Blood Runs Thicker by Sarah Hawkswood (best electronic book reader txt) 📗

he had found it, and so the man offered him a penny ha’penny for it, thinking a hat was less use to him than food. He handed it over and went on his way.’

‘Which way?’ growled Catchpoll, and the growl deepened when de Lench said he had not asked.

‘He can only have come from the south or east, since he was going through Lench and heading to Flavel,’ noted Walkelin, reasonably, ‘so chances are the beggar is heading in one of the two directions.’

‘And there would be alms at the abbey at Evesham. Walkelin, you are to ride there first thing to ask of the Guest Master and Almoner if any beggar arrived this night,’ ordered Bradecote. ‘If he is there, find out how and when he came by the hat, and any other belongings.’

Walkelin looked pessimistic. ‘You think I will get there before noon, my lord, on the beast I ride?’

‘True. Take the horse the lord Sheriff sent back here. It is his animal, and we can have the groom come back with us on it to Worcester and collect the lord de Lench’s own beast then. Serjeant Catchpoll and I will speak to the Flavel man if he wakes, and,’ he was about to say exactly what they would do, but thought better of it, ‘look into other things.’ He heard Catchpoll’s exhalation of relief. ‘But now, and if this man can be lifted to a palliasse on the floor, I hope to eat. I am hungry.’

Chapter Seven

Hugh Bradecote did not know if it was down to his prayers or the good work of Winflaed the Healer, but the injured man was not cold and lifeless when dawn came, though he showed no sign of waking. His breathing seemed stronger, however, and the girl who had assisted the healer was set to watch him and report any sign of his regaining consciousness to the lord undersheriff. She clearly felt the importance of her task and watched the sleeping form with determination writ large upon her face. If he as much as moved a muscle, she would see it. Bradecote felt a little jaded, having not slept well and woken with a crick in his neck. He rubbed the back of his neck and winced, for the third time. Catchpoll grunted.

‘If you wants sympathy go elsewhere. I’m getting too old for sleeping on floors, and it takes me an age to get up off ’em.’ He sounded grumpy, and hunched his shoulders as they went out into a morning that had a freshness in the air after the storm which had lasted several hours into the night. The ground was damp, the earth darker, and within the bailey a scattering of straw from the cartloads coming into the barn had a randomness as though it had fallen from the skies as pale golden rods.

‘Now the harvest is in, they will bury the lord Osbern, which is good and proper, but makes it easier for them to put it behind them and forget things, sort of intentional. Life is for the living so …’ Catchpoll shrugged expressively, and Bradecote wished that today he could do the same without grimacing in pain.

‘But Baldwin will not forget. In fact, the more he thinks on it, the more he will need to find someone to wreak his revenge upon. I doubt yesterday assuaged that,’

‘Which leads me to the beggar, my lord.’ Catchpoll pulled a thoughtful face. ‘It would be good to find him, and I wishes Walkelin good hunting in Evesham. A beggar would not take a hat and leave other good clothing, since the hat is least useful in summer, leastways the sort of hat a lord might wear. So we has to think that he is wearing the rest or the hat was all that he found. If so, then why was it on its own? Was it tossed into a bush, and where are the other things?’

‘Very true. Unless it was the thing that was distinctive, and they, one or several, decided it was too great a danger to keep. What happened thereafter sort of proves that as true.’

‘Now that is a good thought, my lord. Should have thought of that myself.’

Walkelin emerged in the wake of Fulk the Steward, yawned, and came to his superiors.

‘The lordling was less trouble now the smell of chickens is not as strong, and he is afraid of thunder, but nothing else to report, my lord. I am ready to ride to Evesham.’ He looked quite eager.

‘The excitement of riding a horse that won’t wear you out kicking it, young Walkelin?’ Catchpoll’s mouth lengthened in a smile.

‘Yes, Serjeant. I don’t think the animal I usually get is a horse at all, just a cow in disguise.’

‘Well, remember you are about the lord Sheriff’s business, not riding for pleasure, and bring us good news if you wants a warm welcome back. Off you go.’

‘Yes, Serjeant.’ Walkelin could not help grinning as he disappeared into the stable.

‘The simple pleasures of youth, eh, Catchpoll?’ Bradecote gave a wry smile, and his eyebrows rose, creasing his forehead.

‘One of ’em, my lord. In his case the other is that wench Eluned, who is assuredly now a maid by her work but otherwise a maid no more. The castle knows all about it, but I wonders if his mother does. I am not sure whether she’ll tan his arse with her broom or welcome the girl to her bosom as a daughter.’ The smile in his eyes faded, and he said, more solemnly, ‘Do we go and look at the body one last time, my lord? If there is none else by.’

‘Will it profit us anything?’ Bradecote wondered how it had fared over two days, even in the cool of the church, for the weather had been so close before the storm broke.

‘Couldn’t say, but we cannot be about asking questions of the villagers while they are rising, or as they files into the church and pays their respects, however