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

‘Since Candlemas I would say. Been here four times on his own, and never stayed more ’n two days. In truth I had not expected him back this time but he said he wanted to know the number of sheaves to report to his sire.’

‘Do you know where he went?’

‘No, serjeant, not know, but from the slightly better mood when he did return, my guess would be a woman.’

‘And what do you say, Will? Young men like to boast to any who will attend.’ Catchpoll looked at the young man, who still had some growing yet to do, and must be about seventeen or eighteen. It was an age when women figured a lot in the mind. Will blushed a little, so he was not as experienced as he might wish to be thought.

‘He … he has a love in Evesham.’

‘A love, boy?’ Guthlac snorted. ‘You mean he keeps a whore for his pleasure.’

‘No, Father. He said it. He said she was his love and one day I would make my obeisance to her as his lady.’

Catchpoll kept his face expressionless. No wonder Baldwin liked the idea of the son rather than the father as steward. Here was a young man who would not just obey but be the faithful hound to the master. Baldwin would confuse that with respect.

‘But you say this time he returned unhappy?’ Catchpoll pressed on.

‘A mixture of angry and thoughtful. Ha, never did I think to use that word for him. He got very drunk the night he came back, slept long and was sick as a dog all next morn. When that passed he was … unpleasant.’ Guthlac pulled a face.

‘In what way, specially?’

‘Said as I was too old and when he was lord he would hand all to Will, here. Didn’t seem that urgent, o’ course, but … I took up stewardship when my father died, as he had his. I never did aught but right by this manor and …’ Guthlac shook his head, ‘I was fair upset, I grant you.’

‘But no need to get Mother off her sickbed.’ Will scowled at his father.

‘Nor did I. It was her as was determined, and short o’ tying her down I was not goin’ to stop the woman.’

‘She went to speak with the messire? What did she say?’

‘That I know not, for she said as it was her and her alone would say what was to be said, for she would not be about long enough for him to make life hard, and how much harder could it be? All I know is he went off next day early, and silent.’ The steward covered his face with his hands and spoke between his fingers in a whisper. ‘My poor wife. She has been a good one, and a loyal one.’

‘Master Steward, you will not like it, but I have to speak with your wife, however ailing, if she is still in senses.’

‘She is too weak, and—’

‘I am sorry, but it must be. Who killed the lord Osbern must be known, and whoever it was killed again: the village healing woman. There’s deaths, and there is the Law.’ Catchpoll rose, and the steward did also, as if to stop him, and then sat back down again.

‘The priest is with her. He is there much of the day, in case …’

Catchpoll nodded and walked out.

Catchpoll had seen plenty of deaths, and plenty of dead. In the steward’s home there was no doubt that the woman was dying and not far from the end. The priest was knelt at her side, holding her hand, speaking softly of the joys of Heaven to come for those that passed into its glories. The breathing was laboured but still regular, though her eyes were closed. The priest looked up, his eyes questioning.

‘Father, I am Serjeant Catchpoll, the lord Sheriff of Worcestershire’s man, and it is very important that I speak with Mistress Steward, if she can understand me. I would not do this without great cause.’

‘Speak, but if she has strength to answer I do not know.’

‘I understand, Father. I would have it just her and me, for all that your lips will not breathe of what is said.’

Catchpoll knelt at the other side of the pallid figure and squeezed her hand with his rough one. The priest got up from his knees and went out into the light, and life, and breathed it deeply for a few minutes.

‘Mistress, I am Catchpoll, the lord Sheriff of Worcestershire’s serjeant. I come because the lord Osbern de Lench is dead, by violence, these few days past. Squeeze my hand if you understand me.’ There came a faint gripping of his hand. ‘Good. Now, the killing took place right about the time messire Baldwin returned to Lench. He came from here, and you had hot words with him. Next morning he left, not a happy man. I have to ask what passed between you, mistress.’

It should not have been possible for one so pale to become more so, and yet he thought the cheeks lost even the vestige of colour remaining. The dying woman took a breath, which would normally have been a deep one, but was but a sipping of the air. Her words came in gasps.

‘What he did … my Guthlac is a good steward. He was so … proud … so I told him … how would he like his brother … as steward?’

‘Your Will?’ She squeezed his hand in affirmation.

‘Guthlac knew … from the first. The lord Osbern … no choice … some stayed … I could not face shame … he sent me here, told Guthlac … who had lost a wife, to wed me … and blessed I’ve been.’ The woman paused, trying to get her breath enough to continue.

‘Take it steadily, mistress. No need for haste now.’

‘Yes, for there is … little time. I told him … about Will … and he laughed. Said a bastard