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

was neither shy nor overawed. He felt a certain importance, knowing something that powerful people wanted to know themselves, and it overcame any natural diffidence before such an august personage as the undersheriff of the shire.

‘You are sure that it was him you saw?’ Bradecote asked, without sounding as though a wavering would bring down curses upon his youthful head.

‘Sure as I sees you, my lord. Couldn’t see his face, o’ course, but it was him as sure as the sun rises in the east. I saw the grey mare, pale on the hilltop, and the whole shape of him was right, from head to toe. I would swear oath to it, my lord, that it was the lord Osbern.’

Since the boy was being perfectly open, Bradecote questioned him further, upon who was present in the field.

‘You seem a lad who takes notice of things.’ A little flattery would do no harm.

‘Whole village was there, and the lord Baldwin came to oversee things. Our lady was not, o’ course. Fine thing it would be if she had to labour in the field. Oh, and the lord Osbern’s groom came back later, after the lord Osbern went riding.’

‘Was the groom expecting him to ride back to the field on his return then?’

‘No.’ The boy frowned. ‘I doubt that. But he had no need to worry, cos Fulk the Steward was there to see to the horse afterwards.’

‘Fulk the Steward was not with the harvesters?’

‘He was, but not all the while, my lord. He went back to the village late in the morning, but I would not know why. Mayhap it was something about the loads already in the barn?’

With this nugget, Bradecote was content to let the boy return to the threshing. He looked at Catchpoll.

‘Well, that gives us something new, and of interest. You would have thought Baldwin de Lench would have said something, but for the fact he sees only what he has decided he will see.’

‘Best if we speak with the groom afore we corners the steward, my lord. If he was dismissed to the field it must have been by Fulk, and he might have had good reason to be away from the work.’ Catchpoll did not make this sound very likely.

Kenelm the Groom was, however, far less willing to talk than the boy, thinking several steps ahead and fearful of what retribution might descend upon him. He said he had seen nothing, which made Catchpoll smile. That smile alone had opened mouths more oyster-shut than Kenelm’s. He stepped forward and stood next to his superior.

‘You see, that is where you goes and makes my lord Undersheriff upset. He doesn’t look upset, I grant that, but he is. And if he is, then so am I, and you won’t like that.’

Kenelm shook his head without even thinking, and Catchpoll continued, while Bradecote stood, arms folded, and looked what he hoped would be ‘upset but not showing it’.

‘You says you saw nothing, but you are the lord’s groom. You have got to be the last person as saw him alive, except for his killer.’

‘I never killed him,’ gasped Kenelm, paling.

‘Of course you didn’t, but you can tell us everything that happened when the lord Osbern called for you.’ The serjeant sounded very reasonable, even soothing, which was peculiarly unnerving, and with even the merest hint of suspicion hanging over him, Kenelm nearly fell over his words trying to get them out.

‘He was in a foul mood, but that was none so rare, not with him,’ he confided. ‘He had been shouting at his lady, but that too was just as always. I thought, though, that the day was a bad one,’ the small man frowned, ‘a day of ill-fortune.’

‘So he went off on his horse, and you waited for him to come back and swear at you.’ Catchpoll knew this was wrong but wanted to get a full account.

‘Oh no. Fulk came round from behind the barn, where the middens are, and asked if there was reason for the lord Osbern being so angry. Then he said as I could go back to the Great Field and he would see to the grey on its return.’

‘Did he often offer to do that?’ interjected Bradecote, sharply enough for Kenelm to flinch.

‘Sometimes, when the whole village is busy and the labour long. I think he must like a little idleness and taking the weight off his feet to show he is a bit above the rest of us.’

‘You would think he would be more keen to oversee the work and show his presence,’ mused Bradecote. ‘How did the lord Osbern take that?’

‘Doubt he ever knew, my lord. It is … was nearly always when he went up the hill, which is why I was given leave to go back to other work.’

Undersheriff and serjeant exchanged a glance so fleeting that Kenelm did not notice it in the least.

‘So you went back to the harvesting. Did you too see the lord Osbern up on the hill?’ Catchpoll ensured the man thought any positive answer was just corroborating a fact already learnt.

‘Aye, I did. He always just sat there, looking. Then he would ride back, nice and easy, on a loose rein, and in better humour too, mostly.’

‘You’ve good sight then, for I am sure I could not make out one man from another up there.’ Catchpoll sounded regretful about his own eyes rather than doubting.

‘You don’t need the eyes of a hawk to spot the lord Osbern. The grey mare is always pale, and even in summer the lord Osbern rarely left off his short cloak and his hat.’

‘Would you have expected him to come to see the harvesting, when he returned?’ Something was niggling Hugh Bradecote, but he was not sure what it was.

‘I suppose so, but I was working hard after and did not think. The lord Baldwin was with us, so I may have just thought he had been sent instead.’

‘Been sent? He arrived after you were back