‘You did not tell us that your father and Old Cuthbert were so much at odds that your father would not even sit next to him.’ Bradecote changed the line of question.

  ‘Who would want to do so, my lord? Smelt of piss, no fault to ’im, but ’tis true.’

  ‘Yet we hear that there is some old grudge between them.’ Bradecote felt the word appropriate, having heard how the maltsters, father and son, kept a grudge alive for decades.

  ‘Whatever the cause, it be so old I cannot tell you the source of it, and Father never leaves the ’ouse these days. To suggest ’e killed Old Cuthbert would be madness. ’Tis impossible.’

  ‘We is not suggestin’ that,’ murmured Catchpoll, softly.

  ‘Then—wait! No! You think after all this time I did it, as some sort of revenge? Why would I do it now if the reason existed?’

  This thought had already occurred to both Bradecote and Catchpoll, but there were too many lies and half answers coming to them, and they needed to be able to sort it all out.

  ‘Agreed, but what if what you told us afore were but ’alf the tale? What if Old Cuthbert really did see one man kill Walter the Steward and that man stands before us right now? Knowin’ your father loathed ’im would make the act the sweeter. An old score paid off when your father sits too blind and weak to end it for hisself.’ Catchpoll almost purred the accusation.

  ‘Not so.’ Oswald Mealtere paled and shook his head. ‘That somethin’ lay betwixt my father and Old Cuthbert I knew, but never did Father speak of it, and the “fault” did not lie with ’im. Words was said, many years past, and not forgotten, but I bore no grudge against the old man. Life was not kind to ’im, and why did I need to add to that? No reason. I will swear a good oath and would undergo any ordeal, knowin’ I be innocent of the death of Old Cuthbert. God hear me.’ He crossed himself.

  ‘Then we will speak with your father to discover what began the grudge, lest others shared it.’ It sounded sensible enough, but Bradecote was hoping the old man, in his anger against the world, might be more forthcoming than the son.

  ‘Worry an old man as awaits nothin’ more than the grave?’ Oswald sounded accusatory.

  ‘The more we knows of what runs through Evesham to fester in the present, the closer we will be to Walter the Steward’s killer.’ Catchpoll clearly agreed with his superior’s decision.

  ‘And none in Evesham would thank you for that, only for takin’ the man as killed Old Cuthbert. Father could ’ave done neither. Leave the man be.’ The son was defensive, but his words fell on deaf ears. Undersheriff and serjeant strode down the gentle slope to the house, followed by the maltster, still complaining, and Catchpoll opened the door without knocking.

  A woman was shelling peas into a bowl, and looked up, startled. She had a weary and wary face, one which spoke without words to Catchpoll of a life spent placating a house filled with anger and little kindness.

  ‘Be calm, mistress. This is the lord Undersheriff and—’ Catchpoll, seeing the woman’s surprise turn to terror, realised that his second announcement had rendered the first useless. If she was afraid of the men in her house, she was even more afraid of men with power. She dropped the pea pod she was shelling, and dipped in a curtsey so low she stumbled as she rose afterwards.

  ‘I—’ She got no further, stopped by a look from her husband and his terse words.

  ‘The lord Undersheriff does not need to speak with you. Go and feed the hens.’

  Since she fed the chickens early each morning, this was clearly just a command to get out. She nodded, made a second obeisance to Bradecote, and dashed out.

  ‘A good wife for some things, and a fair cook, but no wit to speak of.’ Oswald dismissed his spouse in a tone of some contempt.

  ‘Why come they back?’ Siward Mealtere, huddled before a small hearth fire that made the room even hotter than the June day outside, peered in the direction of Bradecote and Catchpoll. He did not sound worried, just annoyed.

  ‘We needs to know what cause lay between you and Old Cuthbert, so strong as to keep you from words even after as long as half a lifetime.’ Catchpoll spoke a little louder, on the assumption that since the old man’s words were loud, his hearing was as limited as his sight.

  ‘Ask the bastard yourself.’

  ‘I would, but he lies dead.’ Catchpoll’s response was instant, to catch the natural reaction. That it was a cackle of laughter and a clapping of hands was not what he had expected. ‘He died by intent and ’is body left face down in the fuller’s stocks.’

  Siward Mealtere laughed the louder, and rocked to and fro with the spasm of it. Bradecote, watching the son, Oswald, saw that he was as surprised as they were at his sire’s emotions.

  ‘It is not a matter for rejoicing, Master Mealtere.’ Bradecote was severe.

  ‘’Tis to me, my lord. Has shut his lyin’ mouth at last. Left in a trough of piss! Could not ’ave imagined a better end.’ The old man sounded gleeful.

  ‘Father.’ Oswald’s tone made the word a warning, but it was waved away. His father chuckled and looked rejuvenated by the news. He stooped the less, even if his eyes were as milky as ever.

  ‘So what did Old Cuthbert say as was a lie?’ Catchpoll put no threat in the question.

  ‘Nothin’ as need be spoken of again,’ came the swift response, and although the eyes could not twinkle, the voice held triumph. ‘The past lies buried from now on and can rot.’

  Whatever Siward Mealtere meant by these obtuse utterances, it was patent that they meant as little to the son as to the sheriff’s officers, and, not without a deeply felt reluctance, Bradecote mentally crossed Oswald from the list of those who might have killed Old Cuthbert, and thus also Walter the Steward.

  Alnoth had been waiting patiently for Walkelin, seated upon the grass beneath the spreading boughs of the oak tree. When Walkelin approached he rose with a nimbleness that surprised the underserjeant, since he had no good hands upon which to lean and push up. Instead, he bent his knees and leant back against the tree, bracing his back and pushing up from the ground so that he rose like a growing plant to stand before him.

  ‘You looked like a hound upon a scent, down in the ferry,’ commented Alnoth, grinning. ‘If you had given voice I would have laughed out loud and counted it the funniest thing seen since a man with no charity in ’is soul and no coin for a man as needs it, tripped and fell flat in a fresh horse shit outside St Peter’s Abbey in Gloucester.’

  ‘Come you from Gloucester this journey?’ Walkelin smiled at Alnoth, knowing that the man was not being other than friendly.

  ‘Indeed, and from Pershore afore reachin’ the ferry, and Kenelm as gives me free passage, God be kind to ’im. The news of Walter the Steward is a big surprise, but however much I ought to pray for ’is soul, as I said, I fear it will not be felt from the heart in my case.’

  ‘You are a watcher of men, Alnoth, and I values that. What would you say about the man?’

  Walkelin wondered if anything new might be learnt that would progress the hunt for his killer.

  ‘First, I would say as the man was one with two faces, one to the lord Abbot and Father Prior, and another to all of us as ’e felt beneath ’im. Never came across a man with more pride and – self-worth. If you told me Walter the Steward were a king’s bastard, I would believe it, and we all knows King Henry, God grant ’im rest, were a king as fathered more ’n any could count, so as to make Earl Robert of Gloucester just chief among bastards.’ Alnoth was about to continue, but stopped, his mouth half open, and frowned. Walkelin pounced upon this hesitation.

  ‘You recalls somethin’ strange?’

  ‘Aye. Last Michaelmas, I think, I stayed at St Peter’s in Gloucester for their fair, and folk was generous, so I could buy a new oilcloth to keep out the worst of winter rains if no shelter could be found. I watched over a stall while the woman sellin’ apples went to buy linen for a coif, and I would swear a good oath that I saw Master Walter the Steward, but for the fact that ’e wore a cap of soft coney fur and a cloak trimmed the same, like a great lord, and strode about like it too. A man, a man with the manner of a grovellin’ clerk by the look of ’im, bowed and scraped before ’im and this “Walter” fair glowed with pleasure at it. Never saw me, o’ course, but then the likes of Master Walter never saw me, just wanted me out the way. Oft I waited in the courtyard at Evesham Abbey and Master Walter would send a groom to tell me to leave and not trouble Brother Almoner, but the grooms did not like ’im either, so would tell me as they was told to say, but then let me lurk quiet in a sheltered corner until Brother Almoner was free to see me.’

  ‘Are you sure this man in Gloucester and Walter the Steward was one and the same?’

  ‘Sense says no, Underserjeant, but my eyes is good and, as you says, I watch, and my oath would be good to say yes.’

  ‘That is both interesting and fits with somethin’ else learnt of the steward.’ Walkelin felt he could trust his instincts with Alnoth, and would have revealed something of what had already been learnt of the steward’s desire for rich clothes, but he feared that Serjeant Catchpoll would berate him for letting out knowledge that should still be kept privy. Instead, he asked for any aid that the crippled man could give.

  ‘You speak the truth when you says folk do not see you, not all of ’em, nor do they keep quiet when you might listen. I ask you, in the name of the lord King’s good laws, that if you learn anything about the death of Master Walter or of Old Cuthbert the—’

  ‘Old Cuthbert too?’ This time Alnoth clearly regarded the news as bad. ‘Now there be a poor man as I will pray for, though some might laugh at me. Suffered, did Old Cuthbert, and I understand sufferin’ and not bein’ able to do those things others do and be a master of a craft, though I were always like this, and poor Cuthbert came to it through mischance. When I first came to Evesham, ooh, when I numbered no more ’n fifteen summers, so a score years past, Cuthbert, none so old then, showed a little kindness to me, and I learnt the tale of woe as brought ’im to be but a walker of cloth. Cuthbert ’ad a fair wife, the sort other men covet, and Cuthbert feared she were unfaithful. Told ’er that the life of a woman without virtue would mean no wife of Evesham would speak with ’er, and the lover would in time replace ’er, though ’e, Cuthbert, would always cherish ’er. She said she would tell the lover no more would she meet, and it were after that she were found dead, strangled. The gossip meant it seemed Cuthbert might ’ave done it, and the hue and cry took ’im up and the lord Sheriff’s Serjeant, not the one as does it now, came and took Cuthbert to Worcester and the Justices. Despite the rumours, all Cuthbert’s tithing swore for ’im, bar one man, and Cuthbert told me once it were that man as killed ’er when she said ’im nay.’

  ‘Did the man have a name?’

  ‘Aye, Siward Mealtere. Cuthbert were proved innocent, but the ordeal by hot iron cost ’im the use of ’is right ’and. A coppersmith needs fingers and good ’ands, and Cuthbert could not continue. When ’e said what ’e believed about Siward, Siward denied it all, and said Cuthbert’s mind were as twisted as ’is right ’and, and would never speak again with ’im. Most forgot the grudge, but not the pair o’ them.’

  ‘Why did Siward not face questions?’ Walkelin felt the Law had let a man down twice if Cuthbert had been right.

  ‘I does not know, but mayhap folk did not like to think too much about the speed they took up Cuthbert, and wanted it all forgotten, or Siward’s wife swore ’e were loyal and in ’is own bed the night of the killin’. I does not know, Underserjeant. There was some of the wife’s kin as always blamed Cuthbert, even after God proved ’im innocent. It were all a long time ago when I learnt it.’

  ‘Well, the more we knows, the easier it will be to find the truth, friend. One more question, since you knows Evesham well. Where do folk go for strap ends for their belts?’

  ‘Let me see, mmm.’ Alnoth considered the question. ‘Them as shows off wealth might go to a silversmith, but most ordinary men would go to Theobald the Coppersmith as works just off the marketplace, east side. I can tell an interestin’ story about Theobald …’ Alnoth was clearly happy to have someone to talk with, and since they were both going to the abbey, Walkelin was quite content to listen to him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ansculf, the serjeant of the guard, looked the man up and down, then spat into the dirt.

  ‘That is what you are worth to me – one spit.’ His voice was little more than an angry growl, but the man-at-arms flinched. Those men who came to the castle when their lord did service soon learnt from the small permanent company that getting on the wrong side of Serjeant Ansculf was a very bad idea.

  ‘Sorry, Serjeant.’

  ‘“Sorry”? Oh, I will ensure you is sorry, Croc, every night for the rest of your lord’s service in this midden-stench castle, when you does the night watch without bein’ allowed near the guardroom all the night long. If you gets within three paces of it, I will see you whipped. Understand?’ Ansculf only wished it was cold enough for the night guard to need a brazier in the guardroom to make the punishment worse.

  ‘Yes, Serjeant.’

  ‘Good. Now get out of my sight. The rest of you misbegotten bastards as do not even deserve to ’ave mothers. When I says—’

  ‘But Serjeant Catchpoll w—’ A voice spoke up from the back, but almost immediately thought better of it.

  ‘Serjeant Catchpoll is not your serjeant. ’Tis me, and you does as I says, not that death's head on legs. Fools, the lot of you, if you fears Catchpoll more than me.’ Ansculf snarled, angered that Catchpoll had influence even when, for most of these men, he was a figure rarely encountered.

  Ansculf was in his late thirties and looked upon Serjeant Catchpoll with a mixture of respect and loathing. What he wanted was to be feared by men-at-arms as much as Catchpoll, feared more than their lords or the lord Sheriff himself, since most men-at-arms were ignored by the Foreign-speaking lordly class unless it was to pass the highest sentence for desertion. In Ansculf’s view, a man-at-arms needed to treat a lord like a bear, something to be avoided and, if encountered, not looked in the eye, but he needed to fear the serjeant like a wolf, for the wolf would hunt him down if he felt like it. Catchpoll was like a wolf. Ansculf would never want Catchpoll’s position as lord Sheriff’s Serjeant, because it involved collecting taxes and all the ferreting around with the undersheriff, just to bring folk before the Justices. As Ansculf saw it, Catchpoll lacked independence, and what Ansculf enjoyed was freedom to do much more what he wanted. Bengeworth was undoubtedly a miserable place to inhabit, but he saw it as a place of opportunity, since most lords came for a month, drank a lot, and left, just doing enough to keep the lord Sheriff content, which gave him free rein to interpret William de Beauchamp’s wishes as he thought might eventually make him serjeant at Elmley Castle itself. He had been at Bengeworth for half a year, effectively running the castle, and treating Evesham as a place besieged, to be entered for reconnaissance and occasional raids.

  ‘I told you to make sure all that comes into Evesham over the bridge pays a toll to the castle in goods or coin, and now I finds Croc, and no doubt others, is lettin’ all sorts of folk pass for free. Bein’ an old woman or a fair maid does not mean they goes over without payin’. Useless soft-hearts, the lot o’ you.’

  ‘But will it not just mean folk come in from the west over the ferry to avoid the bridge, Serjeant?’ A young man-at-arms with more brains and a little more courage, asked the question, and for a moment Ansculf did not reply. Then he smiled a very wolfish smile

  ‘Well, that depends on whether the ferryman agrees to take a little toll for us or not.’ Ansculf picked three men, since he felt a show of might would make refusal even less likely, and told them to wait while he went and spoke with the lord de Cormolain.

  Rahere de Cormolain was paring his nails and yawned when the serjeant suggested ‘a visit’ to the Hampton ferry.

  ‘I take it you are not suggesting I go?’

  ‘No, no, my lord.’ Ansculf was almost shocked. The last thing he needed was a lord to be present and feel it was his own success. ‘This is work for me and a couple o’ big lads. The ferryman is a reed of a man and will bend to our – your – biddin’ easy enough. I just thought as if we does not take the toll there also, then folk will avoid the bridge and use the ferry, even if it is longer.’ The serjeant stole the man-at-arms’ idea as a matter of course.

  ‘Yes, it makes sense. Well done. I just want my period of service to be the most profitable the lord Sheriff has seen these last five years.’

  ‘I am sure we can see to that, my lord.’ Ansculf was now more confident that the men would not be swayed by sympathy or hard luck stories at the bridge. ‘I will tell Baldric where I have gone, and he should be able to cover the guard.’ He spoke slightly casually about de Cormolain’s senior man-at-arms, giving the hint that Baldric was not at the same level.

  ‘Yes.’ De Cormolain drained his cup. ‘And send a servant to bring me more wine as you leave.’ He dismissed the serjeant with a wave of his hand, like shooing a fly away. Ansculf swore softly under his breath, but obeyed, and hoped de Cormolain got a sore head from the wine.

  Walkelin felt very hot, and he mopped his brow and the back of his neck with one hand. Alnoth, his few possessions gathered into a bundle on his back, and wearing a floppy-brimmed hat, scarcely seemed to notice the heat at all, and was happily talking about how much he liked visiting Evesham, and reminiscing about an anchoress who had lived in a small dwelling on the abbey’s land, when he had first come to the town. Mother Placida had been the name by which she was known, and he heard she had been a well-born lady before she was called by God to abandon the world for a solitary life of simplicity and prayer. He had sat outside her humble home and asked for her prayers, which he was sure would carry great weight in Heaven, her being so godly, and she had not only prayed for him, but even passed out to him some of the food that was brought to her, through the little hatch in the door, and which was enough to sustain life without sating all hunger.