‘Thank you, Father. I think that might be a comfort, to his mother especially.’ Bradecote was taken slightly aback at the offer. If Abbot Roger clearly felt that the man he had interviewed but two days previously was not a killer, that carried weight. ‘What you have said, and your reading of Thorgar’s character, means much, sufficient for us to look even deeper into the killing of Father Edmund. What we are seeking now is why the priest was murdered and, if Thorgar merely discovered the crime, why the rest of Ripple was able to believe that a man, of whom nothing bad has yet been said, should be strung up for that murder.’

  ‘Perhaps Ripple is a village of sheep, not goats, and easily persuaded by an assertive minority. After all, Our Lord was greeted with hosannas upon Palm Sunday, and yet crucified within a week. Those who might have saved the Son of God chose Barabbas the criminal.’

  ‘Very true, Father. We must therefore look for goats with motives.’ Bradecote gave a small, twisted smile.

  ‘I pray that your investigations bring truth to light, and we will pray for that as for Thorgar, and of course for Father Edmund.’ There was the slightest hesitation before the priest’s name was added.

  ‘Is there anything you know of Father Edmund, Father Abbot?’ Bradecote was swift to pick up upon the pause.

  ‘Oh no, and he was an appointee of Bishop Simon, who is a discriminating man and would make a careful choice. However, he has not been in the parish very long, less than a year. Father Giraldus, who served with Father Ambrosius for many years, was much loved and missed. I think a man not fully settled in a village might more easily make a mistake that roused the sin of anger in a parishioner, that is all.’

  ‘Thank you. Every small thing aids us, Father. We will let you know what we finally discover, and if Thorgar’s wish may be granted, even after his death, he may yet come to you.’

  With which Bradecote’s smile lengthened, and Brother Cuthbert, taking this as his cue, ushered them out into the hazy sunshine.

  ‘There is one thing that Father Abbot did not tell you, my lord, for he does not know it. When Thorgar spoke of being tempted by a young woman, he said that he had not been totally innocent, and had responded to her advances – a little.’

  ‘You mean he kissed the girl. Since the lad had not taken vows there was nothing to be ashamed about.’ Catchpoll was pragmatic, and this was not news to them, though he gave no indication of it.

  ‘Ah yes.’ Brother Cuthbert blushed a little. ‘But what is important is that he turned from her, rejected her. I doubt that pleased her, or mayhap her kin? They might speak against the young man out of spite?’

  ‘True, Brother. That is worth the knowing.’ Catchpoll smiled his thanks, though a Catchpoll smile was not a thing of beauty. ‘We shall see what we shall see.’

  It was a thoughtful pair who returned to the ferryman and then retraced their steps to Ripple to find out whether Walkelin had returned with Father Ambrosius.

  Chapter Five

  Walkelin was not the worrying sort, but right now he was at least concerned. Having followed his youthful ferryman’s directions into Queenhill, he had knocked upon several doors to ask after Father Ambrosius, or at least a woman whose babe was coming. Most folk were out at their labours, but a woman, nearly bent double with age, had directed him to the home of Oswy the Shepherd.

  Oswy himself was not at home, but the eldest child, a girl of about ten, opened the door to Walkelin. She looked worn, worried and weary, and Walkelin wondered if she was in fact older than he had thought, and just small. He gave his name and office. A weak voice called from the bed, and the girl let him in. Oswy’s wife lived, but looked exhausted not just by a long and exhausting travail, but also by the cumulative effect of all those that went before, for Walkelin counted six under the age of tithing, if you included the swaddled infant in the crib. Oswy the Shepherd seemed to be breeding a flock of children to rival the number of lambs out at grass. Walkelin did not think the woman herself would be able to give him the answers he needed, and looked to the girl.

  ‘I come seeking Father Ambrosius and he is needed for a burial in Ripple.’ Walkelin thought he was being very clever, not spreading the news of the murder before he had to in the wider community. ‘I heard as he was come here to pray for your mother in her time of trial, but where is he now? Did someone else call for him and he moved on elsewhere?’

  ‘He were here until yesterday about noontide, Master Underserjeant. The babe arrived at last late the night afore, thanks to the good Father’s prayers, but Mother scarce even noticed the babe put to the breast, she were so weak. He prayed at the bedside till dawn, and then slept for an hour hisself. Father went to attend the sheep then, and Mother awoke a mite afore midday and took a little thin pottage, and Father Ambrosius and me took the babe and she were baptised in the church. He said then that all was secure in the hands of God and he would depart. I left him there and thought he went back to Ripple.’ The girl looked thoughtful. ‘He were tired, as was we all, but he looked to me as though there were somethin’ more than weariness to ’im, a sort of weight upon the shoulders. Such a kindly man is Father Ambrosius, always understandin’ and even makes the little ’uns laugh, but he looked – grim and sort of sad.’ The girl shook her head. ‘I hopes he feels better soon.’

  Walkelin thanked the girl, gave his good wishes for mother and infant, and returned to the river, where wisps of mist still lingered, drifting like ghosts seeking the lost within the river’s flow. He stared at the small boat resting near to where he had been landed. He ought to have asked the shepherd if he would row him across, but he could go and find a villager in the fields. Father Ambrosius must have done that too, if he crossed at all. Could Father Ambrosius have been called to another house, unexpectedly, as he was returning? Instead of going directly to the fields, Walkelin knocked first on every single door. There was no answer except from the old woman, who complained that she had told him once already, and that was an end to it. She slammed the door in his face. Walkelin sighed. He could see in the distance where the Queenhill villagers were labouring, so he went to ask both for a ferryman and if any had seen the priest since noontide the day before. He was met with shaking heads and denials as he went among them, until a child piped up that he had seen the priest.

  ‘Father Amb’sus were walkin’ by the river, with a little sack or bag over ’is shoulder. I thought ’e were goin’ back to Ripple.’

  ‘You are sure of the bag?’ Walkelin was puzzled.

  The child nodded.

  ‘And the sun was right up in the sky afore a big rain cloud came and covered it.’

  ‘And I will row you over, Underserjeant, if it be the lord Sheriff’s business.’ A broad-chested man eased his back as he made the offer.

  Walkelin thanked child and man both, and in company with the man began to retrace his steps back once more to the river, thinking, ordering his thoughts. If Father Ambrosius had gone from the church, it was more likely that whatever he was carrying had been there rather than hidden under a bush or up a tree. He asked the man to wait briefly at the boat for him, and made a swift detour to the church, which was a simple, austere stone building. There was an altar with a wooden cross upon it, and a small aumbry set into one wall, where the vessels for the Sacrament were kept, carefully covered with a cloth. It was otherwise bare. If the priest had left anything within and a parishioner had entered, would they not have seen it? Walkelin could not make any good sense of it all, and it was a pensive underserjeant who climbed into the rowing boat.

  The big man began to row with long, apparently easy strokes, but commented on the river being ‘right full and strong’. As they neared the eastern bank a vessel came into view coming downstream under sail. The man raised a hand in familiar greeting as it drew closer.

  ‘You gets to know the craft that plies up and down, by the look and the sail, though I only knows the name of steersmen whose boats have landed folk or goods. This is the lord King’s manor, held of the lord Bishop, and some years back, in the last year of King Henry, he had new slates brought upriver for the chapel roof. I doubts King Stephen has time to think about little manors like ours these days.’

  Walkelin agreed and considered whether Father Ambrosius had hailed a boat on the river trade and gone up- or downriver. The main thing was that he was gone, and there were too many options as to where.

  Bradecote and Catchpoll found Walkelin at the priests’ house, which they expected, but had not thought he would be alone.

  ‘I am sorry, my lord. I can neither work out why Father Ambrosius did not return here, which way he went, or what it was he took with him.’ Walkelin looked a little dejected.

  ‘Well, it is possible that with the knowledge we bring from Tewkesbury we might at least make a guess about that last part.’ Bradecote was making connections even as he let Catchpoll recount to Walkelin what they had learnt. ‘If, and it is merely a possibility, Father Edmund thought that Thorgar would want to take the chalice, and was strong enough to do so by force, he might have given it to Father Ambrosius to keep out of temptation’s way across the Severn.’

  ‘Or else, my lord, since it does not seem that the two priests was on close terms, Father Ambrosius might have taken the chalice without Father Edmund knowing of it.’ Catchpoll saw an alternative scenario.

  ‘From what was said to me, my lord, Father Edmund was very eager to show folk how much they failed, and I suppose how righteous he was …’ Walkelin offered.

  ‘Which was also a cover for the evil he was doin’,’ growled Catchpoll.

  ‘Yes, Serjeant. What I means is, if he possessed the chalice and said it belonged to the lord Bishop, would he not want to hand it back hisself, and be praised for the deed? Bringin’ hisself to his bishop’s notice for a good thing would make it less likely that bad things would be quickly believed.’

  ‘That follows, Walkelin.’ Bradecote was approving. ‘And if Father Ambrosius were to take the chalice instead—’

  ‘Ha, that would rankle.’ Catchpoll smiled at the thought.

  ‘What if Father Ambrosius discovered what we have, about Father Edmund?’ Walkelin let his thoughts flow. ‘I was thinkin’ that whatever was in the bag was taken from the Queenhill church, and if you wants to hide anything in a church, well a chalice put beneath the cloth with the other vessels would not be noticed, but is there any chance that Father Ambrosius, spoken of as a strong rower, rowed back alone, killed Father Edmund and took the chalice in haste from the house? He was seen by the child “by” the river, so he may have brought it back over and—’

  ‘Why would the priest take the chalice to the other side afore hailin’ a passin’ boat?’ Catchpoll did not like the idea.

  ‘’Acos everyone knew he were that side of the river, and it meant there could be no connection to the death. Boats does not come like the Offices, the same time every day. Waitin’ this side would be a risk.’

  ‘I grant that what you say has a grain of sense to it, Walkelin, but surely the more likely thing is that Father Ambrosius has gone north, to be the one to return the chalice to Bishop Simon? We also have to wonder whether the other items, the secular ones, were also taken. Someone surely searched this house in a hurry for something, but it was not a seeking that had everything strewn about.’ Bradecote rubbed his forefinger along the side of his nose and then sighed. ‘Yesterday we arrived with a mystery of why anyone would kill a priest. Today we have two very different but very likely possibilities and now this, which just adds to the tangle. Not only is Father Ambrosius under at least some suspicion, but he may have useful information about Father Edmund. It is most likely that he will return in the next few days, but we would look very foolish if he simply disappears, and we are ferreting here pointlessly.’

  ‘Do you want me to go back to Worcester, my lord, and find Father Ambrosius?’ Walkelin did not sound eager, though part of him was wondering if that might give him a night at home with Eluned.

  ‘In so many ways no, Walkelin, because I think you will be the one to whom most will be revealed, but as long as you take Serjeant Catchpoll’s horse, not your own, you will be the swifter. I doubt Serjeant Catchpoll likes riding far at speed.’

  ‘That I does not, my lord. Jiggles me about and makes my knees ache the more.’

  ‘Then we make the best we can of this. Walkelin, ride straight away to Worcester and if the lord Bishop is not to be found there, go to the lord Sheriff, and have one of his clerks write a message to Bishop Simon requesting that if Father Ambrosius comes to him, he is to send him straight back to Ripple, and not on foot. If he does not come to him at all within three days, he is asked to inform the lord Sheriff of it. That way we show we are aware of the priest’s importance in this, and you can, at the worst, set off back here at dawn tomorrow and be with us again mid-forenoon.’

  Parts of this were to Walkelin’s taste, namely the idea that he might indeed remain overnight in Worcester, but less palatable was the thought of having to go before William de Beauchamp and request the services of one of his scribes and a messenger.

  ‘Very good, my lord. I will be off.’ He left, his face intent.

  ‘And I think we need to speak with Pryderi and his son. If we can be sure of the sharp weapon that killed Father Edmund rather than assuming, it will sit better with me.’

  ‘Aye, my lord. And we needs to speak with the lad about his aidin’ of the women with the body. Young eyes sometimes sees things others miss, and we wants to be very sure that the awl, or thing like an awl, was not picked up then, in innocence or in guilt. When that is cleared up, we has two things to discover that nobody will want to tell us; who feared for their daughters and who else knew about this find of treasure.’

  Bradecote sat down on one of the simple stools and leant forward, gazing at the cold hearth and dimly registering that someone had come in and removed the ash from the previous evening’s fire and laid a fresh one. He ran his long fingers through his hair and was silent, thinking. Catchpoll let him think, and took the opportunity to sit as well.

  ‘There are what, two dozen homes to Ripple? If we visit each one when they come back from their labours, asking each household if they saw anything unusual the day of the priest’s death, then we can see how many are those with young girls in the family,’ decided Bradecote, eventually. ‘That way we do not let them know that we know about the priest’s misdeeds, and we reduce the number of possible outraged fathers and brothers.’ He held up a hand as Catchpoll opened his mouth to speak. ‘Yes, Catchpoll, I know other kin might be the hand of retribution, but it is far less likely. How we ask about a find of silver without starting the whole village on a hunt for it and ignoring the deaths as past and done, I do not know.’

  ‘Not sure that is possible, my lord. I remembers goin’ up north of the shire, way back in my serjeanting-apprentice days. Three men died, and all from greed after one of ’em dug up some fine-worked piece of gold and gems that had once been part of a wealthy lord’s sword pommel. The man as found it was killed by his neighbour, who said it had been in the ground on his side of the garden border, and that man in turn was killed by his sister’s husband after he bragged about it over a beaker. The folk were shocked by the deaths but more interested in digging up their gardens. I doubts anything came of that ’cept a better crop of cabbages next season, but there. We took the brother-in-law and he was hanged, but though we knew why each killed the other, we never laid eyes on the treasure that began it all. The wife of the hanged man swore oath she had not got it and would not want it, for it was cursed. She said she cast the thing into the river, as far out as she could, and we believed ’er. She was right to do it, for if not cursed, then such things always bring out the worst in folk.’

  ‘Father Ambrosius might have come to the same view, Catchpoll, and decided that he would remove what would be a cause of sinning in his parish.’

  ‘True, my lord. Let us hope Walkelin is successful.’

  ‘Amen to that. Now, we will go and speak again with Pryderi, and come sunset will take half the village each and knock upon doors.’

  ‘My lord, in the time between, might we speak again with Thorgar’s mother? She will not be in the field, and we can both tell ’er of Father Abbot’s offer, and it might be there are things she would tell us about her son more easily without his sister and brothers about and kept back when we spoke yesterday.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  Pryderi was busy with chisel and mallet and singing what might almost have been a lullaby to the wood. His words meant nothing to the sheriff’s pair, since he sang in Welsh, but it was the singing of a man untroubled. He looked up as undersheriff and serjeant filled the open entrance to his temporary workshop, and his singing ceased.

  ‘Where’s your son, Pryderi?’ Catchpoll did not make the question sound ominous.

  ‘In the church. I set him to measuring for the next joint. Got good eyes, ’as Gwydion, especially in the dimmer light.’