‘You want to be a serjeant, mistress?’ Walkelin, impressed by her observational skill and deductions, smiled at her.

  ‘There’s more to what you does, as there is to what I does, and we would neither of us be good at those parts, young man.’ It was part the reproof of an elder, and part acknowledgement of a compliment. Agnes gave a half smile that twisted.

  ‘So you know how he died.’ Catchpoll looked her straight in the eye.

  There was a pause.

  ‘Aye, I knows. At first it were not somethin’ as you would see, for there were a lot of broken skin and bloody bruises, but it were there, that little killin’ hole. Never seen one afore but it were clear enough to them as sees.’ She nodded towards Catchpoll.

  ‘Did the Widow Reed not see it too?’ Bradecote wanted to know whether the widow had held anything back.

  ‘Her? Oh no. Too busy snivellin’ and dabbin’ at bits like you would a child’s sore knee.’ Clearly, Agnes had not found her a help.

  ‘Then why did you accept her aid?’

  ‘Could not stop the woman, not without much noise and foolishness. Since Will Reed died and then Father Edmund arrived, bit under a year past, she has been always at church, or rather always gazin’ at the man. Some said she was thinkin’ holy thoughts, but I doubts it. He would speak gently to ’er, mostly about the poor fare he and Father Ambrosius endured, and she would be forever leavin’ bread or butter inside their door. If she thought that would give Father Edmund a soft spot for ’er she were a fool. Those eyes preferred much younger fruit on the tree.’ This was said with strong disapproval and a very straight look at Catchpoll. ‘Selewine the Reeve is not as clever as he likes to pretend, and is the father of sons, not daughters, Serjeant.’

  ‘You mean Father Edmund broke his vow of chastity.’ Bradecote frowned.

  ‘Doubt any man is pure of thought, even the tonsured, not all the time, but there is thought and there is deed, and there are knowin’ maids who makes eyes at men and little maids who knows nothin’, as is right.’

  The implication of her words made all three men frown.

  ‘And any father who found out – that would be a good reason to be killin’ mad,’ Catchpoll murmured, ‘so if the priest died after blows from fist and boot, it would fit easily.’

  ‘Mistress, do you think Father Edmund would have died from the beating alone? You know more than we do.’ Bradecote thought it a useful piece of additional information.

  ‘It were bad, mighty bad. If there were breath in ’im when I saw ’im I might have made a guess, but dead is dead. Such blows could easily break somethin’ deep inside and a man die days later. I would say an even chance, my lord, but it is just my thought on it.’

  ‘And why did you not tell Selewine the Reeve that you had found a stab wound?’

  ‘What good would it do, then? Poor Thorgar be dead and there is some things a healer cannot do. Bringin’ back from the dead be one. The thing were done.’

  ‘But Father Edmund’s killer is still free.’

  ‘And God will judge them upon the deed, whether foulest sin or one they can atone for. Do you think I would give cause for Selewine, or any of ’em, to seek another to dangle?’ She folded her arms, and the bony elbows stuck out sharply.

  ‘Did you think Thorgar guilty afore you saw the body, mistress?’ It was Walkelin’s question. ‘You said “poor Thorgar” and I wondered …’

  ‘Thorgar were a good lad, a good man. Took up the responsibility as man of the family when Alvar died, and with only fifteen summers to ’is name. Never gave any pain nor problem to anyone, not since the day he were born, and I were there. A big baby, he were, and a trial to ’is mother to get out into the world, but thereafter a son to be proud of.’

  ‘Did you not raise this when the crowd was for a-hangin’ Thorgar?’ Walkelin frowned.

  ‘I were not there, but at Naunton, up yonder, with a birth far from simple. Even if I ’ad been there, do you thinks they would have listened, the men that is?’ She snorted. ‘Men listens to me when their bellies ache, their bones ache or break, or their women are in the time of trial. Then they looks up to me, but at all other times I is just another woman to be told “What can you know?” Hah! They confuse brains with bealluccas, and that be plain fact.’ Agnes’ cheeks flew two spots of colour and she was clearly annoyed. Only after the words had come out did she consider her audience of three men. ‘You may not like that,’ she admitted, her gaze passed from Walkelin to Catchpoll and then to Bradecote, and then she added, ‘my lord. I will say, upon my hope of Heaven, I do not think Thorgar killed Father Edmund.’

  ‘But he has at least one sister, Osgyth.’ Bradecote took no umbrage at her disparagement of men.

  ‘The only sister, and a maid as none is likely to fool. She was also nigh on woman grown when Father Edmund came to Ripple.’

  ‘But the maid, er, Mildred, said she saw him arguing with the priest the morning of the killing day.’ Bradecote pressed her.

  ‘I do not know why that would be, unless some word reached Thorgar of what few others know, but then why would he not raise a hand to ’im then? If you said to me Thorgar took a swing at him then and there, mayhap there could be a reason, but not later, and not a sneaky stabbin’.’

  ‘Which leaves us with the one important question. Which men in Ripple would have cause, just cause,’ Bradecote stressed ‘just’, to make it clear that such an act was at the least understandable, ‘to beat Father Edmund senseless?’ He did not say ‘kill him’.

  Agnes the Healer looked him straight in the eye and compressed her lips tight shut.

  ‘We will find out. The Law needs to know, and justice be done.’

  ‘Is those two the same, my lord? From where I stands, it looks as if justice be done already, whether whoever did the killin’ knew that or not. The little maids in Ripple is safe now.’

  ‘The trouble with that argument is that it means you could say that if a man of bad character is robbed and killed upon the road, then the killer ought not to be taken and hanged because the man he killed deserved no better. And who is to judge whether a man is good or bad of soul, other than God in Heaven?’ Bradecote was all reason, and his words did make the woman frown, but then she shook her head.

  ‘What you says is true, my lord, but we are in Ripple, this day and after that death, and I knows what is right. If the Law demands a penalty of me for that I must bear it.’ She was resolute. They would have to make difficult discoveries for themselves.

  ‘No penalty, mistress, but think upon what I have said, and you may come to change your mind.’

  ‘Thank you for that, my lord.’ Agnes dipped in a gawky curtsey and left. As the door shut behind her the three men looked at each other.

  ‘Well, that gives us a reason for the murder, and why Selewine got so little response when he put out the question “Who would want to kill Father Edmund?” I thought something felt odd then.’

  ‘It does, my lord, but part of me still worries at the stabbin’ part.’ Catchpoll frowned. ‘It does not fit with a man with the red mist of ire goin’ to beat whoever misused ’is little daughter. Fist and foot, yes. They gives a connection, a feel of the man takin’ punishment if you likes. The stab wound is – sort of different. The other thing is that all of Ripple will be as ignorant as Selewine or as tight-lipped as Agnes.’

  ‘But could we at least discount men like Selewine, with sons only, no children, or grown daughters?’ Walkelin was trying to be positive.

  ‘And have we considered it might have been more than one man? What if a group of—’ Bradecote began but was cut short by Catchpoll.

  ‘You might get a father and brothers, just might, but what man shares a shame upon a daughter like that, one that might well mean she finds it difficult to find a man when she is of an age to wed? In a village like this, memories is long but they also twist. It might be all pity now but later … and what father wants to admit they did not protect their child, even if in ignorance of the crime?’ Catchpoll, a father and a grandfather several times over, was practical. Deep down, he did not think the priest deserved justice to be meted out for his killing, and agreed that it was better for the little maids of Ripple that he was gone, but justice was not about only those who deserved it. If the man had died after the beating, he might have wanted secretly to let it go, and duty would have been hard to do, but the stab wound niggled. It was not the act of a moment of total rage, stabbing a man who was already half dead and senseless. That was cold murder, and it gave less heaviness of heart to pursue the murderer.

  ‘Besides a reason for killing, we also have some other useful information.’ Bradecote ticked things off on his long fingers. ‘Thorgar was not seen to strike the body, and if he was close up to the armpit and facing away, towards the head, it would be an odd position from which to have tried to make that stab wound. And if he had stabbed him, why still be there to be accused of murder? Second, the apprentice Gwydion might have been able to pick up the sharp instrument if it was something of his or his father’s, if he saw it in the folds of the habit and the Widow Reed missed it, or it had rolled away. I do not say it is likely, but it is possible, and why was he so helpful?’

  ‘My lord, I thinks that might just be Gwydion bein’ a lad and curious. A good tale to tell other young men in years soon to come. “I saw this murdered priest and there was blood everywhere …”’ Walkelin smiled the smile of one now both too grown up and also too used to dead bodies to think like that. ‘Is that all we does for today, my lord?’

  ‘I think we ought to visit Thorgar’s family and tell them we do think him innocent. I know taking whoever did kill the priest will be the final proof, but we can give some ease since they will know their neighbours will soon look upon them as tainted by his deed.’ Bradecote was still for a moment, thinking. ‘And it was interesting what Mildred said about him seeing her as temptation. You cannot think that sort of man would kill a priest.’

  ‘Unless that priest had defiled not only his vows to God but more than vows. Oh, I still think Thorgar did not do it, my lord, but being kind and even religious does not mean it is impossible.’ Catchpoll was being even-handed.

  ‘True. I wonder if his mother knew of his religious fervour? Let us go and find out, before – and I hope this happens – food is brought to us.’

  Chapter Four

  They knocked briefly at the reeve’s door to ascertain which was the house of the late Thorgar. When Catchpoll knocked upon the one pointed out to them it was opened by Osgyth, who managed a wan smile and stood back to let them enter. It was she who introduced them to her mother and three siblings, a whey-faced boy with red-rimmed eyes, who was of about nine or ten, and two aged about seven or eight, who looked to be twins and stood, fearful, very close to their mother’s skirts.

  ‘We are come to tell you that whoever killed Father Edmund it is very unlikely it was your son,’ Bradecote was quite formal, ‘and all of Ripple will know it also.’

  ‘But we knew he did not do it,’ blurted out Osgyth, and her mother half raised one hand.

  ‘We knew in our hearts, my lord, but your words will aid us in the time to come.’ The mother sounded crushed. ‘We will need the aid of friends and neighbours, for I am alas, but part a woman in strength and cannot work our land beyond pulling up garlic and onions from the garden and guiding the children in their weedin’.’ She sighed. ‘It pains me also that my son lies not in hallowed earth or with the benefit of the Last Rites. My boy would ’ave so wanted those, and even if Father Ambrosius had thought him guilty, which I doubts, since the good priest has known ’im since childhood, he would have given that sacrament if he had been ’ere.’

  ‘Several people have marked upon Thorgar being devout.’ This, thought Bradecote, was a fair distillation of what had been said of him.

  ‘Ah, my poor son. Told me ’e had felt the touch of the Almighty and a callin’. Thorgar wanted, above all things, to be a monk in the Abbey at Tewkesbury.’

  ‘He did?’ Osgyth almost squeaked the question. ‘He never said anythin’.’

  ‘He did to me, ’is mother. Such a kind boy. He were keepin’ back because ’e knew how much we needed him, and our village also for the ploughin’, but these last few weeks something changed. He said that he had been sent a sign from Heaven that he ought to leave us this spring, but that we would not be lackin’ as a result of it. He were filled with’ – the woman paused for a moment and smiled at the memory – ‘a glow of purpose. He were so happy, like a man on the verge of marriage. Oh, Thorgar!’ Quite suddenly she broke, and one hand was lifted to cover her mouth as she cried. The twins joined in. Only Osgyth and the older boy stood quietly, taking it all in. Then Osgyth turned to Catchpoll.

  ‘That is why ’e went to Tewkesbury Abbey yesterday morning, Serjeant Catchpoll.’ She sounded almost triumphant. ‘So my brother went to arrange his entry to joining the monks.’

  ‘That makes sense, and they will be able to say what ’is plans were.’ Catchpoll nodded.

  ‘We are set upon trying to find out who really killed Father Edmund, and leaving Thorgar’s name without stain, which is all we can now do for him. We will work as swiftly as we can but be thorough. God sees all, mistress, and will be merciful upon the good, wrongly condemned. I am sure Father Ambrosius will tell you that.’ Bradecote was solemn.

  The crying woman just nodded, and the three sheriff’s men left, very aware how little they could realistically do for the family.

  ‘So we need to find out just what Thorgar planned to do, and when, and perhaps why he sought out Father Edmund on his return.’ Bradecote was planning. ‘I think we do that first thing so that we can then concentrate upon this village itself with all the facts we have been able to gather. Walkelin, if the river flow has lessened enough, go early and bring back Father Ambrosius to his flock. He sounds a steadying hand and I think they need it, as well as him comforting the bereaved here. Now, let us eat and sleep.’

  The morning dawned with a soft, white fleece of mist blanketing the vale of the Severn, though it did not delay the sheriff’s men, who split up, Walkelin to cross the river to find Father Ambrosius, and Bradecote and Catchpoll heading south to Tewkesbury. Walkelin both relished his independent action, which showed the trust that his superiors had in him, and regretted not going with them to Tewkesbury, because he was as curious as they were to discover Thorgar’s reason for going to the abbey. However, if he was the first to tell Father Ambrosius of his fellow priest’s death he would also be the one to hear what manner of man Father Edmund was, and from the man who would know him better than any other. After all, they lived in the same house. Walkelin had been shocked by the previous day’s revelations. Catchpoll had reminded him, quietly, that being in holy orders did not make a man a saint, and clerics were just like other men beneath the habit, and sometimes much worse. When he was still just a man-at-arms, Walkelin would have assumed all men of God to be godly and good, but he had learnt better now. Neither rank nor calling prevented men and women from not just sinning but law-breaking.

  It was a thoughtful Walkelin who followed a muscular youth down to where a small boat was kept, upturned upon the bank. They passed the mill, where the lad cheerfully hailed a girl of about nine or ten with a wave of the hand and a smile, and confided to Walkelin that she was a sweet little thing and had been his sister’s best friend.

  ‘She ’as always been so swift to smile, and always singing to ’erself. Used to play with my poor sister, afore she died last autumn. Berthe, the girl’s name is, but of late she is grown quiet and does not smile back as she used to.’ The youth sighed. ‘I suppose it is the growin’ up girls does. I understood my little sister, and Berthe too, but I cannot do that when they grows into women, like Mildred, Tofi’s daughter. She and me would play chase together when we was small, but now she looks at me as though I were a tic in the skirt-hem of ’er gown and if’n she speaks to me it is to say I understands nothin’. Worries me, that do. What if I has so little understandin’ I never finds a maid to wed me?’

  ‘You will find the right maid in time.’ Walkelin, the successfully married man, could afford to sound almost paternal. ‘Plenty of time afore you needs to think of bein’ wed.’ They came to the small boat, keel to the skies. ‘Now, what happens if someone from the other side of the Severn wants to cross? The boat is here, but it is not a ferry, not as such.’

  ‘Ah, there is one the other side also.’ The lad righted the boat with surprising ease, and pushed it to the water’s edge, indicating Walkelin should get in. ‘Them in Holdfast and Queenhill knows where it lies, just as we do with this’n. Sort of belongs to the parish, and what with many havin’ kin both sides, and priests goin’ to and fro, they gets plenty of use. Most any of the men grown will row across easy enough, but we always has two, one to bring the boat back. Father Edmund never took up an oar, thinkin’ as priests should not row, but Father Ambrosius takes his turn, though not the strongest man to look at. You would not think it, but ’e can row as well as me, and is over twice my age.’ The youth, who had passed but sixteen or seventeen summers, made him sound ancient. ‘’e were born in the village, of course, and knows the river better than nearly anyone, but still … I miss Father Ambrosius, for ’e spends more time on the other side these days. I think ’e does – did – not like living with Father Edmund as much as with old Father Giraldus. I hopes whoever the lord Bishop sends will be more like Father Giraldus, soft spoken and thoughtful.’

  ‘And Father Edmund was not?’ Walkelin sounded suitably surprised, and was delighted to have a view of the dead man before even meeting Father Ambrosius.

  ‘No. Father Edmund were always telling us we must do better, pray more, and that we must please the Lord much more in all we do. Father Edmund were … very eager. Father Ambrosius is another who is more calm and gentle. Never frightens anyone.’