‘I cannot, but then nor could any man in Ripple that day. The ground was too wet for plough or plantin’, and we did things about our homes, in the gardens where there was clearin’ and such, or indoors.’

  ‘Did no man exchange a word with you in the afternoon? Not even your brother next door?’ Even one witness would be a start.

  ‘Selewine and me gets on quiet, but we lives closer than we is as brothers. Since his second wife died last year, mine cooks extra or our Mildred makes pottage next door so as neither Selewine nor the boys starves, and the children sometimes play together, but – we is not close. You would think, after two wives, and comely ones at that, Selewine would be content to woo a widow eager to be the reeve’s wife, a good cook and able to spin and sew, not aim foolishly for that Osgyth, who is barely as old as Mildred. Two wives buried and the chance of a third when most of us is chained to the first long after their looks is gone and you has forgot what it was that made ’em catch your eye all those years back.’ Tofi shook his head, but received no sympathetic response from his auditors. ‘Mind you, I heard Selewine whistlin’ to hisself that forenoon, and that’s a rare thing. I suppose ’e went and looked over the lord Bishop’s ground just to be sure we could not work it that day, but his mind was on a different ploughin’ and sowin’ seed, if you gets me.’ He gave a lascivious laugh.

  Bradecote did not ask if Tofi’s wife would vouch for him, since a wife would not risk the loss of a husband when she had a brood of children to feed, even if the marriage was not easy.

  ‘What can you tell us about the priests, Father Ambrosius and Father Edmund? Were they alike?’

  This question made Catchpoll glance at his superior, for a moment puzzled, then he lowered his eyes so that the glint could not be seen.

  ‘Alike? Oh no. Father Ambrosius is one of us, part of our family kindred even, and Father Edmund would never ’ave become one of us in a lifetime. You would think as the newer priest, Father Edmund, would ’ave been more watchful of the way things is done, but no. Frightenin’, that’s the word for ’im, when he wanted to be. Not to the men, o’ course, but the womenfolk seemed to shrink when he gave penance, and he were forever goin’ on about women bein’ the reason men sins since Adam. Ha, funny thing for a man to set on when never a wife has ’e put up with. The wife said as she would only confess to Father Ambrosius most of this last year and would rather be unshriven than go to Father Edmund.’ Tofi paused. ‘I doesn’t think Father Edmund will be mourned in Ripple, not like old Father Giraldus was.’

  ‘Was your daughter Mildred afraid of him?’ Bradecote made the question merely an additional one.

  ‘Not so much as ’er mother, but then Mildred – ha, I thinks if’n Father Edmund chastised her as a Daughter of Eve she would flash those eyes of hers and make ’im regret the vow of chastity.’ Tofi laughed, and it was that which finally decided the sheriff’s men that Tofi had no idea what had happened, and most likely to his own little girl. Bradecote’s first thought was that any father who could not see what they saw was not worthy of the name, but then they knew of the priest’s proclivities and were thus aware of the unthinkable. It would not be the thing which leapt to mind.

  ‘We have one other question for you. Why was Father Edmund banging on your door and loud-voiced the morning of the day he died?’

  ‘That I cannot say, my lord.’

  ‘You can hardly have not heard him, for others in the village did so.’

  ‘I heard the noise right enough, oh yes, and it fair made my poor head nigh on burst, it did. The ale flowed a bit the night previous, and the Welshman and me was not at our best. In fact, ’e were unable even to stand without spewin’, and the wife was mighty shrill with us both.’ Tofi winced even at the memory. ‘I suppose the priest were beratin’ the treewright for not bein’ at work upon the church, but that is just a guess, for it were all in the Welsh tongue and not one word would I know of it. Odd mind, that Father Edmund should know it, and odder still use it when the Welshman speaks good English. Aye, and even when drunk.’ Tofi gave a small chuckle at this.

  The sheriff’s men left him still pondering on this question.

  Bradecote decided it would be better if he went back to the priests’ house, so that when men were called from their homes it looked simply a case of a high and mighty lord not wanting to present himself at the door, and less significant that what would be said was not for young ears.

  The interview with Ulf Shortfinger was short and gave nothing, though not through any reticence on Ulf’s part. Having checked that he was not in his garden, Catchpoll and Walkelin rapped upon the oak and were bidden enter without hesitation. It was a rather crowded but patently happy home, with the exception of the unnatural quietness of his daughter Emma. When asked to come to speak before the lord Undersheriff again, Ulf looked a little daunted, but not worried, though his wife bit her lip. He came with the sheriff’s men perfectly willingly, though shaking his head as he walked with them

  ‘I cannot think of anythin’ more I could say as might be of use to the lord Undersheriff, try as I might.’ Ulf sounded as though this would be treated as a failing.

  ‘Well, sometimes we discovers things sideways, so to speak,’ confided Catchpoll. ‘Askin’ questions folk think unconnected can lead us where we would be.’

  Ulf, much to Catchpoll’s relief, did not enquire why only he, and not his wife or children, would face these new questions. When they entered the priests’ house, Ulf snatched off his woollen cap, bowed deeply and immediately repeated that he was very happy to be helpful but had no idea how.

  Bradecote, seated, since he felt that showed sufficient ‘lordliness’ to establish power and control, was to the point.

  ‘My questions are not about the day of Father Edmund’s death, but rather about how he fitted in, not being a local man like Father Ambrosius. Do you think he was as well liked, and was there anything said among the men of Ripple that makes you think anyone would do him harm?’

  ‘Ah well, my lord, I cannot say as Father Edmund ever felt “one of us” as Father Ambrosius does, but that were not ’is fault, just the way things was. Many of us, even if we was young ’uns at the time, could remember Father Ambrosius afore he went off and took the cowl, and changed ’is name. A godly man he is, and better ’n us, but we knows as he understands us. Father Edmund’ – Ulf shook his head sadly – ‘always rubbed the fur the wrong way, if you gets me. Made folk feel small, and seemed to like it. You would think as ’e was the Archbishop of Canteryberry, so much better than us ’e acted. A few of the women felt different, for the man knew the best way to get better fare was to be sweet to the best cooks, but most – I can say as my wife likes us to stand right at the back when Father Edmund preaches – preached. She says as she feels he always looks at ’er when talkin’ of Damnation, which is – was, often. Frightens our little Emma too, all that talk of punishment. Father Ambrosius encourages us to do better, not threatens us for our weaknesses.’

  ‘Some priests is like that,’ muttered Catchpoll, thereby showing he understood Ulf’s position.

  ‘Aye, and that be a pity, is what I says. Be that as it may, I does not know of any man in Ripple as spoke openly about ’im, just we would sometimes wish we had two like Father Ambrosius, as we sat over our ale.’

  ‘Thank you. That gives us a better picture of Father Edmund.’ Bradecote gave a small smile. ‘I do not think we need to keep you longer.’

  Ulf, a little surprised but very relieved, left, wondering how he had helped.

  Leofwin, when he appeared before the lord Undersheriff, looked thoughtful, or perhaps watchful. When he spoke it was after a pause to consider his words. He was a big man, one who would have been quite capable of beating a man like Father Edmund into a senseless heap. Bradecote posed the same questions as he had to Ulf, and small muscles in the man’s face worked as he formed his answer. It was telling.

  ‘Father Edmund should not ’ave been sent to a parish. Far better a man like that be within walls and with his brothers about ’im.’

  ‘And what is “like that”, Leofwin?’ The question was posed firmly but not unkindly.

  ‘A man who breaks his vows.’ Leofwin looked down at the floor, and when he looked up again there was a dull, angry fire in his eyes that he could not conceal.

  ‘Tell us.’ Bradecote did not ask which vows had been broken. Somehow that seemed wrong, though he would be exact if nothing was forthcoming.

  ‘The vow of chastity, my lord. A man as takes the cowl should leave women alone, and ’specially so when their parish priest. My wife is a good woman, and loyal. One day when she was down by the river, washing clothes, he came and peered at ’er from among the reeds, when her skirts was kirtled up to keep dry and her ankles bare. She told me he sneezed and it showed where ’e was. Frightened ’er it did, and with our little Hild there too. Then he went on at ’er about women needin’ to be cleansed of their sin, and came and laid hands on ’er body, which were wrong. My wife told me later, and only her pleadin’ stopped me from confrontin’ the snake. She wanted me to know why she and Hild wanted nothin’ to do with ’im, but if I took a fist to ’im then all the village would find out why and she did not want the shame of it. Does not mean I is not glad the man is dead, but I did not kill ’im. To my mind, if ’e laid hands on my wife, well no doubt there was others, and mayhap worse happened. Whatever the Law says, I count whoever killed Father Edmund did right for all of us.’ His voice and look challenged the three men before him to say otherwise.

  ‘Is there any way you can prove that it was not you, though? Did any see you that afternoon about the time for None?’

  ‘See? Well, not see, my lord. Oldmother Agatha, poor soul, can see no more ’n a bit of dark and light, and her leg b bad, but she likes a little air and comes to ’er door sometimes, and leans against the doorpost, and feels it on ’er old face. I were comin’ back with kindlin’ wood and saw the poor old soul there, and called out, and she said it smelt good after rain, and had I seen Agnes, since she ’ad not been to change the bandage on her leg that morn. Well, Mother Agnes is much called for not just in Ripple, so I said as most like there was an urgent need of ’er elsewhere, but she would be sure to visit as soon as she could. Oldmother Agatha agreed, and I carried the wood back to chop fine.’

  It rang true enough, even if the exact time was impossible to judge, and the old woman might have spoken with him as he was going to the church with murder in mind. However, if his wife had given a reason some time ago why they should keep from Father Edmund, it made no sense that he would wait months and then do something that had all the marks of uncontrolled anger. Bradecote sent him home.

  ‘Do you think it was the wife that the priest assaulted, Catchpoll? I do not.’ Bradecote stared at the closed door.

  ‘No, my lord, but if she needed a reason to keep the child well out of the way of the bastard, it was sound, and she would be able to make it not quite so bad as a man would go and commit murder feelin’ in the right of it. Thing is, if that were months back …’ Catchpoll shook his head.

  ‘I agree. It would give no reason to act now. The trouble is, Catchpoll, that if neither Tofi, Ulf or Leofwin is the revenging father, our whole motive crumbles to dust.’ Bradecote rang his long fingers through his hair.

  ‘But what about the miller’s daughter?’ Walkelin asked, looking from one to the other.

  ‘What miller?’ Bradecote and Catchpoll responded in unison.

  ‘Down by the river, not far from the ferryin’ point. There’s a mill and the lad who took me over t’other side told me about a girl called …’ Walkelin paused for a moment, retrieving the information from its storage in his head, ‘Berthe. He said she had been a friend of his sister as died last autumn, and was a lively, happy little soul, but nowadays never smiled and did not even wave at ’im.’

  ‘And the dead friend would be the daughter of Ulf Shortfinger, the one who died last autumn.’ Bradecote stood up. ‘Why did we not consider anyone not actually in the village, but of the parish, Catchpoll?’

  ‘Well, my lord, if the miller is not our man, we may ’ave to cast the net much wider, but to my mind, if it had been a man of Naunton or Uckinghall, it would be more likely they would follow the priest when out, and deal with ’im then, not come into Ripple and risk bein’ seen where they was not usually.’

  ‘A fair point, Catchpoll. Walkelin, lead us to the mill.’

  They set off towards the river, and did not see that they were watched.

  Wystan, who was not a naturally argumentative young man, had weathered a slightly heated conversation with his father, which had resulted in the latter eventually hunching his shoulders and giving grudging permission for his son to abandon his labours early. This concession had been the cause for further infelicitous comparisons with his two older brothers, the elder currently supporting his new wife at the deathbed of the oldmother who had raised her in Twyning, and the other one who had been industriously working the family field strips. It was where Wystan preferred to be, but he understood that as the youngest son he was essentially filling in for his older siblings. As the afternoon glided softly towards the early spring eventide he strode purposefully to Ripple and then found himself at a loss, since he did not know which was the house of Thorgar the Ploughman. He knocked upon a door which was not answered, for not everyone was yet home for the day, but at the second a man who recognised him vaguely as ‘from up on the Old Road’, directed him to the right dwelling. He stood for several moments rehearsing in his mind what he might say, and then rapped upon the weathered oak, hoping his knock sounded neither too timorous nor too aggressive. The door was opened, not by a woman of maternal years, but a girl nearly his own age. He blinked, and all the words he had prepared melted into nothing. He swallowed hard and just stared. She looked as though she was expecting someone else. There was an uncomfortable silence.

  ‘Yes?’ The word was a challenge rather than a question. The girl, who was quite tall for a girl, Wystan decided, and had eyes that reminded him of Thorgar’s, was a lot more prickly than her easy-going brother. That would be the grief, thought Wystan.

  ‘I am Wystan, son of Arnulf the Wheelwright, and I am – was – a friend of your brother, Thorgar. I am come to say I would never believe Thorgar could do somethin’ bad, even if it were not proved so, and … and I offer myself to you – no, I mean,’ he blushed furiously at the girl’s shocked expression, ‘to your family to aid with the work.’ His words came out in a garbled rush. ‘I know Thorgar’s brothers are too young to guide the plough, but I could.’ There was an edge of eagerness in the last statement that overcame his shyness.

  ‘What is it, Osgyth?’ An older woman’s voice, hidden beyond the half-opened door, gave Wystan the name of this cautious doorkeeper.

  ‘’Tis a lad from the wheelwright up on the Old Road, Mother,’ Osgyth called back.

  ‘Then bring our visitor within.’

  Osgyth stood back, reluctantly, and Wystan, snatching his cap from his head for the second time that day, stepped into the gloomy chamber. A woman much the age of his own mother, but with one side of her face no longer quite matching the other, as though it had lost all power to smile or frown, was seated near the hearth, a wooden spoon in her right hand.

  ‘Mistress, I knew Thorgar for a good man and a kind one. When we met, it was as friends. In this dark time, I cannot do anything for Thorgar beyond pray for ’is good soul, but I can be of aid to ’is kinfolk as will miss not just the son and brother, but the man to work.’ With this woman before him, not glaring at him like the fierce daughter, the words crafted on his walk returned to him.

  ‘But you have family of your own.’ The woman’s voice was kind, but tired and sad.

  ‘Aye, but I am the third son, and least of use in my father’s eyes. From now till all is gathered in, I could work for you. And I has my father’s agreement to it.’

  ‘So you would work “for us”. For what in return? We could not pay coin or food.’ Osgyth folded her arms and looked very sceptical. In the back of her mind was also what Selewine had ‘offered’, which was aid in exchange for her. Wystan looked too young to be thinking of a wife, but young men thought of other things than marriage, given any encouragement.

  ‘For neither, and ’acos I knows that if Thorgar could do a good deed for another he would, and if this were all the other way about, Thorgar would be in front of my mother as I am before yours.’ This time he did not wilt before her.

  ‘You say you would aid us, and in the field you could do more ’n the boys,’ there was a moment’s pause, ‘more ’n me, but you offered to guide the plough, yet am I right you has never done so afore?’ Osgyth was now more doubtful than belligerent.

  ‘I am strong of shoulder and arm as all the men become in my family, in our craft. I doubts I will plough as straight or as tight in the headland turns as a man experienced, but it is not like makin’ wheels, with lots of things to remember in order, many skills to master.’ Wystan did not say he had not been good at the remembering or the mastering thus far.

  ‘And would you expect to live with us?’ Osgyth had one final question.

  ‘No. For one thing ’tis not so far back to my own folk and fireside, and if I lived and ate with you, then I would be another mouth to feed.’

  ‘Your offer is generous, Wystan. Are you sure of this?’ Osgyth’s mother looked straight at the youth.

  ‘I am, mistress.’

  ‘Then we are in your debt.’

  ‘But the ox team belongs to the village, Mother. It must be the reeve’s decision who cares for the beasts and guides the ploughshare.’ It had suddenly occurred to Osgyth that Selewine the Reeve would not agree to anything which would diminish his power over the family, or might stipulate that he would only agree if he got what he wanted, which was her.