He had not planned to visit Selewine the Reeve, since he knew the man had only sons, but it was only next door, and it was always possible that the boys might have seen some small thing. If Tofi had been unwilling to let the serjeant into his home, Selewine was positively antagonistic.

  ‘Why pester me when we is about to eat?’

  ‘I sees no ladle in your hand, and if there was you would be eatin’ scarce-cooked pottage. I saw young Mildred next door just come in from doin’ a wife’s task and gettin’ no thanks for it. I reckon as that there pottage needs longer over the fire than I will be here askin’ questions.’

  Selewine made a sound between a grunt and growl and reluctantly let Catchpoll within. There was a decided difference between the home of Selewine and his brother, and the absence of a woman to care about it was clear. Catchpoll knew his wife would have pursed her lips and shaken her head at the state of it, though it was not, to the average man’s eye, such a mess as to make one feel any need to apologise for it.

  ‘So, ask your questions and leave us be, Serjeant Catchpoll.’ Selewine folded his arms and the boys, two of them, the younger about the same size as his cousin Guthlac, looked watchful. Their father in a poor mood had to be treated with care to avoid a clip about the ear.

  ‘I wants to know if any of you,’ and Catchpoll looked at the boys in turn before returning his gaze to Selewine, ‘saw Father Edmund on the day he died, or anything that seemed odd.’ He wondered if children had been lost in between, for the older lad looked about tithing age.

  Selewine was tight-lipped and the boys looked blankly at him, but then the younger child put up his hand as if asking permission to speak, and said, in a soft whisper, ‘I saw when ’e took Oldmother Agatha’s cat back to ’er.’

  ‘Fool boy. Father Edmund would rather carry an adder than that cat. Loathed it and shooed it away whenever it came close. It made him sneeze, and that were undignified. You is lyin’ or dreamin’. Don’t you take anythin’ the lad says as true, Serjeant. Of an age to tell all manner of lies, even if without wickedness behind it.’ Selewine glared at his son.

  ‘But I saw, I did.’ The boy began to cry, softly, and his brother folded his arms and looked upon him with disgust for being so babyish.

  ‘When was it, and what exactly did you see?’ Catchpoll asked, gently, and held up his hand to prevent Selewine interrupting.

  ‘It were middle forenoon. I wanted to see if the rain would stop soon. I saw Father Edmund with the cat under one arm and a little sack under the other, with bread I s’pose.’

  ‘Hah! Oldmother Agatha wants for nothin’, not to eat. The family sees to that. Serjeant, this is just the child makin’ things up.’ Selewine glared at his son, whose lip was now trembling. ‘And do not you start tryin’ to get that cat to come and plead for food here, Frewin.’

  ‘If ’e does I will throw water over it, Father.’ The older boy sounded as though this would be fun rather than a duty.

  ‘Aye, you do that.’ Selewine clearly approved of this idea. He then turned to face Catchpoll. ‘Anythin’ else, Serjeant?’

  ‘No. Not for tonight.’ Catchpoll saw how the qualification annoyed the reeve, and was glad of it.

  Meanwhile, Bradecote was being offered a beaker of mulled cider in the house of Ulf Shortfinger, a man missing his right middle finger beyond the first joint. Bradecote did not refuse, though he realised that it was a ploy by Ulf’s wife to make him feel more welcomed than he really was. She looked harassed, and not just because of the six progeny in the small house. A seventh, whom Walkelin would have identified as his young ferryman, had been exiting as Bradecote was about to knock upon the door, and shook his head as he was asked, in passing, if he had seen anything relevant. It was a very male household, and it was possible that this was the reason the little girl Emma hung about her mother’s skirts, but the single glance she gave Bradecote was genuinely fearful, and not because she understood his rank. There was tension in both mother and daughter, but it was not the same as that in Ulf Shortfinger, whose wariness seemed to owe more to having the lord Undersheriff of Worcestershire in his home than fear of revealing anything criminal.

  He was a sturdy individual, with an open expression and more goodwill than any great intelligence, from what Bradecote could discern. He could give no information on the day of the killing, but sounded genuinely sorry that he could not help. His wife, who just shook her head, seemed the more likely to be holding back, and the sons, the younger of whom had abandoned what was a boisterous rough and tumble as soon as Bradecote entered their home, averred that they had fed the pig, brought water from the well and chopped firewood, but had not seen Father Edmund. It was when they said that name that the little girl froze, and visibly held her breath. Bradecote had no doubt she was a victim, but doubted her father knew of it. Now that the priest was dead, he hoped that time might aid her but, other than putting her in his prayers, he felt he was powerless to help in any way. He thanked Ulf Shortfinger for the hospitality, and left, knowing that a pair of small, haunted eyes followed him to the door and no doubt remained staring at it after it was closed behind him.

  Chapter Seven

  It was the better part of dark when the sheriff’s men met back at the priests’ house. Bradecote was about to enter, and turned, rubbing his gloved hands together to warm his fingers. The rain cloud had, as if it now wished to stalk its prey and then deluge them, slowed its advance up the valley of the Severn from the south and west, and shrouded the pale face of the waxing gibbous moon.

  ‘Anything useful, Catchpoll?’ His voice was quiet, though he realised there was no need for it to be so. The gloom simply made everything feel covert.

  ‘Possibly, my lord, and there be five families with young daughters. The only information that affects Agnes is that she is visitin’ Oldmother Agatha most days to tend an ulcerous leg. It will be interestin’ to hear if she tells us that in the tale of ’er day of the murder. Sort of lets us know if she is just givin’ us the whole or parts.’

  ‘Agreed. I discovered three households with daughters who would be at risk.’ Bradecote sighed. ‘Let us try the healer again. I hope she is home, for I do not want to linger in the cold.’

  Catchpoll knocked with a confident thud upon her door. After a short delay it was opened, revealing Agnes the Healer wiping her hands upon her skirts.

  ‘Ah. Well you ’ad best come in rather than stand there waitin’ to get wet, the both of you.’ Agnes did not look worried by their arrival, more slightly annoyed. Apparently considering that she had not sounded at all deferential to the lord Undersheriff, she made a beckoning gesture within and then went to draw a stool closer to the hearth, where a pot simmered gently and an aroma of herbs made Bradecote’s mouth water, and invited him to sit. She did not extend this courtesy to Catchpoll.

  The chamber was not simply tidy, it was neat to the point of being precisely ordered. Bradecote felt the stool would be moved back to its exact original position as soon as they left. There was a plank bench along the south wall, set beneath the small, shuttered window opening, no doubt to enable the healer to work in the light when the days were longer and less damp, and pots of assorted sizes were set along it, each the same distance from its neighbour.

  ‘What need is there to speak with me again today, my lord? I said what I had to say in the church.’ The appellation was respectful, though the tone was not.

  ‘I have no doubt that you did, but we want to know whether you had warned all the mothers of daughters in Ripple about Father Edmund.’

  ‘Men thinks women cannot keep from gossip, but we is better at keepin’ silent, when needed.’

  ‘Are you sayin’ you did not warn ’em, or that those you warned did not speak of it?’ Catchpoll’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the woman.

  ‘I’ll give you credit to see and think better ’n most, Serjeant, so no doubt you has the right answer anyways.’ She stared back at him.

  ‘We are not here to play with words, mistress. I want your answer.’ Bradecote did not try to charm this woman, who clearly had a poor view of men.

  ‘I never told anyone the private things of another, my lord. ’Tis like the priest and the Confession. Mind you, that does not mean I did not drop a warnin’ word in the ear of them with most to guard.’

  ‘Was that general, about men, or did you mention Father Edmund by name?’

  ‘I gave the name, for warnin’ about them as took vows might cast doubt upon Father Ambrosius, who is a good man.’

  This was like pulling up water from a well using a bucket with a hole.

  ‘And how many innocents in Ripple have you knowledge of, who came in too close contact with Father Edmund?’

  ‘Four, but you will get no names from me. The first was late last summer, leastways that were when I was called to treat the poor mite, but I thinks it were some months earlier as happened. She would not eat, and were strikin’ herself with withies till the skin were raw. Said she were wicked and destined for Damnation, and it were that serpent-priest told ’er so. A girl of eight summers, wicked? Hah! And you know why she were “wicked”? All ’acos she lifted her skirts above her little knees to paddle in the brook when it was real burnin’ sun afore the field was cut for hay, and he saw her and were “tempted” by it. Could ’ave been worse, just, but a child that age obeys a priest, whatever they says to do. Not right, not right at all it were, and afterwards the poor little soul feared to tell anyone, for she were told God would strike down someone she loved if she spoke of it. Clever, that were, since folk dies often enough and even young ’uns knows death visits old and young, rich and poor alike.’

  ‘But she told you, or her mother.’ Catchpoll looked grim.

  ‘Me, in the end, and I told ’er poor mother, who wanted it kept secret for the shame of it. Someone put the idea into that little mind about wickedness, and Father Edmund was all for frightenin’ simple folk with the Vengeance of God. Hmm. Well, he will find out about that for ’imself now, and I for one will not pray for his black soul.’

  ‘And the others? Did he – do worse?’ Bradecote felt besmirched just asking the question.

  ‘I could not swear oath to it, for one girl still will not speak of it, just stares through you like you was a ghost, but from what I saw of bruises, it is possible. Others he hurt, and more ’n once, but most of all, he made them loathe themselves, put all the “guilt” upon the innocent, ruined their trust, even in the Lord God above. One girl lost her best friend to sickness a few weeks later, and is still convinced, months later, it is her fault she died! Not fit to be a priest, not fit to be a man!’ Agnes’s voice held real anger and was driven low by it.

  ‘He is neither now, and the Law needs to know by whose hand. It need not follow that whoever beat him dealt the fatal wound. A woman could do that. From what you have said, you would have reason, almost the strongest reason, since you know so much, to take the chance to protect the innocents of this parish. Nor are you one who can be afraid of blood.’ Bradecote was open with her. ‘You even said that if the Law demanded a penalty of you, you must bear it. Did you kill Father Edmund, Agnes?’ Bradecote asked the all-important question.

  ‘I did not.’

  ‘Then tell us all you did that day so we can prove it.’ Catchpoll sounded on her side, which at heart, he was. Serjeanting sometimes meant going against the heart in support of the truth.

  Agnes looked at him, then back at the lord Undersheriff, and there was silence as she made up her mind what to do. Then she spoke.

  ‘Like priests, I gets a knock at the door all hours. I was called to Naunton just after dawn by Cerdic the Smith, who wanted sympathy for trippin’ over three times on the way in the part-light. Would not ’ave been so if the man came the night afore, as he ought, and so I told ’im. The poor wife had been in travail all the day and night and was near done to death with it all. When it came to the pushin’ part she were too weak to get it done timely. I did what I could but the babe came out very limp and took a lot of rubbin’ to get a yell from it, and the mother is as weak as the babe. I were with them until past the middle of the afternoon, makin’ things to give strength and ease and I left not knowin’ if both will be alive in a week. Cerdic the Smith is a fool. There’s six children to ’is loins afore this, and the wife is a slip of a thing who struggles pushin’ babes out into the world. I told ’im last time that if he loved his wife he should stick it in cold water, like he does quenchin’ the iron, when the need took ’im, and leave the poor woman be. Only the Grace of God has let her last this long.’ Agnes shook her head.

  ‘I wonder you did not go to the church to give thanks for the safe delivery and pray for mother and child.’ Bradecote looked thoughtful.

  ‘God don’t listen to prayers only within the walls of a church, my lord. I prays more than most, seein’ and doin’ as I does, and I misses more Holy Days than anyone else in the parish. Father Ambrosius told me long ago that the Benedictines say that to work is to pray and all my work is a prayer and God listens.’ She crossed herself. ‘Assuredly He listens.’

  ‘Did anyone see you when you came back to Ripple?’

  ‘See? No, my lord, not see, since I went to Oldmother Agatha, whose eyes are all milky, to salve a leg ulcer, and she were wonderin’ why I had not visited first thing as usual, and I was not swiftly back, for I did not take the track but went due west across the fields to pick some new growth of a plant that is most effective picked young, and came back through Uckinghall. Then the grandsons came in, all words at once, and told of the killin’ and the hangin’. That was the first I knew.’

  ‘So you did not see the burying of Thorgar up by the Old Road?’ Bradecote frowned.

  ‘No. As I says, I did not come that way.’

  ‘And why did you offer to deal with the body of the priest?’

  ‘Because I am the one most used to bodies, my lord. Laid out fewer than I has seen come into the world, but not by many, and besides, it were good to see that he died hard. Could ’ave done without the Widow Reed actin’ like a saint had passed, mind you.’ She sniffed, disdainfully.

  ‘We will speak with the smith and Oldmother Agatha.’

  ‘You do that, my lord, and they will say I speaks true enough.’

  ‘Then we will leave you to that good pottage.’ Bradecote gave the faintest of smiles, and she dipped an obeisance as they left.

  Bradecote and Catchpoll returned to the priests’ house in subdued mood. Catchpoll lit the fire in the hearth, and they watched the flame scramble through the kindling, tasting and then consuming it hungrily. He held his hands to the first warmth and sucked his teeth.

  ‘We gets back to four families where a father might ’ave found out a nasty truth and taken action, my lord, and our door knockin’ gave us over twice that number. Does we confront them all and spread the knowledge of what happened in Ripple?’

  ‘I think over time it will come out anyway, Catchpoll, but I would not want to make it any harder for the girls involved. I would say that with two of the three families with young daughters that I saw, the girls looked like any other child, playing with their siblings and merely curious about me, a strange man in their home. Only with the third was the girl shy and watchful, and … different. That was Emma, the daughter of Ulf Shortfinger. She froze when Father Edmund’s name was mentioned. However, I do not think it likely Ulf himself knows anything. He is not the sort to conceal well, and it would fit if, as Agnes the Healer told us, the women wanted everything kept close and private.’

  ‘Trouble is, my lord, by those ways of whittlin’ down the suspects, I falls short by one. The daughter of Leofwin looked at me, eye to eye, for a moment and I ’as seen that look afore in a maid. It is fear mixed with distrust and a dull loathin’. She never spoke a word, and she went and slipped ’er arm through her mother’s, to be close. Leofwin is a broad-shouldered man, and the wife looked scared. Now, that might be in case Leofwin finds out now, or he found out and acted upon it.’

  ‘That gives us one. The other?’

  ‘Tofi, who was only slightly less unhappy to see me than Selewine.’

  ‘But Selewine has only sons, Catchpoll. Why visit him?’

  ‘We was askin’ about anyone seein’ the priest the mornin’ of his death, so Selewine’s sons might be of use too. Turns out I were right to ask, for the younger son swears he saw Father Edmund take the cat back to Oldmother Agatha early on the mornin’ of the murder. Selewine did not believe a word of it, since the priest disliked the cat, but if it were shut up in the old woman’s house it would not be pesterin’ at his own, or bein’ let in by the Widow Reed deliverin’ honey cakes or such to please ’im.’

  ‘I see. But Tofi’s young daughter – Mald was the name I was given.’

  ‘Not a cheerful home, Tofi’s. The wife looks tired, most of all with Tofi, and the little girl, this Mald, kept right up close with ’er. Little soul looked – hollow, like some does in grief. She did not draw close like the boys to watch Gwydion whittlin’ somethin’, and you knows that children love to watch when Young Walkelin does that, so it says much she stayed back.’

  ‘We can look closer for the fourth victim if we need to after speaking with Tofi, Ulf Shortfinger and Leofwin. With luck it will not be needed.’

  ‘And does we check what Agnes the Healer said first, my lord?’

  ‘It would be tidier if we did, and it need not take long at all if we ride, even if you have only Snægl.’

  ‘Fair enough, my lord. And I hopes we sees Young Walkelin and Father Ambrosius early too.’

  There was a knock upon the door, and Mildred came in with bowls covered with cloths to keep out the mizzle now falling in the darkness outside. One of her brothers followed with a pair of beakers and a jug, his focus all on not spilling a drop of the ale within. The pottage was good, but it did not aid sleep.