The trio were leaving through the new northern gateway by the monk’s graveyard when they were hailed, and turned to see a lanky novice hurrying towards them.
‘My lord, Father Abbot asks if you would come to him. Something strange has occurred, and it is connected with Steward Walter.’ The novice crossed himself.
‘Of course.’ Bradecote wondered what ‘something strange’ might be.
When they were admitted to the abbot’s chamber, Prior Richard was also present, and a slight, nervous-looking man with angelic blonde, wavy hair. Walkelin would now be able to put a name to a face.
‘My lord Bradecote, this is Aelred the Tailor, a man of good repute, who has come to us about the late Walter.’ Abbot Reginald turned to the tailor. ‘Tell the lord Undersheriff why you are here.’
‘My lord,’ Aelred bowed low, in a strangely precise way. Everything about him was neat, and his speech matched his demeanour. ‘Walter the Steward had me make three fine tunics, with braiding upon the front and sleeves, a gown of the best wool, to be trimmed about the neck with fox fur, and a cloak with a squirrel-lined hood. These garments are almost finished, and all the cost, which is high, lands upon 106me. I came to ask if the debt passed to the abbey, if they had encouraged him to dress more finely to impress at manorial courts, or mayhap to William, the new steward, though I doubt he would be willing to pay unless the clothes can be adjusted to fit.’
‘And we most certainly would not suggest an excess of adornment, not on anybody. It encourages the sin of pride.’ Prior Richard was swift to divorce the abbey from any involvement, and also ignored the fact that both he and the abbot, whilst garbed as any other Benedictine, had habits made of the finest woollen cloth, whether the light one in summer or the thicker in winter, and the softest linen for undershirt and drawers. ‘Our steward would not need to flaunt power or wealth hereabouts.’
‘I see. You say he “had you” make these clothes, Master Tailor. Do you just mean he commissioned them from you, or did he exert some power or force upon you? Did he expect the price to be cheaper than their true value, for example?’ Bradecote had detected a slight stress upon the words.
The tailor’s eyes widened as if the undersheriff could read minds.
‘It was made clear I must set aside other work to make them before everything else, my lord, and that the cost would be reduced by the amount already owed.’
‘Owed? To the abbey?’ Abbot Reginald was so surprised he let it show in his normally very even voice.
‘No, no, my lord. I owe nothing to the abbey – always pay up on time I do, and to the full. No, no it – well you see—’ The little man flushed and glanced at abbot and prior with a look of reproach. ‘The abbey must have its 107reasons, I am sure, but—’ He took a deep breath and then the words came out in a rush, ‘I have been paying Walter, as best I could, to speak up against the wish to pull down my little house and build bigger, now that Evesham is growing so fast, and the rent would be more than I could afford, and besides, the place too big. He said all the rents would be rising for new occupiers. So you see, there was no choice.’
He was now looking at Bradecote, and so did not see the stunned look upon the faces of the Benedictines. Prior Richard blinked, then frowned.
‘It is wrong to speak falsehoods, and how could you, when Father Abbot has spoken of your good repute? I do not know why you—’
‘But all I say is true, Father Prior. I will swear it upon the bones of the blessed Saint Ecgwin, and may my hands lose their skill if I lie.’ Aelred sounded desperate to be believed.
‘How long had you been paying the steward to “protect” you from losing your home?’ Bradecote did not doubt the man.
‘Since Lady Day last year, my lord.’ The tailor’s shoulders sagged a little, as though the burden had been physical.
‘And you never thought to come and ask here, yourself?’ Abbot Reginald looked disappointed.
‘No, my lord Abbot, for who would believe my word against that of your own trusted steward? That is what Walter said, and true it was.’ Aelred responded swiftly, and with confidence that he spoke the truth.
Abbot Reginald put a long-fingered hand to his forehead and sighed.
‘If the people of Evesham cannot bring petitions to us for fear of favour upon our appointees, we are in error. 108My son, what cost has there been to you for making these garments, and the true cost, not what Walter offered?’
‘In cloth, fur, braid and hours with my needle, a whole seven shillings and fourpence, my lord Abbot.’ The tailor spoke the sum hesitantly, for it was more than two months’ wages for most artisans.
‘And Walter offered …?’ Catchpoll wanted to know just how much the steward had wanted to pay.’
‘Three shillings and sixpence.’ Aelred hung his head. ‘I paid three shillings a quarter to Walter, for his “help”, but since Michaelmas trade has not been as good, and so I could not fulfil the sum.’
‘The abbey will recompense you—’ began Prior Richard, slowly.
‘In full.’ Abbot Reginald spared but a half glance at his deputy. ‘You have been deceived, cheated and left wanting and in worry by one given power and credibility by this House. You should know, from me, that no plans have there been, at any time, for the taking down of existing properties, or casting out those who rent or lease from us. The new properties are on land owned by us but as yet unoccupied. If rumour has spread otherwise, then counter it with this truth, my son.’
‘Thank you, oh thank you, my lord Abbot.’ The tailor bowed several times, almost weeping with relief, and, after a brief, whispered conversation between abbot and prior, Prior Richard led him out to see to the provision of the silver pennies.
‘I do not understand,’ sighed Abbot Reginald. ‘Our steward could have neither reason nor occasion to wear such opulent finery.’ 109
Neither Catchpoll nor Walkelin knew what ‘opulent finery’ meant, but made a guess at ‘rich man’s clothes’.
‘And if the steward demanded twelve shillings a year from Aelred the Tailor, and was also keepin’ back some of the rent that were due as well, what did ’e plan to do with all that silver?’ Catchpoll was trying to think of something and failing.
‘And where was ’e keepin’ it?’ Walkelin did not think that in his own home would be wise, for wives tidied so much, especially a new wife, that Mærwynn would have been very likely to find it. He said as much.
‘Yes, but we know that he controlled Mærwynn to such a degree she would not dare speak of it.’ Bradecote had been wondering the same thing.
‘Aye, but she would say now, now she is free of the man, so we should ask ’er.’ Catchpoll was pragmatic.
‘Unless she lies to keep it for ’erself. Might think as she deserves it, after what she put up with.’ Walkelin saw a possible problem.
‘And it still does not answer why.’ Abbot Reginald, who felt slightly left behind following the way the shrieval trio’s thought processes worked, sounded almost petulant.
‘I think that, Father, is something we will discover only late in all this, but it will be found out. And best we set about asking a lot more questions, so we will leave you.’ Bradecote nodded respectfully, and was followed by serjeant and underserjeant. Outside, he shut his eyes for a moment and sighed.
‘This becomes more of a tangle, not less.’
‘Sometimes that is the way of it, my lord, but we gets there in the end – usually.’ 110
‘And the greater the tangle, the more to work with,’ volunteered Walkelin, who liked a lot of information.
‘So we will begin with the one person on our list who at least is most unlikely to be our killer, the Widow Potter. Lead the way, Walkelin.’
The Widow Potter was a motherly-looking woman, with laughter lines about her eyes, and a face that exuded kindness and good humour. A strand of hair had escaped from under her coif, and was plastered to her forehead with clay slip, where she had tried to wipe it away from her eyes, and her apron was also adorned with smears and splashes. Two young men, whom she proudly named as her sons, were throwing pots upon wheels, and a younger lad was taking each completed beaker and putting it upon a tray, which would later go to the kiln.
The woman was respectful in her greeting but not overawed, and took the sheriff’s men into the back of the premises, where the family lived in cramped conditions. However, it was clean and the widow said it was better they talk there, not least so that no clay could adhere to the lord Undersheriff’s fine clothes.
‘You went to the funeral this afternoon, mistress. Were you a friend of Walter the Steward?’ Bradecote knew the question would not receive a positive answer, but was slightly taken aback when the woman laughed out loud and wreaked more havoc upon the cleanliness of her face by wiping her eyes as the tears flowed.
‘Bless me, no, my lord, but then none there would say they was friends with the man, not if they is ’onest, and not even ’is brother, who will be a difficult man to deal with, 111now the stewardship lies with ’im. Pity ’tis that the position be inherited, since from what was said when I were young, their father was another such, and their oldfather also. Picked bad ’uns, did the abbot who chose the family, but there, nothing to be done about it now.’
‘How was Walter bad, mistress?’ Walkelin was playing the innocent.
‘Could not keep that nose of ’is out of folks lives, day to day. Tried to tell me we could not fire our pots on any saints’ days, and there be a lot of them in the year, unless we paid for exemption. We keeps the Holy Days and festivals, like everyone, but I asked our priest, and ’e said there were many more saints that the clergy celebrate with prayer during the usual Offices, saints we never even knows about. He laughed and said if we wanted rest from our labours on all of ’em we would never work more than three days together. So Walter the Steward was just tryin’ to get even more money from us. I told Father Paulus all of it then, and ’e went and spoke with Father Prior, who said as Walter ’ad misunderstood. Misunderstood, ha! Knew what ’e were doin’ all along.’
‘So you did not pay.’
‘Did not pay and told ’im why. Did not like that one bit, and blustered a lot.’ The widow folded her arms at this point, and looked as she must have done at the steward.
‘And why did you also not pay all your rent? It does not look as if your wares do not sell, for your sons are busy making many more.’ Bradecote now tossed in the vital question.
‘Not pay all?’ The woman looked suddenly thrown off balance. ‘But I always pays in full and on time, my lord. It will show in the abbey rolls.’ 112
‘Those show you have been lacking each Quarter for the last six, and by three shillings each time.’
The slight flush of anger fled from her cheeks, and she paled, her breath coming fast as if she had been running. She shook her head, and murmured ‘Not so, not so’. Fearing she might collapse in a faint upon the floor, Walkelin pulled a stool towards her, and pressed her to sit upon it. She leant forward, her head drooping. Bradecote looked at Catchpoll, who looked at Walkelin. Her reaction was no act, and it was clear that she believed what she had said. It looked very much as though Walter the Steward had been extorting money from the abbey’s tenants in varied ways, as well as cheating his employer directly.
‘Mistress, silver is due to the abbey, but not from you. We have no cause to think you did not pay all that was required.’ Bradecote spoke firmly but gently. ‘However, we would ask you not to speak of this to others, not yet, until we find the extent of wrong-doing, and also take whoever killed Walter the Steward.’ If all Evesham did not just dislike the man, but knew he had been a criminal as well, their chances of finding the killer were very small.
She nodded, took a deep breath and looked up at him. ‘No crime is it to be glad the man be gone, though.’
‘No, but the Law still needs the killer, for when a man has killed once, it is easier a second time, and Evesham is better without such men.’ He thought that made it good sense without giving rise to panic.
‘I can see that, my lord. I will not let out a word of it, not yet. And the abbey will not demand the money of me?’
‘No, mistress.’ Bradecote wondered how much silver the abbey coffers must forego in ‘unpaid rent’ that had been 113handed over but never reached them. The three men left Widow Potter to recover her composure, and moved on to find Grim the Thatcher, who was not at his home, but upon the roof of a house on the road down to the bridge. He had no good word to say about Walter the Steward but made no direct complaint about him. He was, however, as shocked as the Widow Potter to find that he was in arrears with the abbey. His first thought was that some clerk had made a simple error on the chequer cloth, but when it was explained that it was for several Quarters his face darkened, and he cursed the dead man.
What became clear, as Bradecote and his men worked through the list, was that whilst some men disclosed that they had been forced to pay more, for what now showed as spurious reasons, none knew that they were in default of their dues to the abbey. It did reduce the list of potential suspects.
‘We can set aside the thatcher, the miller, the rope maker, the dyer and the Widow Potter. They may hope Walter the Steward burns in the eternal fires of Hell, but until now they had no reason to kill him.’ Bradecote was thankful for small mercies.
‘Aelred the Tailor thought that was where ’e was headin’, or wished it fervently, from what I heard ’im say at the funeral,’ commented Walkelin. ‘Though Aelred does not look a man as could drag the dead weight of the steward from where ’e fell to the well pit.’
‘Looks can be deceptive, and a man fired up out of the ordinary could still do it.’ Catchpoll had come across feats of strength, in both assailants and victims, that almost defied belief. 114
‘Agreed, Catchpoll, though I would not put Aelred the Tailor high on our list. Will Horsweard, crippled as he is, is even less likely to the killer, but we will visit him, just to see if he was being pressured, before going to see Hubert the Mason, the fuller and lastly the neighbourly Oswald Mealtere and Wulfram Meduwyrhta. From what his son told us, we can be fairly sure the mason was paying the steward, though whether to advance his cause or not hinder it, we will find out. It will be interesting to see the mead maker’s face when he finds out that not only was he forced to give Walter the Steward his daughter, but the man was keeping back part of his dues as well.’
‘My lord, I knows we is tellin’ folk not to speak of what we tells ’em, but I gives us no more than two days afore all Evesham knows, from babes at the breast to them on their deathbed.’
‘I know it, Catchpoll. Time is not on our side, so let us get a move on.’
Will Horsweard looked about as happy to see the sheriff’s men again as have a tooth drawn, but then his yard was busy, and there was a horse sidling about and giving the groom all manner of problems, just as he was trying to agree a price for its sale with a tall, lordly-looking man with a profile that showed a firm chin, and near black hair that curled up around the lobe of his ear as if cupping it. Catchpoll could sense Bradecote stiffen, and it was not at the sight of the horse dealer.
‘My lord Undersheriff,’ Horsweard made an awkward obeisance.
The lordly man, who could only have seen their 115approach from the edge of his vision, turned with a strange mixture of smile and snarl.
‘Ah, the lord Bradecote. Things have changed since we met last.’ The man looked him up and down, rather as he had the horse, but with less enthusiasm. ‘The benefit of a dead man’s boots, eh? Not that Fulk de Crespignac was much of a man, not really. Trotting around looking important suited him, as it does you.’
Serjeant Catchpoll, whose grasp of ‘Foreign’ was not perfect, but certainly sufficient, had not regarded the previous lord Undersheriff in the same light as he did the current holder of the title, but insulting him insulted the role, and Catchpoll was very protective about the status of a sheriff’s officer. His eyes narrowed.
‘I enjoy riding, de Cormolain,’ Bradecote did not rise to the bait, ‘and the work exercises the mind as well as the body. ‘
‘And does it make you feel more important, Bradecote?’ The snarl became a sneer.
‘Bein’ Undersheriff is important,’ growled Catchpoll, who looked like a dog who would dearly love to be let off the leash and rip the other man’s throat out.
‘It is to you, Catchpoll.’ The lord, dropping into English, knew exactly who Serjeant Catchpoll was, but then so did every man who had fulfilled his service in Worcester Castle in the last twenty years.
‘It is Serjeant Catchpoll.’
‘And it is “my lord”.’ Having felt that he had put Catchpoll in his place, the man turned his attention back to Bradecote and reverted to Norman-French. ‘If you spend too much time with this old fox, you will stink like 116a fox also, and what would your pretty wife think to that? I admit she was a nice prize for grovelling around with corpses, if you ignore who bedded her before you, but me, I think I prefer fresher fare, and to be my own man, not our lord Sheriff’s lawhound.’ He wanted to goad, and by insulting Christina, he found the chink in Bradecote’s armour. A muscle moved in the undersheriff’s cheek, and his hand moved involuntarily towards his dagger, but was halted by force of will.
‘I had forgotten your tongue was far sharper than your sword, de Cormolain, but then I had forgotten you entirely, unimportant as you are. I am upon the lord Sheriff’s business, and cannot afford the time to waste upon you, though know that I would take great satisfaction in cutting that sharp tongue of yours from your foul mouth.’ Hugh Bradecote spoke slowly and deliberately, controlling his anger, just. It meant it was easier for Catchpoll to understand, and the serjeant was surprised by the degree of hatred in his superior’s voice. The lord Bradecote was, though sometimes tetchy, not a man in whom hate was a prominent emotion.
‘Master Horsweard, you may finish haggling over the horse later. First you speak with me, inside.’ Bradecote returned to English, before de Cormolain could open his mouth.
The horse dealer had very little understanding of what was going on, other than the two important men within feet of him clearly loathed each other and might resort to violence at any moment. It drove mere dislike of having to speak with the lord Undersheriff and even worse, the lord Sheriff’s Serjeant, from his head. 117
‘Yes, my lord. Come this way.’ He looked at de Cormolain. ‘I am sorry my lord … the lord Undersheriff – important – please inspect the horse more.’ He spread his hand to invite the sheriff’s men into the cooler darkness of his house, and hobbled in after them.
‘We wants to know if Walter the Steward got you to pay more ’n your set dues to the abbey.’ Catchpoll felt they had wasted valuable time and did not beat about the bush.
‘No, that he did not, but he wanted me to supply him with a good, but placid, horse come Michaelmas, and at half its value.’
‘And why might you agree to that, Master Horsweard?’ Bradecote focused on the matter in hand, forcing de Cormolain from his thoughts, though he was seething.
Will Horsweard said nothing.
‘We have not time for this. Serjeant, ask him another way.’ It was rare for Bradecote to even suggest violence when interviewing men.
‘With pleasure, my lord.’ Catchpoll smiled, very slowly and let the fear suffuse the horse trader’s face.
‘I-I bought two mules from a man who passed through Evesham early in the spring, very cheap. Turned out they were not his to sell. I sold them to the abbey, at a good price, and Walter the Steward learnt about the man, who was found guilty of horse-stealing and hanged in Moreton in Marsh, where he stole them. Recognised the animals from the description, he did, and said if I did not provide his horse as cheap as I bought the stolen mules, he would tell the lord Abbot, and all this,’ Will Horsweard waved his arms about him, ‘would be taken from me, and I would be sent before the Justices in Worcester. I did not know they 118were stolen when I bought them.’
‘Just made a good guess, so offered a low price,’ snorted Catchpoll.
‘I did not kn—’
‘Did the steward say why he wanted the horse? He used a beast from the abbey stables when he went upon abbey business, no doubt.’ Bradecote saw no point in taking up the horse trader.
‘I have no idea, my lord. He just said it had to be a quiet animal but look good. “A lord’s horse”’ he said. ‘I agreed. I had no choice.’
‘Very well. That is all for the present. Oh, and do not sell the horse cheaply to the Lord de Cormolain. He can afford a good price.’ With which Bradecote turned on his heel and left, passing de Cormolain without a glance, and followed by Catchpoll and a very confused Walkelin.
It was fortunate that Hubert the Mason was working some way from where Will Horsweard lived, since it gave time for both Bradecote and Catchpoll’s tempers to improve. Walkelin, wisely, said nothing, and judged both by their body language. When the lord Bradecote’s stride shortened to its normal long length, and Serjeant Catchpoll lost his ‘death grim’ face, he relaxed.
Hubert the Mason was already preparing stone where the new well was going to be dug. He looked very wary at their approach, and was patently relieved when informed that his son was in no way suspected of the steward’s murder.
‘Good lad, our Simon,’ the mason murmured, gruffly. ‘Young ’uns gets a bit foolish, but – you mean what you say?’ 119
‘Would not say it else, Master Mason. Your lad favours ’is left, and the blow that killed Walter the Steward came from a right-handed man.’ Catchpoll thought the explanation simple, but Hubert the Mason looked at him in awe.
‘You can tell that?’
‘Aye.’ Catchpoll did not elaborate, since it helped if the man thought them clever. If he sat down and thought about it, he would see it was obvious, but then, most folk did not think about such things.
‘And now we want to know why a man whose craft is in demand, should be behind in the paying of his rent to the abbey.’ Bradecote sounded curious but not threatening.
‘Why ask—you mean me?’ The mason actually dropped his chisel. ‘Must be a mistake, for I pays every penny owed, and on time.’
‘Not for the last year.’ Walkelin sounded as though the mason had disappointed him.
‘I paid, I tell you, and—’ Hubert stopped suddenly, realising his next words would sow a reason to want the steward dead.
‘And you were payin’ Walter the Steward more than just the rent.’ Catchpoll played ‘omniscient’ again, and the mason’s eyes boggled.
‘You could not know.’
‘Oh, we could.’ The death’s-head smile spread across Catchpoll’s face.
‘None knew. I did not even tell my son the whole of it.’ The words emerged as a hoarse whisper.
‘So tell us, Master Mason.’ Walkelin’s tone was inviting the man to unburden himself, not confess. 120
‘The lord Abbot ’as been buildin’ ever since ’e became abbot, back, let me think, yes, fifteen year ago, but the big buildings needs men used to churches and cloisters and all the decorated work too. Not for the likes of a man like me, with just my son alongside me. But there be work comin’ that is in my line. A parlour for the holy brothers is planned, just a decent, plain chamber where they might meet with relatives come to speak with them, and such. The masons working in the abbey are more than busy enough, and it will not be part of the cloisters. I am the best mason in Evesham, and that is not a boast but a fact. The work should come to me. Walter the Steward said it would not unless I paid ’im, on the quiet, not to suggest otherwise. I paid, but, mark you, I did not kill the man. I swears that.’
‘Very well. That is all for now, Master Mason.’ Bradecote needed no more. They left him and went southward and then west along the lane towards the ferry once more, to Martin Fuller’s premises, a good distance from other habitation. Bradecote turned up his nose as the smell hit him. Thankfully, Martin Fuller was one of the group who had not been coerced or blackmailed into giving the steward money, and was merely outraged that what had passed to Walter in rent had not all reached the abbey coffers.
‘The bastard! The lyin’ bastard! And kin too, since my wife’s mother was sister to his! May he rot in Hell!’
‘That seems to be the wish of everyone in Evesham we has spoken to this afternoon,’ remarked Catchpoll. ‘Thing is, we needs to find out who sent ’im on his way there, afore this became known.’
Walkelin had a thought, but decided this was not the time to voice it. 121
Bradecote, eager to leave the stench of the fuller’s, decided they need not question further.
Only Oswald Mealtere and Wulfram Meduwyrhta remained, and having spoken once with them, they already knew that the steward had pressured the mead maker to give him his daughter to wife, using the same kind of threats as he had to others. It would, however, be useful to know if the maltster had suffered other than being left in debt to the abbey.
As they made their way back to where the track led down to the two feuding neighbours, Walkelin spoke up at last.
‘I understands the townsfolk we speaks to about the steward demandin’ extra silver all lookin’ surprised and angry, but—’ Walkelin paused for a moment, marshalling his thoughts into sentences.
‘But what?’ Bradecote demanded, tersely. He could feel the beginnings of one of his bad headaches, brought on by the heat, and that, on top of the stench lingering in his nose and the meeting with de Cormolain, shortened his temper.
‘But would not that be a perfect reason for a man to fly at the steward’s throat, there in the near dark by the well hole, my lord? It was said that Walter would not meet at another man’s callin’, so it must ’ave been the steward as demanded the two meet, and we is now but the day afore Quarter Day. Walter says he wants more, or another favour added on, and the man says no. That is when Walter says that the man is behind with the rent and ’e will see him thrown out of home and workshop if ’e does not submit. That makes the man snap, and start the fight. We sort of knows the rest.’ 122
‘Now that, Young Walkelin, makes very good sense.’ Catchpoll nodded approvingly.
‘It does?’ Walkelin trusted himself but was astounded to receive such praise from Serjeant Catchpoll.
‘Yes, it does, Walkelin.’ Bradecote knew he had been too sharp with the underserjeant and added his commendation. ‘It gives a good answer to the question you like to pose of “Why now?”’
‘And it means ’tis very likely that someone is not as shocked as they sound, so we needs more afore we discounts folk completely. Oh well, idleness leads to sin, so we is headin’ for sainthood at this rate.’ Catchpoll gave a slow smile.
Bradecote managed half a smile and shook his head, which he then regretted doing.