‘Your own brew, Mistress?’ I asked, when I had slaked my thirst.
The younger woman shook her head. ‘My mother-in-law’s.’
There was a certain reservation in her tone that made me suspect she did not really like Theresa. I recalled the conversation in the Roman Sandal – ‘… Just come fer the funeral and stayed’ … ‘Reckon they didn’t want ’er there, but couldn’t get rid of ’er …’ – and decided that my guess was probably correct.
‘Have you come far?’ Maud enquired politely, just as Theresa demanded more robustly, ‘Well, and what’s your story, then, chapman? A pedlar who knows Greek and Latin isn’t an everyday occurrence, you must admit.’
‘A little Latin and less Greek,’ I amended, laughing. ‘All right. I’ll tell you my history in exchange for some local gossip. What do you say?’
I saw Maud Lilywhite shift uneasily on her stool, but the older woman cried, ‘Done! It’ll be a pleasanter way to spend a stormy winter’s evening than staring at these four walls, or watching my daughter-in-law’s interminable spinning.’
So, for the next hour or so, I told them my story and a few of my adventures, adding, as a bonus for their hospitality, various insights into the life of the royal family – some a little exaggerated, I have to confess – and was rewarded by their undivided attention and awestruck silence. But I could see that whereas the younger woman was most impressed by the people I had met, the dukes and princes I had talked to, Theresa Lilywhite was far more interested in the mysteries I had solved. I could guess the way her mind was working, so did nothing to minimize my successes. In fact, quite the opposite: I was positively boastful. And if, on occasions, I saw in my mind’s eye Adela’s face with its mocking expression, I managed to ignore it.
When, at last, I had finished speaking, both women drew a long, deep, satisfied breath.
‘Well, that tale’s worth your bed and board for at least a week, chapman,’ Theresa finally remarked. ‘Don’t you agree, Maud?’
Her daughter-in-law nodded. ‘And you really have met the King and His Grace of Gloucester and that poor gentleman, the late Duke of Clarence?’ she asked wonderingly.
‘I have. And I swear to you, in the name of my mother and the Virgin, that all that I’ve told you is true.’ My mother could take responsibility for the bits that were almost, but not quite, true. Our Lady could sponsor the rest.
‘So,’ Theresa Lilywhite said, getting up to pour three more cups of ale and then settling down again on her stool, ‘what do you want to ask us?’ The younger woman made a little movement of protest, but was rebuked by her mother-in-law. ‘Fair’s fair, Maud. He’s kept his part of the bargain, and handsomely, too. Now we must keep ours. We’re waiting, chapman.’
I could tell by the guarded look on both their faces that they were expecting me to ask about Eris, but I nosed my way into their confidence gently.
‘When we were talking earlier this evening,’ I said, turning to Theresa, ‘I mentioned the well I’d stumbled across, and you said it must have been the well at Brockhurst Hall. You also said there was a strange story attached to it and recommended that I ask one of the villagers to tell me about it. Only, for one reason and another, I never got around to doing so. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to enlighten me now.’
‘Go on, Maud!’ The older woman looked across at the younger. ‘You’re a local girl, born and bred in Lower Brockhurst. You know all the stories concerning these parts. Tell the chapman what he wants to know. I’ve already told him that the population of Upper Brockhurst and the Hall were wiped out in the Black Death. Those turnip-heads in the alehouse would have had him think that it all happened “some year back”!’ The contempt in her voice was almost tangible.
Maud Lilywhite flushed resentfully, but attempted no defence of her fellow villagers. Perhaps, over the years, she had grown tired of doing so. Or perhaps she felt as much contempt for her mother-in-law as an outsider as Theresa felt for people she regarded as ignorant country yokels. Instead, she turned towards me.
‘Very well, then.’ She gave a faint smile and I smiled back encouragingly. ‘You know, of course, Master Chapman, that some communities were wiped out completely during the great plague of the last century, while others, only half a mile or so distant, survived intact. And that, it seems, is what happened here. Every single inhabitant of Upper Brockhurst died – nobody escaped – while in our village only three people were struck down, and even they recovered.’
She paused to take a sip of ale before continuing. ‘Brockhurst Hall stood a little apart from the village of Upper Brockhurst and, as far as I can gather, occupied most of the ridge that overlooks this valley. According to my grandmother, who had been told the facts by her grandmother, the Hall had been in the possession of a family called Martin for as long as anyone could remember. It’s said that the first Martin, who built the place, came to this country with William the Conqueror-’
‘William the Bastard,’ Theresa Lilywhite corrected her with quiet venom.
Maud repeated, ‘William the Bastard,’ with a look of scarcely veiled derision. For my benefit, she explained, ‘My mother-in-law’s family are of Saxon descent, or so they say-’
‘There’s no “say” about it,’ Theresa interrupted angrily. ‘My great-great-great-grand-father’s great-great-great-great-grandfather was horsekeeper to Earl Godwin himself, at Berkeley.’
My brain was too tired to work out whether this was a feasible claim or not, and in any case, Maud had resumed her story.
‘As I was telling you, chapman, whatever the truth about the first Martin, it’s certain the family had lived at the Hall for a very long time. But by the middle of the last century, only two brothers, Tobias and Humphrey, remained. Both men were bachelors and seemed likely to stay that way. Even before the plague claimed their lives, it seemed that they would be the last of their line.
‘Like many elderly, unmarried people they grew more and more reclusive as the years went by, so much so that they went less and less beyond the confines of the Hall. But there was a problem. The chief water supply for the area was the Draco, that little stream that flows downhill to join with the larger one at the bottom. It ran straight through Upper Brockhurst’s main street, where it was deepest and widest. There was, of course, a well in the Hall’s stableyard, but whoever sank it originally hadn’t dug down far enough, and, in summer, the water level became extremely low. This had never worried earlier generations of Martins, who simply fetched extra supplies from the Draco, like the rest of their neighbours.’
‘But that didn’t suit Humphrey and Tobias?’ I suggested, leaning down to pat Hercules, who had suddenly woken up with a snort and an urgent desire to hunt for fleas.
Maud shook her head. ‘No. It seems that as well as becoming recluses, the brothers had also grown miserly in their old age. They’d turned off their last servant some years before, and looked after themselves. But they had to have water, and if, in times of drought, they weren’t prepared to walk into the village and fill buckets from the Draco, then they had to have their own well deepened. My grandmother – or, rather, her grandmother – couldn’t remember the details, but it seems that a couple of wellers, a father and son from Tetbury way, were persuaded to come to Brockhurst Hall and carry out the necessary work. This they duly did, but-’ and here Maud lowered her voice impressively, indicating that she was approaching the climax of her story – ‘two days after they’d finished, and said goodbye to the friends they’d made during their stay in the village, they were found murdered in woodland about a mile or so from the Hall. The backs of their heads had been battered in with two great tree branches that were left beside the bodies, covered in blood. But before the hue and cry could be raised, or a message sent to the Sheriff’s Officers at Gloucester, the first case of plague arrived in Upper Brockhurst. Maybe the wellers had brought it, who knows? But within weeks, the entire population, including Humphrey and Tobias Martin, was wiped out. And in the meantime, of course, no one from outside the village would go anywhere near them. Lower Brockhurst sealed itself off from the outside world – nobody was allowed in or out of the village for more than three months – and consequently everyone survived.’