The Lord Bishop's Clerk (13 page)

‘Let us consider what we have managed to discover from the lady Courtney, rather than what she has learned from us. What have we got?’

‘Several things, my lord. Firstly, we can discount her as our murderer, as if she was ever a realistic possibility.’ Catchpoll did not look the least cheered.

‘She had good reason to want him dead.’

‘That’s as maybe, but she’s aelfshot, that one, mad as they come. Besides, she hasn’t the strength to kill a man and move his body.’

Bradecote nodded absently. ‘I know. But Ulf has, and with ease.’

‘Oh aye, but you’ll get nothing from him. He hasn’t any brains to speak of, nor any tongue to speak with. If he had committed the murder there would have been blood still upon him, sure as night follows day. If he killed to protect his lady, or if he did so at her command, he would have no more idea of concealing the fact than a hound, and when we arrived she was having one of those mad laughing-crying fits of hers. It was not put on for our benefit, and in such a state she would not have been thinking.’

‘Aelfshot, perhaps, Catchpoll. Yet some of her information was worth having.’

‘If she can be relied on,’ scoffed Catchpoll, derisively.

‘Oh, I think she can for simple fact of place and time. We now know where the dithering sister was during supper, and we know that her senior was absent. I wonder where?’

‘That should be simple enough … the murmurer in St Eadburga’s chapel, the one that the master of masons heard.’ Catchpoll brightened at last.

‘Probably, but if she was there so long, why has she not come to us with the tale? Surely she heard something.’

Catchpoll wrinkled his nose, meditatively. ‘The murder might have taken place after she left, so it would not occur to her to come forward? She was certainly on her way towards the church when Master Elias made his announcement.’

‘You said the murderer need not be a man, earlier, but surely while the act might as easily have been that of a woman, none here are burly enough to have dragged the dead weight.’

‘Burly, no, my lord. But Eudo was not a heavy man. The senior Sister of Romsey is no sparrow, but a fine figure of a woman, and about strong enough, I would say.’

‘But to place the body in such a position would be … sacrilege.’

‘Well, since whoever did so had just committed the sin of murder I do not think adding sacrilege to their list would worry the killer.’

‘Which ought to discount the religious even more than the laity. How could any of them contemplate killing?’

Catchpoll laughed, and shook his head. ‘Never you think that the cowl or wimple makes a saint. They are all of ’em as human as us, and prey to the same thoughts of fear and vengeance and greed, just they try and pretend to themselves they do not. I grant you that if it was one of them, their motive would be strong and deep, not a sudden moment of anger, but they could be our killer just the same.’

‘So it does not reduce our number of suspects.’ Bradecote sighed. ‘Right.’ He slapped his hands on the table and got up. ‘We ought to see the Sisters of Romsey next. I think we will speak with the nervous one first.’

He turned as the door was knocked, and Gyrth poked his head diffidently round it. Catchpoll made a low growling sound, like a dog with its hackles raised.

‘Wait until you’re called, Gyrth. Don’t knock like a battering ram and then peep round like a tirewoman.’

‘Sorry, Serjeant.’ Gyrth hung his head. ‘Should I go out and … No. Right, then. Well, I’m sorry to interrupt, my lord, but there’s something I think you should know. I have been in the stables, talking to the lay brothers from Romsey, like Serjeant Catchpoll told me.’ Gyrth paused, uncertain, for the sheriff’s new man had stiffened.

Hugh Bradecote looked sharply at the serjeant. He resented the fact that Catchpoll had not thought to tell him what he had set the men-at-arms to do. He also regretted having not thought of setting tasks for them himself. Gyrth looked at Bradecote and then Catchpoll, who nodded for him to continue.

‘The lay brothers don’t say much about the sisters, except the younger one is in awe of the older one, as you might expect. The sacrist has been at Romsey over twenty years. She is said to be competent and good at keeping her own counsel. She’s not known for emotion at all, and they had no knowledge of the dead man visiting Romsey, though they would not be likely to have seen him if he had.’ He spoke in a monotone, ending in a rush.

‘And?’ Bradecote could not see this as important, and resented the disruption of his train of thought.

‘Well, my lord, we were next to the stall where the brother’s mule was tethered. The murdered one. It is a good beast, but one of the lay brothers noticed it was very lame this morning. I took a look at it, since it was connected with the dead man, and the injury was never an accident in a stable, my lord. Someone has driven something real sharp into the frog of the animal’s off hind. I’ve seen such wounds from caltrops, but there is nothing sharp among the straw. I dare swear it was done with a hammer and nail, but whoever did it was either quick or strong, because the mule would have kicked out hard when the blow struck home. She’ll not be fit to ride for nigh on a week.’

‘So somebody was determined that the lord Bishop of Winchester’s envoy did not reach his destination in good time,’ Bradecote mused. ‘Thank you, Gyrth. You were right to bring this to my attention. I want you to speak with the servants of those in the guest hall and find out what background information you can.’ That, he thought, should show who was in control.

Catchpoll coughed in a meaningful way. ‘I took the liberty of talking with Messire FitzHugh’s men this morning, my lord, when we broke our bread. Not the best of servants I would have said. Far too ready to talk about their master.’

‘And was what they had to say of use to us?’ Bradecote tried not to sound peevish, but failed. Catchpoll was already ahead of him.

‘Not really. Had there been anything of importance I would have told you immediately, my lord.’

Bradecote raised a sceptical eyebrow at this, but Catchpoll continued, unabashed. ‘The young man, Messire FitzHugh, seems to be a hot-headed youth given to acting without thinking of the consequences. It seems he has fallen foul of Robert de Beaumont’s temper and has taken the excuse of visiting his ailing father to let his lord’s displeasure fade. There is no indication, however, that he had ever set eyes on Eudo the Clerk before he saw him here, and whoever committed the murder did not do so without strong reason.’

‘And what,’ said Bradecote carefully, ‘if the noble earl had set his squire to remove a dangerous tale bearer? Eudo made many journeys and must have had his eyes ever open, and his poisonous tongue ready to wag.’

Catchpoll gave the matter genuine consideration, his face working as Bradecote watched. It was not a thought that had occurred to the older man.

‘If that were the case, FitzHugh must have had very accurate knowledge as to where and when he could find his quarry, or else he was mighty fortunate. It might be possible, my lord, but I would not say it was at all likely. And,’ he added as a clincher, ‘the Earl of Leicester is known as a clever man, and a clever man would not send a shaveling to do a man’s job. I doubt the youth has ever killed anything bigger than a coney, though he would claim that was a boar.’ Catchpoll snorted derisively. Messire FitzHugh did not impress him.

‘No,’ agreed Bradecote, ‘I put it forward only as a possibility, not a probability. Yet until we have something better, we must bear it in mind. I wonder if it would be best to speak with the hot-headed squire now? No. We will continue as planned. Fetch the timid sister, and let us see if she can bring forth any gems of information.’

Catchpoll sniffed derisively. ‘Likelier I’ll see the Avon run dry first.’

Sister Ursula was not as useless as the sheriff’s officers had feared. True, she entered the room as if it were the den of some dangerous wild animal, and shrank in the chair placed for her, eyes downcast and hands visibly gripped together beneath the cover of her scapular. Her answers, though delivered in a high, almost musical voice, were quite clear. It was as if she were surprised at her own temerity in answering. She evidently had nothing to hide, and there were no considered hesitations in her speech.

‘We are seeking to piece together the events of yesterday evening, Sister …’ Bradecote left the question of her name hanging.

‘Sister Ursula, my lord.’ She looked him briefly in the eye and then lowered her gaze, lest it be thought immodest.

‘Sister Ursula, we would like to know what everyone was doing yesterday evening between Vespers and Compline so that we can get a full picture of what happened here.’ Bradecote’s tone was authoritative but calm, and designed to set her at ease. ‘Can you tell us where you were?’

The young nun nodded, relief clear upon her face. She almost smiled, and raised her face again, confident. It was a simple question to answer, and not going to be the complicated interrogation she had feared.

‘I was at supper at Father Abbot’s table.’

‘Not all the time, though.’ Bradecote gave the ghost of a smile himself, and the youthful Benedictine dropped her gaze quickly again, her cheeks tinged pink.

‘Oh, no. I came from Vespers with Sister Edeva, but I am afraid she was not well. She complained of a fearful headache and could not face supper with Father Abbot. I offered to visit the herbalist for her but she was very stoic. Then I went to eat, and at the end of the meal I returned to our chamber in the guest hall, and finished darning a tear in my travelling cloak.’

‘So Sister Edeva did not accompany you to supper?’ Bradecote already knew the answer but posed the question nevertheless.

‘No. As I said, she had the headache and did not want food. It was a pity because there was a delicious partridge pudding.’ Sister Ursula put her hand to her mouth. ‘I should not be interested in such things. It is a weakness.’

‘We will not inform upon you, Sister.’ This time the acting under-sheriff could not hold back a grin. ‘But where did Sister Edeva go when you enjoyed this pudding?’

‘She went to St Eadburga’s chapel to pray in peace, and then met me in the guest hall a short time before the bell for Compline. I think she was just a little better then.’

Serjeant Catchpoll spoke, without glancing at Bradecote. ‘Did you actually see the sister go into the chapel?’

The nun flinched, for Catchpoll’s voice, which he tried to make as smooth and calm as his superior’s, sounded sinister in the extreme.

‘No. No, of course not, because I did not follow her into the church. But I saw her enter the cloister and that was where she said she was going, so that is where she went.’ A note of irritation entered the soft voice, like a child who cannot make an adult believe what it is saying. ‘Sister Edeva would not tell me a lie.’

Bradecote tried a change of tack, to prevent the younger Benedictine from withdrawing and becoming defensive. ‘Very well, then. Sister Edeva was at prayer. Who sat at table with you?’

‘Well, there was Father Abbot, of course, and the lord de Grismont beside him. The sad lady, my lady Courtney, sat next to me, and then there were the widows; the one from Winchester and the beautiful one. The weaver’s widow seemed very confident in company, though it did not appear seemly to me that she should take such an active part in conversation. The young man, Messire FitzHugh, was clearly not in good humour, and scowled a great deal. He arrived late to the meal, all in a rush, just before Grace was said. He had not even made himself presentable,’ she flushed, ‘for his boots were dusty and his nails dirty, and there was a straw stalk tucked in his jerkin.’ She paused. ‘I could not help but notice, because he was seated opposite to me, and … But the only woman not present was lady d’Achelie’s maidservant and surely in so short a time …’ her voice trailed away. She flushed, quite red this time, conscious of having admitted that she had studied a member of the opposite sex, which equated in her own mind with wickedness, and wondered if he had been engaged in carnal activities. She took a deep breath and continued. ‘That was everyone.’

Hugh Bradecote repressed the urge to smile at her, and thereby discompose her further. It was, he thought, cheering to find that the confines of the cloister could not entirely repress the natural instincts of a young woman who could barely have left her teens. ‘Did you depart alone?’ he asked, gently.

‘Oh no, the lady Courtney left the table as I did. She did not say much to me, but then I think she understood we should not engage in frivolous chatter. She is a very prayerful lady. We parted in the courtyard before the guest hall. She just said that she wanted to go back to the church alone, before Compline, but she did not wait there for the Compline bell, for Sister Edeva and I saw her walking in the cloister as we answered its call.’

Bradecote thanked the young woman gravely. ‘Thank you, Sister. You have been of great help.’

The little nun looked relieved and rose to leave. Catchpoll held open the door of the chamber for her, but just as she was going Bradecote asked one further question.

‘By the way, Sister, the dead man came from the minster at Winchester, not so far from Romsey. Had you ever seen him before?’

‘No. He had not visited Romsey to my knowledge. But then, I would have had no occasion to meet him, even if he had. I hold no office. Sister Edeva would be the better person to ask.’ She frowned for a moment, a memory wakening in her brain. ‘It is possible that they had met before. When we first met the brother after our interview with the abbot, I thought Sister Edeva stiffened a little, but it might as easily have been my imaginings. You should ask her.’ She smiled sweetly, knowing her ordeal to be at an end. ‘If that is all, my lord …’

Bradecote nodded. ‘Indeed, Sister. Thank you.’

Catchpoll saw her out and returned, closing the door behind him. Bradecote raised his eyebrows interrogatively, but said nothing.

‘Well, she’s another off our list, if ever she was on it, my lord. Had nothing to hide and tried no tricks. Mind you, she’s given us more than we could have expected.’