Walkelin, meanwhile, with the benefit of Catchpoll’s rather more eager mount, had reached Worcester a little after None, instructed a castle groom to take care of his horse, and gone to the bishop’s residence to the north of the cathedral. It was an old building, looking a little dilapidated except for its chapel, where its roof was pristine. There had been rumours of the lord Bishop having a new and grander palace built, but with Worcester having already been set aflame once since the Empress Maud began to challenge King Stephen for the throne, no doubt Bishop Simon feared any expense might be wasted should the strife return to Worcester.

  Walkelin was relieved to hear that Bishop Simon had returned late that morning, which would save him making representations to William de Beauchamp for the use of one of his clerks and a mounted messenger. He was less pleased to be received politely, but without any sign that he would be allowed to speak directly with the august prelate. The clerk to whom he had been brought, probably the lord Bishop’s chief scribe, patently thought that he did not look the sort of person to be ushered swiftly before a bishop.

  ‘I am here on behalf of the lord Sheriff.’ Walkelin considered this was not the time to be talking only of an undersheriff. ‘The lord Bishop will have been told of the killin’ of Father Edmund of Ripple, and it is of the greatest importance that I speak with the lord Bishop in person, swiftly. The lord Sheriff also needs to know if Father Ambrosius of Ripple has come to the lord Bishop today.’

  The clerk was silent, but Walkelin caught a flicker of interest, or was it concern, cross the man’s ascetic countenance. There was no vibrancy to the man, as though he was as lacking in life as the quills he might scratch across a piece of vellum.

  ‘This is not just to tell the lord Bishop of progress. It may be very important in catchin’ who murdered Father Edmund in his own church.’ Walkelin looked as commanding and authoritative as he could. The cleric wavered. ‘If I cannot see the lord Bishop I will return to the castle and tell the lord Sheriff that you would not let me see ’im. I represent the lord Sheriff and he represents the lord King. Would you keep King Stephen out?’ Walkelin dimly remembered the lord Bradecote using this chain of authority, and deployed it.

  ‘I-I will see if the lord Bishop can spare you a short time.’ The clerk scurried away, and Walkelin was both astounded at his success and very pleased with himself. The man returned in a few minutes and led Walkelin to a hall that was not so very unlike that in the castle. Walkelin told himself he was now at ease speaking with abbots and nearly as much at ease as anyone might be with William de Beauchamp, depending upon the lord Sheriff’s mood, so this was not a task to leave him tongue-tied.

  Bishop Simon was a thoughtful-looking man, and Walkelin decided he was never one to rush a decision. He sat, impassive enough, with his hands lightly folded on his lap, though one finger end tapped very lightly on the back of the other hand. Walkelin made a deep obeisance and came forward.

  ‘I am told that it is important that you speak with me.’ The bishop’s voice was very calm and even, though a little dry.

  ‘Yes, my lord. I am Underserjeant Walkelin, and I have come most urgently to ask if Father Ambrosius of Ripple has also sought to speak with you this afternoon.’

  ‘He has.’ Even as the wave of relief flooded over Walkelin, he caught the slightly watchful look dawn in Bishop Simon’s grey eyes. ‘I have sent him to the priory to rest tonight before he returns to his parish.’ The bishop turned slightly to dismiss the clerk, who had remained as if needed to protect his superior. ‘You may leave us.’

  The clerk seemed a little surprised, but obeyed. Walkelin waited until the door shut behind him before he continued.

  ‘And did he bring something with ’im, my lord, a chalice of silver?’

  ‘Yes, and he explained why. I think that in many ways he was correct to do so, for it appears that its bringing up from the earth has brought up greed and sin after it, though to have removed it without Father Edmund’s knowledge was wrong, however good the motive. It pains me to think the gift of one who sat where I sit now should become tainted.’

  ‘But Father Ambrosius did not know of the death of Father Edmund.’ It was half a statement and half a question.

  ‘No, he did not, until I told him of it, and he was very shocked at the news.’

  ‘So did ’e see the chalice as a temptation?’ Walkelin wondered what exactly the priest had believed.

  ‘I cannot say what he thought, only that he told me that the story of the priest who buried it and other valuables, to keep from the heathens, had been passed down the generations and, like most stories that become a legend, grown in the process. He said if it was known that the treasure was found it would corrupt, and set neighbour against neighbour in the sin of greed.’

  ‘And when he heard of the death of Father Edmund, did he say anything other than it was a shock?’

  Bishop Simon’s lips pursed.

  ‘My lord, I will say what is known. It seems that Father Edmund betrayed ’is position as priest and not only broke the vows of a Benedictine and committed foul sins, but broke the King’s laws also.’ Walkelin, a young man whose expression was usually cheerful and approachable, looked grim, and his eyes did not waver from the bishop.

  Bishop Simon sighed and closed his eyes. The tapping fingertip ceased its motion. There was silence, and Walkelin, not sure whether this meant the prelate was praying, did not like to interrupt. Eventually the bishop spoke, his voice heavy with disapproval and, thought Walkelin, embarrassment.

  ‘Father Edmund cannot defend himself, and I bear that in mind, but Father Ambrosius set before me his fears and belief that his fellow priest was guilty of more than sinful thoughts about women. Such thoughts, transient ones, afflict many who take their vows, for some find celibacy easy and natural and for others the struggle is a sign of their commitment to God. If only all could be as the Blessed Wulfstan who, in Worcester itself, resisted a foolish and sinful woman, and who wrote so eloquently how a priest should conduct himself.’ The sigh was repeated, even more heavily. ‘To break the vow in any deed is another matter, and to even look with lust upon an innocent is beyond comprehension.’ He now shook his head.

  Walkelin, who did not understand every single word of what Bishop Simon said and – whilst like everyone in Worcester, knew of ‘their’ St Wulfstan – had no idea of any writings, hoped he understood the sentiment.

  ‘So if Father Edmund had not been killed, would you have replaced him, my lord?’

  ‘That is not a matter for the Law, Underserjeant. Father Edmund faces the judgement of God, and He sees all things, knows all things. What would have happened is no longer important.’

  ‘He does, my lord, as will we all,’ Walkelin crossed himself, ‘but—’

  ‘I would not have left Father Edmund as a parish priest, Underserjeant. I can see it was that which troubles you. The trust which must exist between parishioners and their priest was broken, so he could not remain in Ripple, and I myself would feel in error to send him to another parish where other innocents, and his own soul, might be put in jeopardy.’

  Walkelin sighed with relief, but a final question occurred to him.

  ‘One thing more, my lord. Did Father Ambrosius bring any other things, besides the chalice?’

  ‘No. He said there was other “treasure”, but it was all clearly without connection to the Church.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord. I will leave you n—’

  ‘I have a question for you, Underserjeant.’

  ‘You do, my lord?’ Walkelin’s surprise was obvious.

  ‘Yes. A young woman came seeking me, not only to tell of the death of Father Edmund, but saying that her brother had been falsely hanged for the crime. Since you have not told me the matter is closed, am I to assume she was correct and he was innocent?’

  ‘Almost could I swear my oath upon it, my lord, though only when the true killer is taken will it be proven. Thorgar was a young man of faith who felt a great callin’ to take the cowl at Tewkesbury, and Abbot Roger had spoken with ’im about it. Abbot Roger says he would be pleased to give Thorgar’s body a home in death, if innocence be proven and the body is taken from a murderer’s grave. The monks of Tewkesbury pray for ’im.’

  ‘Abbot Roger is a good judge of men. I will assuredly also pray for the soul of Thorgar.’

  ‘And we will bring you news as soon as we may of all that is discovered, my lord.’

  Bishop Simon nodded in gracious acceptance of this, and, making a further obeisance, Walkelin withdrew to go in search of Father Ambrosius at the Priory of St Mary.

  Walkelin thought there was time before Compline to speak with Father Ambrosius, so knocked confidently at the priory gate and called forth Brother Porter, who in turn waylaid a novice and sent him in search of their priestly guest.

  The young man returned shortly afterwards, followed by a tall man, perhaps a little over two score years in age, whose tonsure did not need shaving, having but a narrow ring of wispy, black hair about his baldness, with black brows which were both sparse and of long hairs, and who stuck his neck forward, all of which made Walkelin think of a heron. At first glance it was difficult to match this man to the description given by Walkelin’s youthful ferryman that morning of a strong rower, but then the lad had also said that Father Ambrosius looked less capable than he was. Studying him more carefully, Walkelin noted that his hands, which were large, showed callouses upon the palms as the priest outstretched his arms in questioning welcome. This was a man of deeds as well as prayer.

  ‘You have need of me, my son?’ The voice was deep, with the accent of Worcestershire overlaid by the more precise speech of the trained priest, and was slightly surprised in tone.

  ‘I do, Father. I am Underserjeant Walkelin, and have been sent to ask you about …’ Walkelin, aware of the novice lingering in case he was required further, decided it prudent to remain vague, ‘events in Ripple.’

  ‘Ah.’ Clearly not slow of wits, Father Ambrosius thanked the novice and dismissed him gently before looking again at Walkelin. ‘Thank you. What has happened ought not to be a source of gossip, which happens even within cloisters, alas.’ The man sighed, and folded his big, capable hands before him.

  ‘Father, you brought the silver chalice that Thorgar found to Bishop Simon, and your concerns about Father Edmund also. I must ask you about both things. Did Father Edmund give you the chalice, to bring here or keep secure elsewhere?’

  ‘No, he did not.’ Father Ambrosius frowned, his dark brows gathering. ‘Was it a form of stealing? I hope not, though I accept that it might seem that way. You see, that “treasure” is cursed.’ He saw Walkelin’s own eyebrows rise in some amazement. ‘Ah, not by some words of intended evil, but because over the many, many years it has been spoken of in Ripple it has become something to be coveted.’ He smiled, though it was a twisted smile. ‘Providence ordained that it should be discovered by the young man in Ripple least likely to succumb to greed, and who saw it only as Divine Guidance, approval of his deep feelings of need to enter the cloister. However, he was in error in one respect, for he could not give to Tewkesbury what belonged still to the Lord Bishop of Worcester. I am sure Thorgar will see that.’

  ‘Then you do not know, Father?’ Walkelin’s surprise was even greater this time. ‘You were told that Father Edmund was dead by violence, yes?’

  ‘I was, and I will pray for a soul for whom much prayer is needed.’ This was said heavily.

  ‘But you were not told by whom?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then you must know that Thorgar was hanged for the killin’ of Father Edmund.’ Walkelin did not immediately say that he was actually innocent, wanting to see the cleric’s first reaction.

  Father Ambrosius’s face paled, and he crossed himself with a shaking hand.

  ‘Thorgar? No, no, he would not, could not – I have known Thorgar since he was a small boy, and even then he was not a violent or aggressive child. As he grew taller and broader, why, he grew more gentle of action and deed. I was not surprised that he was called to a life of prayer. Thorgar, Underserjeant, simply could not kill another.’

  ‘Your readin’ of Thorgar seems to tally with what we has found, Father. It seems very unlikely that Thorgar committed the murder, but when ’e was found by the body, none said as you do, though now nobody says other than Thorgar was a good son and a gentle soul. So you see, I needs to know all that you can tell me about what took place in Ripple these last few days, and I needs to take you back to Ripple first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘Indeed. My duty is to return straight away and give both comfort to Thorgar’s family and keep the village together. Oh dear, oh dear.’

  ‘So tell me, Father, everything you can about the chalice and its findin’, and also what you knows about Father Edmund. Not that it will be news to me or the lord Undersheriff, but how much was known and how much just – suspicionin’?’

  ‘He had told me he had been given something “most precious” for safekeeping, but I did not know what it was until he spoke of it the evening before I was called to Queenhill. He told me, and I fear it was in a very gloating way, that Thorgar had come to him, while I was away at a deathbed in Ruyhale, and said that he had been granted a Sign from Heaven because his plough had turned up silver, on one of his own strips for the year. Father Edmund did not know it was “The Priest’s Treasure” that had lain there for generations. Thorgar had told him he feared that if it was known about, there would be arguments and ill-feeling about it, and so he brought the chalice, as a sacramental item, for safekeeping to his village priest. It was his intent to take it as his offering to Tewkesbury Abbey for his admission to be a choir monk. There was mention of a small amount of other silver without religious meaning, a few coins and cloak clasps I suppose, which would provide for his family. He said they could buy at least two good sows and a goat with it, and then exchange piglets and cheese for labour when he was not there to work the land. Father Edmund was not’ – he paused to seek the right word – ‘kind about Thorgar’s wish to become a choir monk. In fact, he mocked it in a way I felt was quite wrong. He did not know about the history of the items, other than they were buried a long time ago, but I did. I was the one who told him the story and that the chalice belonged to Bishop Simon as Lord Bishop of Worcester. This made him smile, and it was not a nice smile.’ Father Ambrosius sighed. ‘Father Edmund came to Ripple a little under a year ago, upon the death of good Father Giraldus.’ He crossed himself again. ‘I was born in Ripple and came here to this priory as a youth, not very unlike poor Thorgar, but for me it was always the ministry that called me. My father was the reeve’s brother, and I am kindred to Selewine, though I would not boast of it, nor have I ever given him lesser penance because of it. So I knew the people and the old stories. I was appointed as a fresh young priest by Bishop Simon’s predecessor, Bishop Theulf, to serve with Father Giraldus, who was very experienced. I think Bishop Simon had a similar thought when he sent Father Edmund, who had been ordained barely a year when he arrived. It was my duty as a good Christian and a brother priest to make him welcome and be in charity with him but, I confess, I could not. I have prayed much and done private penance for my thoughts, but no, I could not like him, and recently I had cause to think him a danger to his flock, at least to the lambs.’ Father Ambrosius reddened. ‘I did not know what to do. It was all things that came to me under the sanctity of the Confession, and none would willingly come forward and say to the world what had happened in their family, and also who would believe me? I had not his sly and silver tongue, for Father Edmund could beguile like the Serpent of Eden. I think he was aware that his misdeeds might come to light, and I sensed that when he heard about the chalice belonging to the lord Bishop of Worcester, he saw a way to put himself forward in a good way so that anything said against him might be treated as mere unpleasant gossip.’

  ‘So you took the chalice and brought it here to Worcester instead.’ Walkelin saw this as perfectly sensible.

  ‘Yes. I thought it best, but now … My act may have caused two deaths. May I be forgiven.’ Father Ambrosius closed his eyes as if in pain, and his knuckles showed white as he clasped his hands tightly together.

  ‘But Father, unless another knew of the chalice, then Father Edmund was not killed by one seekin’ it.’ Walkelin said this to be consoling, but it had his brain turning over yet again how a vengeful beating was ended with the cold and calculated stabbing of a man rendered defenceless. It was then that it hit him, and made his heart sink. Had a small hand driven that awl under the ribs, encouraged to show that the erstwhile victim was no longer powerless and would be victimised no more?

  ‘… and I still think the accursed treasure is involved, Underserjeant.’

  Walkelin nodded, though he had not been listening.

  ‘I can take you up behind me on my horse, Father. Could you be ready to leave after Prime in the morning?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then be outside the gate and I will meet you there.’ Walkelin gave a friendly nod and turned to go.

  ‘God grant that no more harm is done in Ripple.’

  ‘Amen to that, Father.’ Walkelin sought his own abode in a more thoughtful than happy mood, where he was greeted warmly by his new wife, though his mother worried that dividing the meal between three rather than two might mean he had less than a grown man might, in her view, need. Eluned, it had to be said, was very good at distracting him and so, when he eventually slept, he slept well, and more soundly than his superiors.

  Chapter Eight

  Whilst he left his bed, and a sleepy Eluned, with the natural reluctance of a man newly married, the next morning Walkelin was eager to restore Father Ambrosius to Ripple, and went to saddle his horse in the castle stables before the bell for Prime began to toll. As he crossed the bailey he was taken aback to see William de Beauchamp, with a fur-trimmed cloak about his shoulders, emerge from the other side, bellowing to know why his horse was not already being walked up and down in readiness for him. He reminded Walkelin of a bull broken loose in the shambles and daring any man to approach him. Espying Walkelin, he halted, mid bellow, and pointed an accusatory finger at him. At least he did not paw the ground.