Agnes stood in the yard behind the alehouse waiting for her cauldron of water to boil. Across the yard her nephew, Will, was crushing dried husks of barley to make the malt that would be added to the water once it was ready. Her own special gruit was waiting for when it was time to make the mash. It would take a full day for the mash to settle before it was ready for straining, then a few more hours to wait for it to be strained a second and a third time. If she was lucky, she would be able to serve ale to her customers by tomorrow night.
Wat had been buried early that morning. Jennet and her husband, Tom, along with Will, had accompanied her to the funeral Mass. She had come straight back to the alehouse afterward for she could not afford to let her yard stand idle while she made a show of grief. Tears would not turn into silver, but her good ale would, and she needed to take advantage of the influx of visitors to the fair. She shivered as she watched Will finish his task of grinding the barley and turn to cleansing the ale barrels so they would be ready for her brew. Agnes did not know which ones had held the dead bodies of the two young people and the Jew, and she had not tried very hard to find out. A good scrub would take the contamination away, she reasoned, and she could always tell her customers, if they asked, that she had destroyed the barrels that had held the dead bodies.
The gate into the back lane opened and Agnes saw the tubby figure of her neighbour, Goscelin, come into the yard. He was a baker who had his premises on the same street as her own. She smiled to herself as he came forward and deferentially asked how she was faring. Goscelin had always been friendly-theirs were reciprocal crafts after all, with his grain and her ale-brewed yeast-but he had shown a rare concern as soon as he had learned that Wat was dead, even offering one of his sons to spell Will in giving her protection. He was a prosperous man, was Goscelin, and a widower for some twelve months since the death of his wife from a fever. Agnes murmured a prayer under her breath asking God for forgiveness for her flightiness, then set her most winsome smile on her face as she returned the baker’s greeting.
Jennet had been right. Wat had been no good husband to her. Agnes had realised that on the last day that Wat had been alive when he had kicked her for pestering him with questions about why she had to stay clear of the yard. Surreptitiously she rubbed the spot on her thigh where his boot had made a great purple bruise. Well, there would be no more of that now, thanks be to God.
She told Goscelin that she was feeling much better and regarded the baker closely under cover of what she hoped was a demure glance. He had a kind face, ruddy with the heat from his ovens, and a mouth that curved easily when he smiled. It was reputed he had treated his wife well while she was alive and had himself cared for her most tenderly when she had been taken ill. He also had three strong young sons, one of whom he was now offering once again as company and protection. There would be no shortage of hands to do the heavy work in any household of his. Yes, Goscelin would make a much better husband than Wat and it was plain that, once her bereavement was over, he would not cease his attentions to her. If she wanted the baker, she could have him. It was a thought which had comforted her often in the last two days.
Ernulf did not bother to knock on the door of Brunner’s stewe-house; he kicked it in instead. As the door crashed wide on its hinges the serjeant told the two men-at-arms he had brought with him to wait outside while he went in to find his quarry.
At the top of the stairs Ernulf could hear the rustling of the leather curtains that covered the entrances to the girls’ cubicles and a muttered oath or two amongst the customers as the noise of his arrival disturbed the business of the bawdy house. Drawing his sword, Ernulf next put his foot to the door that led into Brunner’s private chamber. The door swung open to reveal an empty room, the bed rumpled and filthy covers askew. A leather jack of wine lay on its side amongst the dirty rushes on the floor, drained of its contents. There were no clothes hanging from the peg behind the door, and the small ironbound chest that he had noticed in a corner when he and Bascot had last been here stood with the lid flung back to reveal an empty interior. Ernulf went back into the hallway and, taking the steps two at a time, roared out a question at the harlots now gathered in a fearful group at the top.
“Where is Brunner?” he demanded, directing his words at the oldest of the bawds, a woman of some probable thirty years, although she looked a score more.
“He isn’t here,” the harlot replied, trying to frame her words with some degree of dignity despite clutching desperately at the soiled and stained wrap which was all that covered her skinny frame. Behind her Ernulf could see her customer’s alarmed eyes, peeking from behind the curtain of her cubicle.
“That isn’t what I asked you,” Ernulf said patiently, “I asked you where he was. I can see he isn’t here for myself.”
“I don’t know, serjeant, and that’s the truth. Nor do any of us,” the bawd replied, looking to the other harlots for confirmation, which they all gave with much nodding of their heads. “He was here early this morning-showing his usual cheery face,” she added with a sneer. “Then he left. Took young Gillie with him, though I reckon she didn’t want to go from the argument we heard between them, but she went just the same. He yelled up to me that he’d be back for any silver we owed him for last night’s work and that he’d have the hide off of any of us that tried to cheat him, then slammed out the door. Looked worried, I’m glad to say, God rot his soul.”
Again there was more nodding of heads from the other bawds as they agreed with her words, especially the last.
“Are you sure he didn’t give any indication of where he was going?” Ernulf persisted.
“None,” said the older bawd, then she gave a sly giggle. “Perhaps he knew you was coming, serjeant. Didn’t fancy your company maybe, although, speaking for myself, I’d be right pleased to see you here anytime.” She winked at him. “For as long as you like,” she added with a knowing grin. “Just ask for Maud.”
The other harlots tittered and Ernulf threw a smile back to the one who had made the invitation. “I might find it on my way to pass here again,” he said easily, “but it’ll have to wait until I find Brunner. If he comes back, I want to know. Is that lass your servant?” He pointed to a slip of a girl about nine or ten years of age who was cowering at the edge of the group.
“That’s my daughter,” Maud replied. “She’s too young yet to earn her keep with the rest of us, so she clears out the slops and cooks our meals.”
“Then send her to the castle if you have word of Brunner. Just come to the gate, lass,” he said to the girl, “and tell the sentry that Ernulf sent you. Can you remember that?”
The girl nodded, her eyes stretched wide with awe at being entrusted with such an important task.