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

disagreeing with the theological argument, Bradecote was yet again surprised by Hamo de Lench’s very literal attitude.

‘What did you do, de Lench?’ He thought asking the older brother would at least get an answer that he understood.

‘Nothing worth all this. I found his box of so-called treasure. He has always been so secretive about it I wondered if he held anything precious after all. In many ways I was wrong, for it was full of scraps with writing upon it, but there was one thing of great value, at least to me.’ He opened his palm and in it, the pin drawing drops of blood where he gripped it so tightly, was a copper badge, wrought with indented crosses and with a large amber boss in the middle. ‘Ask the worm where he got my father’s badge. Ask him, my lord Undersheriff.’ He ground his teeth.

Bradecote looked at the squirming young man in Catchpoll’s grasp, and his eyes rose for a moment to the serjeant’s. What he saw was a reflection of his own surprise.

‘It is a fair question, messire. How came you by your sire’s hat badge?’ The undersheriff at least sounded as though the revelation was not unexpected.

‘I did not. I have not seen it, not since last it was upon his hat.’

‘Which could have been the moment you took the life from him,’ remarked Bradecote, knowing the exactitude of Hamo’s speech.

‘I saw him last in the morning, when he was shouting at my mother. It was too loud and so I went hawking. I never saw his hat or badge again. It was not in my box.’

‘Yet that is where I found it. Did elves place it there?’ sneered Baldwin.

‘And where did you find the box, de Lench?’ Bradecote was still watching the youth.

‘Does it matter?’

‘Answer me.’

‘It was with the priest. Oh, I knew he kept it there, long ago, but …’ Baldwin hunched a shoulder. ‘It seemed unimportant then. But you see, unlike you, my lord Undersheriff, I have been wondering about this badge. A good thing too that I did.’

‘Tell me, messire, did you think your box secret from everyone?’ Bradecote was not prepared to see the finding as proof of guilt in an instant.

‘Father Matthias has always known, since I left it with him.’

‘That is understood. Any other?’

‘Not unless Father Matthias told, and why would he? He knew it was my private thing.’ Hamo could not see why anyone would be other than straightforward.

‘Walkelin, go and fetch the priest.’ There was more command than usual in Bradecote’s voice but Walkelin guessed aright that showing it was important in this hall.

‘At once, my lord,’ he responded, as one who would jump to his lord’s command in an instant. Walkelin caught Catchpoll’s eye for a brief moment, and saw approval. He bowed and went straight to the door, leaving a chamber silent but for Hamo’s still-heavy breathing and made oppressive by the atmosphere of anger and loathing. Hamo stared at Baldwin, who stared back. The lady, her hands clasped together, and pale of cheek, watched them both, and looked unsure as to whether she would cast herself between them, or simply swoon. Bradecote’s authority lay over everything, maintaining the peace that was not peaceful at all.

Walkelin returned with a slightly breathless Father Matthias in tow, the hem of his habit held up to reveal pale shins.

‘Here he is, my lord,’ declared Walkelin, seemingly eager to prove he had obeyed. A muscle twitched, very slightly, at the corner of Catchpoll’s mouth. Overdoing the obedient servant was young Walkelin, but his acting could not be faulted.

In response, the undersheriff, who would normally have indicated at least a nod of thanks, ignored Walkelin and spoke to the priest.

‘Father, the box belonging to the messire Hamo. Did anyone know where it lay other than yourself?’

‘It was not something I spoke of, my lord, and the only person who might know of it otherwise is Mother Winflaed, who not only provides me with good pottage but comes to change the rushes upon the floor when she says my home is less tidy than a swine pen.’ He smiled gently. ‘I am not a tidy person, and thank the Lord untidiness is not a mortal sin. But she is an honest and godly soul, and if she has seen the box she has never said anything, even to me. She keeps what she knows better than most women, though a little gossip has been known to pass her lips. Her girl has come in her place if she has been ailing, but she would only then set the pot and stir the pottage every so often.’

‘Thank you, Father.’ Bradecote turned his gaze back to Baldwin de Lench. ‘So, you entered Father Matthias’s dwelling and searched for the box. You knew what it looked like.’

‘How many boxes would the place have in it? A small box is none so common.’ Baldwin ignored the look of mild reproach from the parish priest. ‘Besides, I recall the fuss the boy made about having it just so when it was put together. Almost stood over the man in Evesham as he constructed it, but he had to have what he wanted. All he had to do was ask. If I asked for what I wanted I got a short answer.’

‘Well, I but wanted a box, not a tradesman’s daughter to wife.’ Hamo was still trembling with anger, but this was less a jibe than a stated fact.

‘Keep your tongue between your teeth, or I will remove the teeth,’ growled Baldwin, colouring, ‘and she is a lord’s widow.’

‘And still the daughter of a man who sold cloth. She may have been good enough for Robert FitzBernard, but not us, and his family were swift enough to send her back to her sire.’ Hamo was not going to be halted.

‘Us? Since when have you been one of us? You are scarce part of the world, let alone this family.’ Baldwin’s lip curled in disdain, but rather than fuelling