‘I cannot imagine a priest “frightenin’” his flock.’ Walkelin thought the lad was exaggerating.

  ‘Well, Father Edmund frightened my oldmother when she suggested ’e collect the dewfall right after a full moon and mix it with sheep’s whey to treat his sunburn last summer. Told ’er that ’er soul would be forfeit if she spread heathen practices, and told ’er all the nasty things that would happen to ’er in Hell. Fair upset ’er that did.’

  Walkelin decided that the late Father Edmund had not been an understanding cleric, as well as been a danger to girls, and wondered how forthcoming Father Ambrosius might be without gentle ‘prodding’.

  Walkelin’s superiors did not take the track that was little more than a wide footpath and kept to the low ground nearer the river, but headed a little uphill to the Old Road, which was straight and faster for horsemen. It led them south, down into Tewkesbury and the crossing of the Avon at Mythe, where the ferryman wondered at a lord accompanied by a man who was clearly not his retainer. The answer to his unspoken question came when Catchpoll asked if he had heard the bad news from Ripple, in the manner of a man eager to gossip. Only when the ferryman sucked his teeth and said that he had, and a nasty business it was, and to think that he had taken the Ripple ploughman across the river and back the very day of the killing, did Catchpoll’s tone change and his questions become specific. It was then he revealed that they were the lord Sheriff of Worcestershire’s men, finding out about Thorgar the Ploughman’s visit to Tewkesbury.

  ‘You sure it was him?’ Catchpoll had heard often enough from folk who liked the idea of being close, but not too close, to a crime, and turned a ‘might have’ into a ‘I definitely saw’.

  ‘Aye, for he came across sometimes on Holy Days, and not many men were built like Thorgar. Strong as an oak he were, and none so far shorter either.’ The ferryman gave a short laugh, curtailed by the thought that laughing about a dead man, murderer though he was, was unseemly. ‘Always pleasant, and paid me in eggs, good ’uns. He said his mother’s hens were the finest in the whole parish, and Ripple parish covers almost to Upton and even east of the Old Road towards—’

  ‘And how was he when you took ’im across last?’ Catchpoll did not want to hear details of local geography, which he could sense were coming.

  ‘Well, for Thorgar, he were a bit quiet, and not from bein’ soaked wet by the rain that morn. Not his usual self, I would say, but then if you was plannin’ to kill a priest you would be wonderin’ about what horrors of Hell would be your lot at your end of days, whether or not anyone found you out. Not a man as I ever saw angered, but there was a frown to his brow and a set to the mouth that was not happy.’

  ‘Did he say why he was coming to Tewkesbury on this occasion?’ Bradecote joined the questioning.

  The ferryman just shook his head, and added ‘No, my lord’ as an afterthought.

  ‘And did he look happier on ’is return?’ This, thought Catchpoll, was of greater importance.

  ‘He did, leastways he looked sort of relieved, as if a burden was lifted off those broad shoulders o’ his. I will say this, he did not look like a man about to murder anyone. I has to say fair. If’n he killed the priest mayhap some madness afflicted the man of a sudden. It makes no sense otherwise, truly it don’t.’ The ferryman sighed, pocketed the coin that was proffered, and tied his craft so that the two horses could be led off.

  Tewkesbury’s abbey, with the spring sunlight giving its fresh Caen stonework a warm and creamy-golden glow, dominated the town in a benign manner. The tower was almost complete, and masons, ant-like at this distance, could be seen as dark blemishes upon the construction. Earl Robert of Gloucester’s own father-in-law had endowed the rebuilding, and lay within its walls, and it was assured of Earl Robert’s patronage. It was a community that was thriving, and exuded power.

  As the shrieval pair made their way along the main street towards it, a stocky and slightly bow-legged man watched them, his expression stony. He began to follow them, his walking pace sufficiently swift not to fall behind the two horses, walking easily on a loose rein, and drew close as they entered the precincts of the abbey. Catchpoll, sensing a gimlet gaze upon his back, turned as the man approached.

  ‘And what brings you over the shire border?’ The man’s deep tone was guarded, if not slightly antagonistic.

  ‘Questions, just questions. We is not treadin’ upon the authority of Earl Robert. The lord Bradecote,’ Catchpoll indicated his superior with a gesture of his hand, ‘and me just wants to ask questions as might be important to a killin’ in Ripple. None here is under suspicion.’

  The man gave a slight nod, which might have been acceptance of this statement, but focused upon the man who had dismounted from the steel grey horse. His eyes evaluated, and Bradecote felt they did so just as Catchpoll’s did. He made a guess.

  ‘Are you Earl Robert’s serjeant?’

  ‘I am, my lord. Wulfram the Taker.’

  ‘What Catchpoll says is true, Serjeant. We seek only information from the Master of Novices and perhaps Abbot Roger, which may make our path the clearer concerning—’

  ‘The death of the priest? I heard of it in Twyning yestereve. But the man as done it is hanged.’ There was just a hint of doubt in the voice.

  ‘You knows as well as I does,’ murmured Catchpoll, ‘that not every man that sees a hempen noose afore the Justices in Eyre decides upon it is guilty. We wants to be sure, that is all.’

  ‘Fair enough. I will say that the hanged man was known a little in Twyning, for he had kin there on his oldmother’s side, and heads were shaken over it more in disbelief than at the wickedness of the deed. You may be right to ferret deep.’

  ‘And you were not in Twyning for any reason that might cross over into Ripple, I take it?’ Bradecote thought it best to ask.

  ‘No, my lord.’ Wulfram shook his head. ‘Just a simple case of a man as disliked his neighbour tuppin’ his wife and beat the man so as his nose will never be straight again. Came and made loud complaint, did Master Tupper, so I went to look into it at the lord Undersheriff’s command, and there is no cause to bring in the cuckolded ’usband. He has not so much as taken his hand to the wife’s arse, which is good, and his tithing all swear he is by nature a gentle man not given to violence, whilst the complainin’ man is distrusted even by the village priest, and I reckons as three hearty cheers was given by every ’usband of a comely wife and father of pretty daughters in Twyning that he has paid a price. I reckoned as one broken nose and some bruises was fair justice, and the Law would not be served by lettin’ a man, one who does not see that other men’s wives and daughters are not for his takin’, set hisself up as a righteous victim. I told him if I had been the ’usband, I would have broken more ’n his nose and I never wants to see him again.’

  Bradecote smiled, slowly. He might look very different to Catchpoll, but here was another man who was a serjeant to the core.

  ‘Since I know another who would have done the same,’ he glanced at Catchpoll, ‘I can say the lord Undersheriff of Gloucestershire is a lucky man.’

  ‘Not all men realise how lucky they are, my lord.’ Wulfram permitted himself the hint of a chuckle. ‘I hope as you gets answers as aid you.’ With which he nodded, combining a farewell to Catchpoll and an obeisance to Bradecote, and went back out into Tewkesbury’s thoroughfares.

  ‘Have you come across Wulfram the Taker often, Catchpoll?’

  ‘Off and on these last dozen years and more. Been a bit more difficult since Earl Robert came north and burnt Worcester, and Earl Waleran returned the favour and came to Tewkesbury, though he did not burn more’n Earl Robert’s hall, so we does not take ale together, but he knows the craft well enough. And if he thought it right to mention what Twyning folk think of Thorgar, it is worth us bearin’ in mind.’

  ‘Very true. Now, I wonder who Thorgar spoke to here. Would he have had access to Abbot Roger?’ Bradecote thought it unlikely.

  ‘Brother Porter will know. I never entered a “monks’ nest” without finding Brother Porter knew everything that set a serjeant on his merry way.’ Catchpoll grinned, and, taking the reins of Bradecote’s grey as well as his own mount, went to the porter’s little gateside cell. Bradecote realised it was not a subservient act on Catchpoll’s part but more that it made Catchpoll of greater interest to the nosy brother within. A few minutes later Catchpoll was handing the horses to a lay brother to take to the stables, and reported to the undersheriff that Thorgar came to speak with the Master of Novices, and that worthy had been sent for.

  The monk who approached them soon afterwards was a kindly-looking man with a waddling gait, who knew the younger novices mimicked him behind his back and called him ‘Brother Duck’. His tonsure was freckled as if he had been sprinkled with the dust of desiccated autumn leaves, and was ringed by red hair now faded to the colour of pinkish sandstone. He looked very benign, and a little indolent.

  ‘You wish to speak to me? I am Brother Cuthbert, the Master of Novices in this House.’ He took in Bradecote’s garb and mien, and spread his hands in a gesture both welcoming and placating. ‘Ask what you will, my lord, and I will do my best to answer, though I doubt any information from within these walls could be of use to the lord Sheriff of Worcestershire.’

  ‘You were visited, the day before yesterday, by Thorgar the Ploughman, from Ripple.’ Bradecote chose not to begin with a question.

  ‘I was. He is wishful to join us here, and I took him to see Father Abbot, because he was in some distress about his gift upon entry.’

  The sheriff’s men noted the present tense. Brother Cuthbert had not heard the gossip that had passed over the ferry into Tewkesbury.

  ‘He will not be comin’ to you now, Brother, for he was hanged that afternoon for killin’ the priest of Ripple, or one of ’em, to be exact.’ Catchpoll did not soften the blow, and his face was grim.

  ‘Hanged? For murder? No, no, surely not? Oh dear, dear. I cannot believe it of him. It must be a mistake.’ Brother Cuthbert’s voice shook, and his hands clasped together tightly.

  ‘If it was, it was a mistake that he paid for with his life, Brother. I think it best we speak with Father Abbot as well, and hear all that Thorgar had to say.’ Bradecote did not make it a command, for he saw no need to do so.

  ‘Indeed, my lord, and such a shock as it will be to him also. Oh dear, oh dear. Do follow me.’

  They followed Brother Cuthbert, curtailing their own pace to his. He led them to a building near to the west end of the church, which provided the Abbot of Tewkesbury with a chamber where he might entertain noble guests, and a solar where he might work in some privacy. The monk knocked upon this door and awaited a call to enter. He entered, but closed the door behind him, which made Catchpoll scowl.

  ‘This is not a matter of “Would you like to see …?” It is not a visit to be polite,’ he growled.

  ‘Oh, he will see us. The good Brother Cuthbert will simply want him to know the news from Ripple beforehand.’ Bradecote was quite at ease, perhaps because his rank meant far fewer doors had ever remained closed to him. He was proved right without them loitering. The door was opened and a Benedictine with ink-stained fingers, clearly the abbot’s clerk, came out. Brother Cuthbert, blithely unaware of any discourtesy, bade them enter.

  Abbot Roger was seated at a table with a vellum document set aside upon it. He was a man in his mid-forties, sinewy rather than thin, with an air of authority which declared that not only was he in a position of power but knew how to wield it. Some clerics looked as if they were hiding from the world, but Abbot Roger was not one of them. At the same time, he did appear genuinely shocked at what he had just heard. He gestured to Father Cuthbert to push forward the second chair in the chamber for the lord Undersheriff, and gave a formal greeting, but then continued immediately.

  ‘This is most upsetting. You are sure that Thorgar committed this foul sin? I cannot believe it of him.’

  ‘No, Father, not sure, but it did, at first viewing, seem likely, and it was believed enough by the villagers to see him hanged for it. He swore his innocence to the last, but then, would not any man seek to avoid a noose about his neck?’ Bradecote’s was the voice of reason.

  The abbot shook his head, and the undersheriff could not decide whether it was from wishing to cast the thought from him or rejection of the possibility of Thorgar’s guilt. He wondered at it, but Abbot Roger’s next words cast mere wondering aside.

  ‘As Brother Cuthbert will have told you, it is true that Thorgar came here the day before yesterday, in the morning. He came to Brother Cuthbert as the Master of Novices, who then brought him before me to discuss his dilemma.’

  ‘And what was his dilemma, Father?’ Bradecote managed to avoid sounding over eager, but it took an effort.

  ‘Thorgar was an earnest young man who felt the calling from God. He spoke of it most feelingly. He was a ploughman and I assumed he would come to us as a lay brother, and serve God through his labours in our fields and granges, and obedience alone, but he wished above all things to be a choir monk, reciting all the Offices in full each day with his brethren in the church. His own priest had begun to teach him Latin and Thorgar said he was amazed at how well he had been able to assimilate it. Thorgar recalled another priest, the one who had served his village when he was but a boy, speaking of a simple shepherd called Caedmon, in the early days of the Church in these isles, and he was God-given the gift of poetry and song. Thorgar did not think some miracle would enable him to be a second Caedmon, though he sought to take that name within these walls, but he had a true passion for what God called upon him to do. He said it was both a hard decision and easy, since how could he not obey Heaven itself, but he knew it would be hard for his family, since his father is dead, his younger brothers too young to take his place, and his mother crippled. He said it was that which had held him back until now, but that two things made him change his mind. The first was that he was being tempted by the flesh, and feared to sin with a particular maid of Ripple who was very much a Daughter of Eve – and persuasive.’ Abbot Roger frowned. It might have been at the sin of women, but then again perhaps it was trying to recall what sinful thoughts about women might be, and Brother Cuthbert tutted. ‘What finally made his decision for him was a Sign.’

  ‘And what was that, Father?’ Catchpoll’s brows furrowed far more than the cleric’s.

  ‘A silver chalice. That a matter of rejoicing should lead to this …’ The abbot sighed and steepled his fingers and closed his eyes, and Bradecote and Catchpoll exchanged glances, unsure whether he was praying or merely setting his thoughts in order. There was silence in the chamber, so complete that a house sparrow felt confident enough to land in the narrow opening of the window, where the shutter had been opened to let in the spring sunshine, and chirruped for some moments before fluttering away.

  ‘Tell us anything that you think of meaning, even if not what passed between you in that meeting, Father, but in some order, since we must understand and remember it all.’ Bradecote smiled, ruefully. ‘Our task, our duty, is to see that the killer of Father Edmund is brought to justice. Perhaps he has been already, but if Thorgar was innocent, then we have to discover whether he was made to seem guilty by the true guilty man, or whether it was mischance.’

  ‘And it makes a mighty difference to Thorgar’s family, for he lies in unconsecrated ground, being condemned as a murderer.’ Catchpoll added his mite.

  ‘Yes, that must be so.’ Abbot Roger shook his head at the thought. ‘From what I saw of him, Thorgar seemed a truly honest and devout young man in whom the Calling was almost overwhelming. He actually wept tears at my feet, and I said … but you need it in order. I am sorry.’ He half smiled. ‘You will be unaware of certain events and history which may have great bearing upon all that has happened. While Thorgar was ploughing, the day after Lady Day, and by chance his own strips, allotted but last year, his ploughshare turned up not just the good earth but a silver chalice and several secular silver items.’ The latter were said in a tone that indicated their lesser importance. ‘He said the ground had been ploughed many times, by him and his father before him as village ploughman, but it was only now that the chalice appeared. He had been tormented by the thought that if he brought a gift of a piglet, or sold one for coin at market, his family would suffer from the loss, but if he brought the chalice to us, they would not be disadvantaged, for it had not been expected.

  ‘He told nobody of the find except his priest, Father Edmund, to whom he gave it for safekeeping. It seems there was an old tale in the village about a priest hiding a newly given chalice when the heathen Danes came down the Severn at the time when the Lady Aethelflæd had the capital of Mercia in Gloucester. The good priest was drowned in an accident shortly after and none knew where he had buried the silver. The lord Bishop of Worcester had a new chalice made, one with a design of wavy lines as a remembrance of that priest and his loss in the river. It is the one used now. I think the story has become almost a fireside tale in Ripple, only half believed. Thorgar was convinced the chalice came to him not by chance but the Will of God, that he might bring it as his gift here upon entering the Order. He decided that when next there was no working in the fields he would bring it, even if he did not himself join us until at least he had sown the family’s strips and given them the oddments of coin. However, when he went to Father Edmund the morning it rained too hard to plough, Father Edmund, who had now learnt of the tale, told him that the chalice belonged to the lord Bishop of Worcester, and must be returned to him. He said that perhaps the lord Bishop would put Thorgar forward to St Mary’s Priory in Worcester, for finding it, but Thorgar was adamant that he had been called to serve in Tewkesbury.

  ‘Thorgar doubted the ownership of the chalice, though I myself told him that the priest was correct. That was when he wept at my feet. I told him not to be distressed, for it did not mean he had to go to the priory at Worcester, or mean his vocation was not real. I then suggested that if he brought one of the secular pieces of silver as his gift, we would be as delighted to take him. Had I said nothing was needed he would have felt accepted out of pity, but we would have taken him thus, for he showed such a need to be one of us.’ Abbot Roger paused. ‘I can say that, when he left me, he was no longer agitated, and indeed looking forward to entering this House. He said that he would apologise to Father Edmund for arguing over where the chalice should go and would bring some piece of silver here before Whitsuntide, by which time he felt he could leave his family. He was not a man planning murder, I assure you.’ The Benedictine frowned for a moment and then said, very deliberately. ‘If, in your judgement. Thorgar was innocent and wrongly hanged, we would still accept his earthly remains, and bury him within our precincts. We will pray for him, guilty or innocent, for if the former he needs our prayers so much the more.’