of it by the time the door was shut.’
‘And if her words was true, passin’ it on would mean only trouble, so mayhap ’twas for the best.’ Walkelin gave no hint that anything other than a message for Walter the 68Steward could have been the reason for the visit. ‘Well, I had best get back to the abbey afore my lord returns from his askin’ questions. Thank you, mistress.’
Walkelin left, hobbling slightly, and only then did the woman realise she had told him far more than he had told her.
Walkelin was back within the enclave some time before his superiors and decided that he might use the time to good purpose. Buoyed by his success with ‘the woman next door’, he thought he might see what could be learnt from those within the walls. He was also trying to work out in his head whether there was any significance in the fact that Walter the Steward had been dismissive and antagonistic to his wife’s father, the mead maker, when the man had gone to look at the well pit and been reassured over his own source of water. If the steward was already a man disliked in Evesham, and he did not sound as if he had had some sudden change of character, why did the mead maker agree to the match, and why were relations between the two men poor afterwards?
In the newly built guest hall, he found a man sweeping the passage outside the few chambers reserved for the most high-status guests. The lord Bradecote had been allocated one and had said the three of them should use it to discuss things without other ears overhearing. Walkelin knocked upon the door, though he could hear no voices from within, and then addressed the sweeper.
‘Never ends, sweepin’. My wife says ’tis the thing she hates most, and the dust gets in your nose too often.’
‘That it does.’
‘And no thanks does it earn.’ Walkelin sounded sympathetic. 69
‘Agreed. All we gets is complaints when things is not perfect, not praise when there is no fault.’
‘And you will be hopin’ the new steward is like the last, eh?’
‘You never met the last one, then, and have not yet met the new one. Not peas in a pod, I grant, and barely spoke a word to each other, let alone a good ’un, but cut from the same cloth. Their father – ah, a hard man, and they took that from ’im. Our lives will be no better, just a mite different.’
‘In what ways?’ It just needed a nudge.
‘The last one wanted to watch every little thing you did, and tell you to do it better. Then the silver pennies you earned was docked for the “mistakes”. The new one will want you to do more, even if you work ’til you drop, and soon enough will dock them for “laziness”. The stewardship be inherited, and it makes them proud and nasty.’
‘Or they were proud and nasty from the start.’
‘Ha, and gave pain to everyone as they gave pain to their mother as they came into the world.’ The servant, seeing the guest master approaching, brushed more assiduously, and stopped talking. Walkelin, who felt that entering the lord Bradecote’s chamber and waiting there felt wrong, went to find the shadiest spot from which he might still see the western gate and all who entered.
It was late morning, and the hint of a breeze, that had provided relief when he had gone to see the well pit, was barely a memory. Instead, the heat seemed to sear the skin and then entered the body with each breath. Fortunately for Walkelin, there was an aged walnut tree between the guest hall and the more lowly almonry, which was still a thatched, daub and wattle building. The tree looked very much as 70though it had been there as long as there had been monks in Evesham, and Walkelin wondered if it had been planted by a long dead herbalist for its nuts and medicinal properties. Certainly, nobody had sought to fell it to ‘tidy’ the enclave, and it now stood, the trunk etched with deep-gouged, vertical furrows like a wrinkled and venerable oldmother sat quietly in the corner, saying nothing, and observing through rheumy eyes. The shade was very welcome, and he sat down between the roots and leant back against its girth, brushing away a beetle that had seen his neck as a continuation of its path. The tree exuded a restfulness that was beguiling, soporific, and its message was that man was fleeting, like the beetle, and many had come to a violent end during its life, yet here it still stood. He should strive but not worry. Succumbing to the walnut’s benevolent shade, Walkelin’s breathing eased and his eyelids drooped.
He awoke with a start when a boot kicked him, without malice but enough force to pierce his slumber.
‘Been a tirin’ forenoon, has it? Glad you could get a little rest, then.’ Catchpoll was sarcastic, in part from jealousy. A nap under a tree sounded a wonderful idea, and the walk back from the ferry, though barely a half mile, had been undertaken in glaring sun. The sweat had been running down the back of his neck and wiped from his brow, and right now, a cool drink and a shady tree sounded like Heaven upon earth.
‘I only sat down a bit ago – I think.’ Walkelin, getting up and dusting off his backside, was honest, and for all he knew he had dozed for an hour. ‘I discovered what you wanted about—’ he stopped as a Benedictine walked past, and dropped his voice a little, ‘the widow, and how she 71were treated, though much came from the neighbour takin’ a little thing and imaginin’ more, and the widow’s name is Mærwynn. What is more, she is the daughter of the mead maker, and we knows he went to ask about whether the well would change his supply of water, and that Walter the Steward shouted at ’im to go away, which is a bit of a surprise, given the link of daughter and wife.’
‘’Tis not uncommon for a man not to get on with ’is wife’s family, but mostly the mother. Odd then, I grant.’ Catchpoll pulled a thinking face.
‘And what is more, my lord, the neighbour said the steward’s first wife died, and was like this one, barely ever seen, quiet as a mouse and afraid to do what Walter did not like.’
‘Let us discuss this inside.’ Bradecote led the way to his chamber, which was cool enough, and shut the door. He sat upon the edge of the cot, and Catchpoll took the stool. Walkelin stood close to the wall and leant against its cool stone.
‘Tell us everything.’ Bradecote leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and looked at the underserjeant.
‘Slowly,’ added Catchpoll.
Walkelin gave them all he had learnt, with the addition of the opinion of the sweeper on the dead steward and his successor.
‘So we have discounted the mason’s son who was sweet on Mærwynn, have interest in her father, the mead maker, and still need to meet William, the new steward. Oh, and there is a possibility that Walter was taking more than just the Evesham Abbey rents from the tenants.’
‘What discounted Simon, my lord?’ 72
‘Firstly, his belt did not lack a strap end. Also, he admitted he had made a bold and threatening comment to Mærwynn, not long before the killing, but it was clearly passionate words, not a sign of real intent.’
‘And when the lad talked about the deed, imaginin’ the actions as went with it, ’e went to “throw” the imagined stone with ’is left hand and assumed the death-blow came from the stone cast into the well pit.’ Catchpoll gave the rest of the story. ‘Mind you, it did me good to see the lord Bradecote run like a stag after the lad. Them long legs covers the ground well.’
‘And that was more than enough running for today. Let us hope neither the mead maker nor Walter’s brother William take to their heels at the sight of us.’ Bradecote sat up and eased his shoulders.
‘Who do we speak with first, my lord?’
‘I think perhaps the brother, and then, if we are fortunate, he too can be discounted. Not being in charity with close kin is not the same as being prepared to kill them. We need to judge both how much he disliked Walter, and how much he wanted the stewardship.’
‘And we needs to consider, my lord, that with Walter now with a new young wife, there was more “risk” of ’im fatherin’ sons to inherit.’ Catchpoll was less confident that William would be easily removed from those under suspicion.
‘And the lord Abbot said William showed ’imself upset by his brother’s death, which does not fit if they did not like each other.’ Walkelin added his mite.
‘Very true. I get the feeling that Abbot Reginald did not see the true side of either of them. Let us find William.’