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

when they might formulate some plan, should Fulk prove to be the man they sought. There was little else that he could do, however, without directly accusing Fulk of the sin of adultery and the betrayal of his lord, which was as bad in its own way. All they had was a suspicion, and one which both parties might refute with ease. The trio went out into the bailey, serjeant and undersheriff blinking in the brightness. There was nobody in view.

‘So, you think you have discovered things that will aid us, Walkelin?’ Bradecote could have smiled at the puppyish eagerness of the serjeanting apprentice, but it might be seen as patronising, so he schooled his features into mere interest.

‘I think so, my lord. I spoke with Alnoth the Handless, and—’

‘Who?’ Catchpoll frowned. ‘Best you take this steady lad, and give us all, not skip about. From the start, now. You ought to know better after all this time.’

‘Yes, Serjeant. Sorry, Serjeant.’ A slightly chastened Walkelin began again, telling them how he had gained the lord abbot’s permission to speak with his monks, and had found out that the beggar with new clothes was one Alnoth the Handless, and that the man was considered of good word.

‘Fair enough,’ conceded Catchpoll. ‘And what did this Alnoth tell you?’

‘More than I hoped, Serjeant, for he actually heard the hat and cloak being thrown into bushes at the wayside.’

‘Too much to hope he saw also?’

‘Alas, yes, but it was definitely a man.’

‘There now, and I had the healing woman as our likely killer,’ sighed Catchpoll, but his eyes danced.

‘Do not put him off, Serjeant.’ Bradecote’s rebuke was delivered with a wry smile, and Walkelin, after a breath, continued.

‘The thing is, the hat and cloak were found to the north of Lench, but then Alnoth discovered the other clothes near the point where the hill track and road to Evesham meet.’

‘Now that, young Walkelin, is very interesting.’ Catchpoll pulled a thinking face.

‘He came through Lench then,’ mused Bradecote, fastening upon that fact first. ‘He saw nothing of use?’

‘He skirted by the village, my lord, lest he meet the messire Hamo, who he said was very strange and had asked him odd questions in the past. So he left the road and rejoined a little ways up the hill. He saw a boot on the track, and found its mate cast into a bush, then the clothes. He then heard a horse coming down the hill and made his best pace away, lest he be accused of thieving.’

‘That cannot have been the killer upon the horse if the clothes were already found, so it was most likely the grey coming home to its stable. I know you speak to the dead and get good information, Catchpoll, but pity it is you do not speak horse also. That grey could solve all our problems.’ Bradecote’s mild jest covered him thinking, processing the information into time and order.

‘True enough, my lord, but since I do not, we plough on. Did the beggar give an hour, Walkelin?’

‘About the noontide, Serjeant. He met the man who was beaten upon the way next day and sold the hat for a penny ha’penny. He kept the cloak, boots, though they needed padding, a shirt and sleeveless tunic, but gave the shirt to Brother Almoner in the abbey, since its sleeves were far too long and the tunic ideal. I told him he might keep them, as I did the good brother, who used to know Lench well, he said, and was very upset to think of the killing and hoped the lord Osbern had died shriven. I did right, leaving them all?’ Walkelin looked to the undersheriff.

‘You did right, Walkelin. Osbern de Lench has no need of them, and I hardly think Baldwin would wish to wear his father’s garb, bloodstains and all. This means the killer was heading northwards and makes me wonder even more if that points to Raoul Parler.’

‘But why did he keep hat and cloak until after Lench and then discard them, my lord? He could not have been mistaken for the lord Osbern in them, not to the man’s own folk, and indeed might have had the hue and cry raised after him if any had been in the village and seen him.’ Catchpoll shook his head. ‘That makes no sense.’

‘Does it have to? Sometimes men do things that show no sense. He thought to keep them and then realised they linked him to the crime and so hid them.’ Bradecote shrugged, though he was not convinced by his own argument.

‘And if it was the lord Parler, why would he want a hat and cloak?’ Walkelin was a practical young man. ‘Though I already have a possible answer as to where he—’ What the red-haired serjeanting apprentice was going to say next was not voiced, for sounds of an altercation came from outside the bailey.

‘Sweet Jesu, has Baldwin de Lench found another man to harangue and assault?’ Bradecote strode towards the gateway, followed closely by his companions. Out among the scattering of dwellings a man with high cheekbones and an aquiline nose was sat upon a nervous chestnut, trying to look haughty whilst controlling his jittery horse and being threatened by Baldwin de Lench, who was waving his arms about.

‘What is going on?’ yelled Bradecote, over the sound of de Lench’s ire.

‘He dare come here, now my sire is dead, when he knows that he swore he would strike him dead if he as much as set foot upon our land.’ Baldwin was incensed. It was not that hard to work out which ‘he’ was which in the complaint.

‘I am here at the lord Undersheriff’s command, or else I would not sully my horse’s shoes with this earth,’ declared the rider, whom Bradecote realised must be Raoul Parler. He therefore addressed him by name and thanked him courteously enough for coming.

‘It was not, as I heard it, a request.’ The lord of Flavel still sounded aloof, even