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

not giving him living children, and his second for giving too many. There was a long silence before Catchpoll spoke, filling the emptiness.

‘I can see as how you might refuse the bond, my lord, but not how it would lead to such as we saw when you arrived. Nigh on a blood feud, that was, from the manner of the lord Baldwin.’

‘He is like his sire,’ sneered Parler. ‘He thinks roaring and stamping impress. You want to know why we were at each other’s throats? Well, Osbern discovered the union I had planned, and went and told the man Baldwin had been before him with my daughter. Sullied her name enough that it came to naught. I could have had an alliance with a lord who holds manors in six shires but for that. In the end I married her off to a lesser lord down below Oxford. It is fair enough, but not what I wanted. So I paid him back.’

‘How?’ Bradecote had power of speech again.

‘Well, his first wife died. Fell when riding, as I recall. I just made it clear, in front of many, that she died in an accident and he was with her, alone. He went white of cheek when he heard that.’ Parler smiled, but it turned to a grimace. ‘Then bad luck would have it that we were in the line alongside each other in the battle. I had to watch my back. As it was, he ought to have stood firm but stepped back when we clashed with the Empress Maud’s men, just enough to leave me open on the blind side. I tried to parry a blow but lost these.’ He held up his left hand, missing the fourth and fifth finger. ‘I heard Osbern laugh. He laughed, I tell you.’ Parler ground his teeth.

‘And did you have any reason for thinking the death of the wife was not an accident?’ Catchpoll made the question almost casual.

‘That? Why should I? It was the only way I could pay him back in words, and it worked better than I expected. He was not made as welcome by several important men.’

‘Did Baldwin de Lench fight also that day?’ Bradecote asked the question, which had not occurred to him before. Baldwin was certainly of man’s years and ought to have been at his father’s side.

‘No. He had broken a bone, as Osbern gave it out, a bone in the forearm. His sword arm was useless.’

‘And you and Osbern de Lench never came nigh unto each other after the battle?’

‘No. He turned, offered his sword to the Empress, when he thought the crown hers. Much good it did him. We did service once, afterwards, at the same time, but we neither spoke nor ate near each other. The lord Sheriff decided we would not be called upon the same duties. He sent a servant, Osbern did, with his threat that if ever I was found upon his land, I would not leave it living. I returned the compliment. It meant that we both had longer rides, he to Worcester and me to Evesham, but it matters not.’

‘Why did Osbern want the match with your daughter at all?’ Something did not sound quite right to Bradecote, hidden in the detail.

‘That is easy enough. That fat toad Pipard, as holds the half of Bishampton, the half, mind you, had married off his son too well. With his new relatives at his back he might have caused both of us trouble. Untrustworthy he is and no mistake.’

The description of Pipard did not match the undersheriff’s first estimation of the man, but the reason was sound enough in dangerous times when petty rivalries hid beneath greater ones. Perhaps, just perhaps, Osbern would have thought it safer to be on better terms with Raoul Parler than find him even going to support Pipard and his powerful ally. It did make sense, and Bradecote was aware his bias against Parler’s character was not based upon any lawbreaking.

‘Very well, my lord Parler, you have given your account. Should there be any other reason to speak with you, I, or my serjeant, will come and have words.’ Saying that he might delegate to Serjeant Catchpoll was a nice insult, and he saw Parler’s eyes narrow for a moment. ‘You may go.’ Adding a dismissal doubled it. Raoul Parler glared at Bradecote, then turned away and walked out in silence.

‘Now I had not thought to see you find a man you disliked more than Baldwin de Lench on this trail, but so it is, my lord.’ Catchpoll rarely saw his superior more than tetchy, and lords were often that, as if it proved their lordliness.

‘And neither looks likely to be more than just a bastard. You saw the wife, Catchpoll, and you heard him.’

‘Aye, but it seems he cannot have taken a knife to Osbern de Lench.’

‘No, but … Walkelin, since you have enjoyed galloping about the shire today, you can ride again. I want you to go to Worcester and speak with the coppersmith’s widow he uses. Find out exactly what happened and when. It might be possible to have ridden south and killed Osbern and then gone back on himself and to Worcester.’

‘But why, my lord?’

‘Because I say so,’ declared Bradecote, sharply, venting the bubble of wrath inside him.

‘No, no, my lord. I meant not that, but why would the lord Raoul suddenly think “I shall kill Osbern de Lench today” when he was called to Worcester.’

Bradecote ran his long fingers through his hair. What Walkelin said made good sense, and he was thinking in anger. He sighed.

‘You are right, Walkelin. There is no good can come of sending you to Worcester. Like Walter Pipard, Parler is glad Osbern de Lench is dead, but did not kill him, for there was no reason at this time and old hatred was just that – old. So we have to look here, and here alone, and as the chance of it being a field-working