‘I thought as we would be takin’ the lord Bradecote up on our way.’ Catchpoll did not even ask whether Underserjeant Walkelin would complete the trio.

  ‘It is barely off the Evesham road, so will not delay you. Tell him also to ignore any bleatings from the abbot about Bengeworth. You are not there to look into any complaint he might raise about my garrison there. Understood?’

  ‘Aye, my lord.’

  ‘Then be off, and find out what happened to this steward as quick as you can. I need you collecting the rents right after Quarter Day.’

  Catchpoll correctly took this as his dismissal and went to tell his wife he would be away for some days. Within the hour he and Walkelin, with the lay brother upon his mule bringing up the rear, were heading out on the Evesham road, deviating only very slightly to the manor at Bradecote, though they found lady but not lord.

  ‘I am sorry, Serjeant Catchpoll, but my lord is gone today to Himbleton. He holds a virgate of land there and likes to see how the crops are growing for himself.’ Christina Bradecote smiled at Catchpoll.

  ‘Then it looks as if Walkelin will be ridin’ further today, my lady.’

  ‘I take it you do not know how long he will be absent?’ As the wife of the undersheriff she was used to her husband’s sudden disappearances on duty.

  ‘These things takes as long as they takes, my lady, but we is for Evesham Abbey, which is not so far.’

  ‘Well, I will put together such things as I think my lord will need, and send them with Walkelin.’ She looked directly at the young underserjeant. ‘You are to tell him, Walkelin, that my usual commands apply. He is not to put himself at needless risk and he is to return to me with a whole skin.’ The instruction was given with a smile, but her eyes did not echo it.

  ‘You can be sure I will do so, my lady.’ It was boldly said, but even as the words left his lips, Walkelin wondered how he would actually convey the message to his superior.

  ‘Thank you.’ She nodded and went to a chest, bringing out items of linen and putting them in the bedroll that her husband kept for his sudden calls away. ‘There. I pray you have success.’

  ‘We does, most of the time, but prayers are always welcome.’ Catchpoll looked calm and confident. ‘Now, I will ride steady, with the good brother of Evesham, and Walkelin can kick his heels into that horse of his and ride to Himbleton.’ He turned to Walkelin. ‘We meet on the Evesham road, and I reckon as you will catch us up before Pinvin.’

  ‘I will be as swift as I can, Serjeant.’ Walkelin bowed to Christina, then turned and hurried from the hall.

  ‘Still eager.’ Catchpoll grinned. ‘Wait ’til his knees is as stiff as mine and then the pace will slow.’

  ‘That may be true, Serjeant Catchpoll, but I refuse to believe you are any less “eager”. Admit it, being the lord Sheriff’s Serjeant is what gets you from your bed in the morning.’ This time Christina’s eyes did light up with amusement.

  ‘Now there you is wrong, my lady, for what gets me up of a mornin’ is the need to—’ He halted, aware he had fallen into an ease of speech that he had with lord, not lady, but Christina Bradecote, who knew Catchpoll well by now, blushed a little but laughed openly. Catchpoll still had the vestige of a smile on his face when he mounted his horse, and the lay brother wondered at a man who could smile when about to investigate a violent death.

  It was in fact a mile beyond Pinvin that Hugh Bradecote and Walkelin caught up with Catchpoll and the mule-mounted lay brother, since Walkelin had needed directions in Himbleton to find the parcel of land that the lord Undersheriff held, and it was on the northern boundary of the manor. If Bradecote was not delighted to think he would not return to his own bed that night, he smiled at his love’s wifely forethought, and at the message which Walkelin dutifully passed on, even if the youthful underserjeant looked uncomfortable, relaying the message in a very stilted manner.

  ‘Afternoon, Catchpoll. So what exactly has us riding in the heat to Evesham Abbey?’ Bradecote dropped his horse’s pace to a trot. Walkelin, who had been given but the gist of the matter so that Catchpoll only had to tell the full tale once, had not been able to provide more than a suspicious death and a victim of importance to Evesham Abbey.

  ‘The abbey’s steward has been found dead, and the lord Abbot fears it was no accident.’

  ‘And is this just a doubt in Abbot Reginald’s mind or has he sound reasons? I hope the latter.’

  ‘From what Brother Edwin here has told me, and before me the lord Sheriff, very sound reasons indeed, my lord. In fact, just the suspicions any of us three would have in the same place.’

  ‘I cannot imagine myself as an abbot,’ murmured Walkelin.

  ‘Nor can your wife, I would vouch.’ Catchpoll laughed lasciviously, and the lay brother blushed, remembering his own far from celibate past. ‘The steward, Walter, was found early this morning in a hole, the diggings for a well, and there was a wound on the head that did not seem to be from the fall, and a single large stone also in the hole.’

  ‘Could he not have fallen onto this stone?’ Bradecote frowned.

  ‘No, my lord, for the stone was a worked one from the pile the mason were makin’ ready for the well linin’, and that pile did not lie next to the pit.’

  ‘So, someone hit the steward, pushed his body, dead or not, into the well working, and then threw in the stone for good measure. Abbot Reginald was right to be suspicious. Let us hope he can also provide us with a shortlist of those who might be responsible.’

  Chapter Two

  They entered Evesham on the road from the north, descending gently into the town, which lay bounded on three sides by the loop of the Avon in which it lay, and with the abbey, even though still incomplete, dominating it on a plateau before the ground dropped more steeply down to the eastern side and the bridge across to Bengeworth. The wooden palisades of the castle just beyond the bridge were visible, but looked inferior, subservient, beneath the clean stonework of the claustral buildings that shone in the sunlight with a creamy, golden glow. Men and animals alike were hot, and Walkelin wondered how Brother Edwin had managed in his woollen habit. The man had drawn up his cowl to protect his shaven tonsure from the sun’s burning, but it must be hot beneath the folds of fabric, and he gave a sigh of relief as they walked on a loose rein in through the main gate of the abbey.

  Hugh Bradecote felt not just the heat of the sun, but more importantly the tension in the atmosphere within the enclave wall when they entered. Everyone in the courtyard had stopped and turned at the sound of the horses’ hooves as they passed under the arch of the abbey gate. This was an abbey not just of a large number of choir monks and lay brothers, but many folk who laboured within but lived outside, in the town that had grown about the monastic site. It was currently also the home to a team of masons working upon the nave of the abbey church and the claustral buildings, and it felt busy. The steward would have been the man to whom they all looked, regardless of whether they worked in kitchen, stable or orchard. Were they leaderless and lost, or were they glad he was gone, and had one of them seen to it being so? The thoughts buzzed inside his head as thickly as the flies about the ears of his steel grey horse. He dismounted and took the reins over its head as a youth came from the stables and took the animal to rub down and water. A thin, long-faced man that Bradecote recognised as the prior, came forward to greet him.

  ‘My lord Bradecote, you are welcome, though the reason for your coming weighs heavily upon this House. Father Abbot would have you and your men attend him in his lodging, as soon as you have had the chance to take a little refreshment after your hot ride from Worcester.’ He beckoned a novice and indicated that they should follow him to the guest hall. Then he turned to Brother Edwin, whose knees had nearly buckled when he dismounted, and who looked a little dazed and certainly spent. ‘Good Brother, your efforts today are worthy of commendation. Let Brother Infirmarer ensure you have not taken harm from your exertions, and consider yourself excused all duties for the rest of today and tomorrow.’

  Brother Edwin barely moved, aware of the praise in a slightly fuzzy way, but then roused at a thought.

  ‘I must report first to Father Abbot.’

  Prior Richard, smiled. ‘If you think it important, I am sure that he will come to the Infirmary and speak with you there.’ The prior knew his superior well enough to feel confident that this would be the case.

  Kind hands supported Brother Edwin’s arm, and he was led away, unresisting.

  After washing the sweat from their faces and taking a welcome draught of small beer, the shrieval trio were taken to the abbot’s lodgings, and Abbot Reginald’s parlour. The abbot was seated at a table, his elbows resting upon it and his hands clasped together. His face was solemn, and Bradecote thought the man looked more burdened than he had the year before. Of course, it might just be the reaction to losing his steward to violence.

  ‘My lord Bradecote, I hope you and your men have been shown suitable hospitality. I am sorry to have had need of you, but …’ He opened his hands in a gesture that mixed apology with what, welcome or defeat?

  ‘Father Abbot, when you have need of us, the lord Sheriff sends us, gladly, to resolve the problem and establish the rule of law, which has been violated.’ The words were diplomatic, but Bradecote was a little surprised to see a wry smile appear on the abbot’s visage, and to hear Catchpoll cough to hide a guffaw. Abbot Reginald glanced at the serjeant.

  ‘Yes, Serjeant, I too understand that the lord Bradecote’s words are not ones put into his mouth by the lord Sheriff. I have already spoken briefly with Brother Edwin. However, I know that they reflect your own view, my lord, and I am grateful for it. I have great faith that through your efforts and the prayers of this community, the man who killed Walter the Steward will be taken for justice, and we will have a name for he who must be prayed for when his soul is in great jeopardy.’ Not only Bradecote could use gracious words.

  Whilst aware of tensions between Evesham and William de Beauchamp, Hugh Bradecote had not been told of the lord Sheriff’s reactions or instructions by Catchpoll, since that worthy had decided such things should not be spoken in front of one of the Benedictines.

  ‘If you will tell us all you know, Father, and then if we could see the body and the place where it was discovered, we will be able to begin our active seeking of the truth in the morning.’ Bradecote’s tone and pace were as calm as the monk’s.

  ‘Of course, and please, do be seated – all three of you.’ Abbot Reginald indicated a chair for the lord Undersheriff, and a bench against one wall for his companions. Walkelin had never sat in the presence of one so powerful, and was inclined to perch upon the edge, until the elm plank dug into the back of his legs and he had, perforce, to ease his position.

  ‘The facts that I know are small in number, but I think them important. Our steward left his home yesterday evening, according to his wife, now widow, telling her he would return shortly. He told her to go to bed, which she did, and she slept heavily and did not waken until Father Richard came to her door and brought the awful news of her husband’s death. He was not a man who drank to a point where his mind was befuddled, and there is no reason to assume that anything was different last night, although the first thought of the well digger was that a man must have been drunk to have fallen into the pit.’

  ‘How deep is the pit, Father?’ Bradecote knew they would see it soon enough, but it helped to get a mental picture in advance.

  ‘Some fifteen or sixteen feet, I believe.’

  ‘Enough of a fall to kill a man if he is unfortunate.’ This was from Catchpoll.

  ‘Yes. I am no physician, but our infirmarer, Brother Augustine, said that he thought the wound to the head would have killed him, even if other broken bones did not. I admit I saw the body only when it was brought into the abbey, but it had stiffened and was in much the same position as it had lain overnight. The head was turned to one side and the wound was clear upon the temple. It did not look as if it had come from hitting the earth and if it had, then Walter must have been conscious enough to lift and turn his head before he died. There was also a single large stone, one ready-worked for the building of the wall of the well, in the bottom of the pit.’ Abbot Reginald closed his eyes for a moment, and then continued. ‘To me it looked as if our steward had been pushed in, or rolled in. It did not look as if he had tried to save himself when falling, but just landed in a heap. One arm was beneath him and the other loosely flung to the side. I feared he was already dead, or out of his senses, when he landed, and that meant someone else was involved.’

  ‘Thank you, Father. We would view the body ourselves, but we cannot learn as much when it is washed and shrouded as seeing it where the death happened. Your testimony adds much to our knowledge from the beginning.’ Bradecote glanced at Catchpoll and saw him nod in agreement.

  ‘You do not think I was mistaken.’ It was not a question.

  Bradecote shook his head, and the abbot sighed.

  ‘So what manner of man was Walter the Steward, Father? Would there be reason for any to have taken against him?’

  ‘I would say he was a hard worker, thorough and conscientious. I never heard of him given up to drink, and he was always respectful, though perhaps a little proud of his position. I have not heard anyone speak against him, except his brother, and that was just a difference of opinion over how the town could grow. I think brothers argue out of the habit established in infancy, and William is most distressed at Walter’s death. I have given him leave until after the burial before he takes up his new role.’

  ‘Was he about to do so?’

  ‘Oh, I am sorry. I should have said that the position of steward is inherited at Evesham, and has been since the time of Abbot Walter in the last century. He set aside the steward at the time, an Englishman of course, and replaced him with one of his own relatives from Normandy. I cannot say I am happy with the practice, but perhaps he felt that the stewardship was so important he had to have complete trust in the holder of the office. He was rebuilding and invigorating the abbey, building on the work, and legacy in silver, of Abbot Aethelwig. I am, in many ways, merely continuing those works. Several other posts became inherited, but gradually they are reverting to being filled by selection. In this instance there are no sons to follow on, and I am actually quite glad that William can step into his brother’s shoes, for he knows the ways of the abbey very well, and has been working for us, marking out plans for the building of the new areas of the town, now so many wish to live and work here. He is very able.’ This was said as though his ability did not quite compensate for a lack elsewhere in his character.

  ‘“But”, Father?’ Bradecote raised an eyebrow, sensing there was perhaps more.

  ‘He is not … flexible. Walter tried hard with those who were in arrears with their rents. He said that many things could affect an ability to pay at the due time, and this is true. Even with those who seem to be persistent underpaying tenants, he advocated waiting to see how they did in the future. I think that William will not be so generous, and will press for action. Walter’s attitude sat well with our Christian duty, but every silver penny is needed in these days. Whilst this is a House of Benedictines who have left the secular world, it is also, in reality, an estate, with calls upon it for upkeep and for the works ongoing in the enclave. As you have seen, the wall to secure our perimeter has taken precedence even over the completion of the nave of our church, which is a matter for regret. Ensuring our income, increasing it, is not a matter of avarice, but enabling the growth of this community and its work and prayer. It is not an easy path to tread without a misstep.’

  Bradecote wondered whether Abbot Reginald had made peace with his conscience by this justification. What he said was true enough, for the religious houses, those well-endowed by benefactors, held lands that matched the most puissant of lords, men like William de Beauchamp and Earl Waleran. They were rich, but needed much of those riches to sustain that power. He felt quite glad that his own holdings were on a far more modest scale and that his ambition was simply to leave all in order for his son Gilbert when the time came, and for his manors to be well run. Then he realised that the abbot was looking at him, and that there was silence. He looked a little self-conscious.

  ‘I, er, understand, Father. We should speak with William, Walter’s widow and the well digger. We will intrude upon the daily life of the abbey as little as we can, but our presence will make a difference.’

  ‘It is the death that makes the difference, my lord, and you being here keeps it in the forefront of thoughts, not just our prayers. You must do whatever is needful, and let us hope and pray you discover the truth of what happened.’

  ‘Then we will leave you and go first to see the body and then where it was discovered.’

  Bradecote rose, bowed his head, and, as Catchpoll and Walkelin followed suit, went to the door.

  ‘My lord Bradecote, there is one more thing I should say.’ Abbot Reginald spoke a little more hurriedly. ‘Whilst there is no particular reason to link the occurrences, the day before yesterday the abbey cellarer reported the theft of two casks of wine, and there were marks in the earth on the inside of the wall of our graveyard that show someone came over the wall with a ladder. Tall ladders are rare, but would be found inside a castle. The garrison at Bengeworth make all manner of depredations upon us, from demanding a “toll” from those crossing the bridge to come to market, to stealing fruit from our orchards and now wine from our cellarage. Absolute proof has not been possible, but if Walter discovered something …’ The abbot left the sentence hanging.