Field of Blood

'So she was more than just a tavern wench?' Whittock insisted. 'A young woman who might well attract the likes of Bartholomew Menster?'

'Yes, sir. Margot only entered service because she wanted to leave the parish. A good lass, Margot,' Isobel continued defiantly, looking balefully down at Mistress Vestler. 'She would have made a fine marriage.'

'And your sister wrote to you about her work?'

'To be honest, sir, she liked the Paradise Tree. Miss Vestler was kind: she gave her money, clothes, as well as a Book of Hours.'

'Did she now?' Whittock purred. 'My lord, a matter we will return to in the very near future. Mistress Isobel, in those letters, your sister told you how she had met Bartholomew Menster, a clerk of the Tower, that he was sweet on her but Mistress Vestler did not like it?'

'Indeed, on one occasion, Master Bartholomew had sharp words with her.'

'Over what?' Whittock persisted.

'According to the letter, Mistress Vestler had snapped: "I wish you'd leave the matter alone. You have my thoughts on it." '

'And you think Mistress Vestler was talking about your sister?'

'Yes, sir, and Margot did as well.'

'Did Bartholomew propose to your sister?'

'Yes, sir, he did. Margot had high hopes that they would exchange vows at the church door.'

'Did your sister talk about anything else?'

'Oh yes, sir.' Isobel paused and dabbed at her eyes with the cuff of her brown smock.

Athelstan could see Isobel had been well prepared for this. She was undoubtedly telling the truth but Whittock's questions were extracting this piece by piece so the jury could follow and understand the way he was leading.

'Tell us,' Whittock said softly.

'My sister wrote that Master Bartholomew had high hopes of tracing certain lost treasures.'

Her words created murmurs in the court. Sir Henry tapped his knee excitedly.

'My lord.' Whittock walked back to the foot of the steps and glanced up at the justices. 'There seems to be good evidence that Gundulf, Bishop of Rochester, who built the Tower, may have buried his treasure somewhere in the grounds of the Paradise Tree.'

'And have you looked for this treasure?' Sir Henry asked.

'My lord, I have conducted a careful search of the gardens and cellars.' Whittock smiled. 'That's how we found the casks of wine which had not passed through customs.'

'My lord.' Hengan sprang to his feet. 'Is this relevant? Is Mistress Vestler being accused of seizing treasure trove and hiding it from the Crown? She is on trial for murder, not for petty treason!'

Sir Henry pursed his lips. 'True, true, Master Hengan. Master Whittock, this questioning?'

'My lord, my lord.' Whittock spread his hands. 'I simply wish to demonstrate to the court that Mistress Vestler may have had a number of grudges against Master Bartholomew. Not only young Margot but the possible whereabouts of this treasure.' He bowed. 'However, if it's your wish, I shall let the matter rest.' Whittock turned back to the witness. 'Your sister, how long did she serve at the Paradise Tree?'

'About three years.'

'And she spent her money well on clothes, gowns, robes?'

'Yes, she told me she kept careful accounts at the back of her Book of Hours.'

'Ah yes, yes.' Whittock rubbed his chin and tapped the end of his pointed nose. 'Would you say that your sister was a sober young woman, industrious, of sharp wit?'

'Of course!'

'She was not the sort,' Whittock said, then paused, 'to elope in the dead of night, leaving all her possessions behind her?'

'No, sir, she would not.'

'But, that is the story Mistress Vestler gave you when you made enquiries at the Paradise Tree?' 'It was.'

'And then you went there yourself?'

'At the end of July, I stayed three days.'

'And you were shown Margot's chamber?'

'A garret, sir, at the top of the house. It was stripped bare.'

'And your sister's possessions?'

'Mistress Vestler said that's how it had been left. Nothing of what remained could be sold or kept so she had burned it.'

'And what did you think of that?'

'At the time I thought it strange but, perhaps, Margot had taken her possessions with her. Now …' Her voice faltered. 'I cannot understand why Mistress Vestler burned everything.'

'No, no,' Whittock replied, 'and, to tell you the truth, mistress, neither can I.'

Whittock finished with a flourish and Hengan went to the bar where he stared across at Isobel Haden.

'You are on oath, madam.'

'I know I am.'

'And have you told the truth?' 'As God is my witness.'

'But, at the time, you really did think your sister had eloped with Master Menster?' 'Yes, sir, I did.'

'And, when you went to the Paradise Tree, you believed Mistress Vestler?'

'Of course. She seemed a kindly woman. Margot had talked highly of her.'

'And now?'

The young woman became confused. 'She said my sister had eloped but she hadn't. All the time, her corpse lay beneath that oak tree.' Her voice trembled.

'Do you find it hard to accept that Mistress Vestler would do your sister such mortal injury?' 'Yes …'

'Remember, you are on oath!'

'Yes, yes, sir, I do. But why should she burn my poor sister's possessions?'

Hengan thanked the young woman. Her departure was followed by hushed conversation, both among the jury and the spectators.

'I can't understand this,' Athelstan whispered. 'Whittock's had only a few days yet he's ferreted out one thing after another.'

'He is good,' Sir John replied. 'They intend Kathryn to hang and the Crown will put the Paradise Tree under the most careful scrutiny.'

Athelstan glanced up as the clerk called the next witness, a thin, spindle-shanked fellow, his greasy hair tied at the back by a red ribbon. He wore a soiled leather jacket, darned hose and scuffed boots. A chapman or tinker, Athelstan thought: he was proved correct when Matthew Biddlecombe, chapman and trader, took the oath.

'Now, sir,' Whittock began. 'On the twenty-fifth of June last I was travelling to Canterbury to pray before the shrine of blessed Thomas a Becket.' He pointed to Hengan. 'My learned colleague over there was also on pilgrimage. Sir Henry Brabazon, our noble judge, was holding Commissions of the Peace in Middlesex. Mistress Vestler was in the Paradise Tree. So, sir, where were you?'

The chapman shuffled his feet.

'She's very kind,' he muttered.

'Where were you?' Whittock almost shouted.

'I travel the city, sir.' Biddlecombe looked up at the chief justice. 'From Clerkenwell down to Westminster. I sell ribbons and laces, needles, gew-gaws …'

'And very good ones too, I'm sure,' Sir Henry broke in sardonically. 'Pray, Master Matthew, do continue.'

'I do not earn enough to hire a chamber,' the fellow declared. 'But Mistress Vestler lets me sleep in one of her outhouses. She gives me ale and cold pie …'

'Yes, yes, quite,' Whittock intervened. 'Your belly, sir, does not concern us: your words do.' He sniffed noisily. 'I was talking about Midsummer's Day earlier this year. You are on oath, sir; for perjury you can be pressed.'

'I, I know,' Biddlecombe stammered, refusing to glance at Mistress Vestler. 'I arrived at the Paradise Tree on Midsummer's Eve. I intended to stay three days. On the Holy Day itself I went to the fair held outside the Tower.'

'And the day after?'

'I went to London Bridge and returned late. I fell asleep in the outhouse. It was a beautiful night. I woke because I felt strange. The tavern was quiet, then I heard a sound in the yard. When I opened the door and peered out, Mistress Vestler was there.'

'And what was she doing?' Whittock asked quietly.

'She had a mattock, hoe and spade in a small barrow. I remember seeing her clearly; she had taken her shoes off and was wearing a pair of boots.'