“The same man slew both?” de Bowlegh gasped.
“Nay. But the deaths are tied. This priest,” I nodded toward Kellet, “was in league to do evil with Henry atte Bridge. When he saw that I lived and might identify Henry as my attacker on the road to Witney, he put an arrow into Henry’s back to silence him.”
“Arrow?” the vicar frowned. “I thought ’twas a dagger struck down the fellow. You said as much.”
“’Twas my error. I found an arrowhead embedded in Henry’s back when I examined him more closely. ’Twas this priest who drew the bow.”
“Not so,” Kellet exploded. “He cannot prove so.”
This charge and the priest’s denial so startled de Bowlegh that he did not think to ask when the inspection took place which brought forth an arrowhead from Henry atte Bridge’s hairy back. The question seemed not to occur to him, for he never asked it of me. So I never told him. ’Tis not only sleeping dogs that are best left to lie.
“Henry atte Bridge and this parson wished me dead, for they feared what I might discover about the death of Alan the beadle.”
Thomas de Bowlegh wore yet a frown, but not because of an early departure from his bed, I think. He was puzzled.
“Alan followed Henry one night as the cotter made his way from the town to St Andrew’s Chapel. Perhaps Alan had followed him in this journey before. But on this night Henry lay in wait, smashed Alan’s head with a rock from the hedgerow, then tore the beadle’s neck with a nail-studded block so we who found Alan might think his death the work of a wolf. But Henry was greedy. He took the shoes from Alan’s corpse and ’twas the shoes which betrayed his deed to me.”
“And this is why he fell upon you on the road?”
“Aye.”
“But what has Father John to do with this?” de Bowlegh asked, nodding toward the priest.
“He and Henry were in league. I do not yet know why, nor how, but poaching had to do with it. Henry took venison to this priest. It must have been payment, but for what I do not yet know.”
“’Twas a gift,” Kellet muttered. “I thought ’twas…a goat…or a leg of mutton Henry brought.”
“And why would he do so?” de Bowlegh asked, disbelieving.
“We was friends…of old.”
“And he could not give this gift in the day, but must do so at night, and kill a man to keep the gift secret?” the vicar scoffed.
“Now Henry’s brother is in the same business,” I continued. I picked up the sack and dumped its contents before de Bowlegh.
“Venison,” he growled through pursed lips, “or I miss my guess. Surely no goat.”
John Kellet, guilty or not, would be taken from my hands and tried before a church court. Thomas Becket had died to maintain that immunity. Right or wrong, I was not sorry to be rid of the fellow.
“I leave the priest to you. John Prudhomme has taken Thomas atte Bridge to the castle. I intend to let him sit in the dungeon for a day or two. He will be more likely to give the truth after a taste of life in a cell. I will call if I learn of the bargain between him and this…priest.”
De Bowlegh and Kellet sat glaring at each other. I thought I knew which glare would prove most effective.
I was eager to know more of this affair which I had uncovered, but I was also thirsty, tired, hungry, and suffering a headache. I went straight to the castle kitchen for a loaf hot from the oven, not even pausing on the bridge over Shill Brook. I took a tankard of ale to my chamber and added a handful of ground willow bark and lettuce to the ale. This was effective, for I was asleep as soon as I went to my bed.
I left instructions to be awakened for dinner. I have had enough of cold meat and bread taken in my chamber. This must have caused some puzzlement, for none of the castle grooms or valets knew I had been up awake all night. They would know the truth of it soon enough.
The trestle tables and benches awakened me as they were dragged across the great hall floor. So when Uctred rapped upon my door I was already alert. But when I stood from my bed I nearly fell back to it again. I was so dizzy I could not stand, but sought my bench and collapsed upon it. Perhaps it was the blows I had taken, or the willow bark and lettuce, which caused my unsteady legs. I was required to sit for a moment until my head cleared and I was able to stand again. Uctred continued thumping against the door, his exasperation at receiving no reply causing him to beat the oaken planks more and more vigorously until I finally found wit to call out that I would soon appear.
I stood cautiously, ready to resume my seat if need be. But my head did not whirl this time. I was nevertheless careful as I opened my door and made my way to my place at the table.
The meal was hot and tasty, and I was hungry, so I remember it well. Even a whack across the head will not harm my appetite for long. The first remove was a pike and roasted capons, and a pottage of peas and bacon. For the second remove there was a game pie of rabbit with onions and apples, and mushroom tarts. For the subtlety a pudding with Spanish almonds, dates, raisins and currants.
I rose, sated, from the table and ordered that a trencher be taken to Thomas atte Bridge in his cell. An old, stale crust, stained with the grease of a capon, so Thomas would know, there in his cell, what others consumed for their dinner. Of course, most cotters by this time of year lived on pottage and perhaps an egg. Meat and any other good thing from last year’s slaughter and harvest was long since consumed, and the new harvest was a month and more away. If a villein or poor tenant could fill his belly with peas and barley pottage by St Swithin’s Day he would think himself fortunate. But there had been roasted meat in the Weald only a fortnight before. Perhaps a part of the haunch of venison in Thomas’ sack was yet in his hut, where, were he free, he might now be licking grease from his fingers rather than chewing a stale crust and considering what might have been.
I did not sleep well that night. Perhaps the long nap before dinner was responsible. Or perhaps the tender lumps on my head were the cause. They reminded me of their presence each time I turned upon my pillow. I never knew goose feathers could be so firm.
Chapter 17
The Bampton Castle dungeon is beneath the buttery. If wine is spilled on the planks above, the drippings might sweeten the place. But the west wall of the cell is the east wall of the castle cesspit. The stones of that foundation passed more of their contents, I think, than did the oaken boards of the buttery floor above. The stench was awful. Good. A man might be so eager to leave the place he might even tell the truth if it meant his release.
The door to the dungeon had no latch or lock. It was fixed on one side to the stones with three iron hinges pinned to the wall. To make the door secure it was held in place by two oaken beams which dropped into iron fixtures on either side of the door. These were also pinned to the stones. A small opening little larger than my fist permitted conversation through the door, and the passage of food and water.
Uctred accompanied me down the stone steps behind the kitchen. We each held a cresset, for although the new day dawned bright and golden, no windows or embrasures lit either the cell or the steps and passage leading to it. The stone walls of this corridor were cold and damp. Thomas, I decided, should be thankful he’d taken residence in this place in summer, rather than winter.
Thomas heard us approach. His face appeared at the opening in the door, expecting a crust for his breakfast, I think. He had a crust the day before, and would receive another after this day’s dinner. With such he must be content. I had little sympathy for a man who thought he had slain me and would have buried me, unknown and ungrieved, in unconsecrated ground outside St Andrew’s Chapel churchyard wall.
Uctred lifted the timbers which secured the door and swung it open on protesting hinges. Hinges always seem to squeal in protest when required to perform their appointed work. Like some men. Thomas atte Bridge glowered at me through the open door. I glowered back. I had been Lord Gilbert’s bailiff for nearly two years. In that time I had learned the potency of a practiced scowl. I stepped through the open door and was gratified to see atte Bridge retreat and cast his eyes to the hard-packed earth at his feet. The opening skirmish in this battle was won.