“Brother Thomas! What a pleasant surprise to see you again. Did you find lodging at the priory?” Bernard clapped his well-clad hands together in apparent pleasure at such an unexpected meeting.
In the brightness of day, the merchant appeared younger than he had in the dimmer light of an inn at eventide. The man’s round cheeks wore the pink of youth, and his blond beard looked as soft as a lady’s gloves. Although the expression in his eyes still had that sharp watchfulness of an older man, the sparkle of boyish enthusiasm was well mixed in. No wrinkles yet bothered his brow, and he had very white teeth. Thomas probed one of his own that felt a bit uncomfortable.
“I did,” the monk replied, “and they have found use for me already. I have just returned from the house of Wulfstan’s widow.”
Bernard bowed his head with respectful solemnity.
“She is much grieved that her son and husband failed to make peace after their quarrel. It was a most troubling thing between the two.” If Drifa would not tell him the details, perhaps this glover would. Thomas felt the bite of hope.
“Sons and fathers do argue,” Bernard acknowledged. “Even my honored sire lost his temper with me from time to time, and he was slow to wrath.” He hesitated as if considering his next words. “Nonetheless, I never said I wanted to kill him. My heart always knew he was right, and my mother, God bless her sweet soul, would have roasted me before the Devil got me if I had not obeyed him.” A grin caught him up. “I think I feared her anger more than my father’s!”
Even without wine, the fellow was talkative, Thomas noted happily. He continued. “I was dismayed to hear that Sayer had done so. Do you know the man? I wondered if he was a rebellious son or simply an imprudent one.”
Bernard’s smile faded quickly. “This is a small village, Brother. We all know each other, but I would not claim that Sayer and I are well acquainted. I cannot give you an answer to that question.”
Thomas hoped his expression did not betray his surprise. Not only was he sure that Sayer and this man had been in close conversation at the inn door, but he wondered how the glover could not know the cousin of his beloved Alys. “Did you perchance overhear the argument at the inn?” he asked. “If I knew more about the quarrel, I might give greater comfort to Mistress Drifa, or even offer soothing counsel to her son.”
Bernard frowned in thought.
Is he trying to remember the night, Thomas wondered, or is he making up some lie?
“I had just walked in. It would have been difficult not to hear the fight between the men. They bellowed like bulls and swung fists at each other like drunken bears.”
“Over what?”
A shadow passed over the young man’s face. “Wulfstan’s widow is a good woman, and I would not spread stories to add to her sorrow.”
“I do not seek gossip for idle reason. Mistress Drifa feared many heard the nature of their hot words and she is shamed. Of course, her son’s arrangement with the innkeeper...”
The glover looked around to make sure no one stood close by, then bent to speak more privately into the monk’s ear. “If you know that, I will not offend by confirming that Wulfstan liked not some of the things his son did to gain coin. Sayer was paid fairly by the priory for his work there, but many in the village knew that he had, at one time, arranged worldly pleasures for monks who climbed the priory walls.” He straightened. “I repeat that only to point out the merit of Sayer’s repentance. The man had not led monks into sin of late, and we all believed that he had reformed. His father might not have been so convinced.”
That easy reply was but a simple rephrasing of the knowledge I suggested I have, Thomas thought. The man does not evade direct answers with much skill, but how am I failing to get the information I need? “Surely the father was not so virtuous himself?” he said, trying another path.
“I see the old tales are still about! My father claimed that Wulfstan was well rewarded for letting certain local men know when a fat mercantile purse would be riding through Amesbury, the owner of which he also made sure enjoyed much ale before departing the inn.”
“How dare Wulfstan condemn his son so cruelly then when he had committed crimes himself? Sayer might have laughed at him for his belated discovery of virtue, but I find it hard to imagine he would have threatened to kill him for it.”
“Sadly, I cannot give details of their quarrel. I came too late, and the insults they were throwing at each other might be said by any two men in a heated argument.”
“Have you heard from anyone else…?”
Bernard stiffened. “I did not listen to idle talk, nor did I ask questions. As I told you last night, Brother, I am a man without a wife who goes to the inn, not to trade tales of others, but for a decent meal, enjoyed in some solitude, at reasonable cost.”
“I did not mean to suggest otherwise, but I am a stranger here in Amesbury and long to bring peace to both Mistress Drifa and her son. For that reason, I hoped you could educate me on the character of both father and son. For instance, if I knew that Sayer was just a foolish youth who would never actually kill his father…” Thomas looked at the glover with an expression he hoped brought meek supplication to mind.
Bernard’s eyes still expressed wariness. “Murderer? That is a harsh accusation. Sayer is a maker of mischief and has played boy’s games too long, but I do not think his failure to take on a man’s duties and estate proves him to be a brutal creature.”
Thomas said nothing, praying his silence would encourage the glover to say more. For once, the garrulous merchant was thrifty in speech. “I thank you for telling me what you have, Master Bernard,” he said at last.
The two bowed in courtesy, and, as Thomas watched the glover walk away, he groaned in frustration. He was still failing to discover the identity of the ghost, and he was getting nowhere in his mission of finding a manuscript thief.
Or was he? Questions buzzed in his mind like irritating flies, but his attempts to capture their significance failed. Why would a roofer want to learn so much about the Psalter? Was the argument between Wulfstan and his son just a drunken quarrel? Why did he sense that Drifa was lying, and what lay behind the meeting he had witnessed between Bernard and Sayer?
Thomas rubbed at his temples and wondered if his blindness was caused more by his lack of wit or by his contradictory feelings about the man around whom all these questions seemed to revolve.