“That does not explain the signs that Thomas was carried or dragged to the tree, or the absence of mud upon the stool where he would have stood did he take his own life,” I replied.
Father Ralph had been silent while we examined the rope segments and considered their meaning. Now he spoke:
“Kellet would have passed Cow-Leys Corner when he set out for Exeter. Did any man see him there?”
The other vicars, the servant, and I peered at one another with vacant expressions.
“Then he must have passed the place before atte Bridge was found, saw him there, and went his way. It was the herdsman who first raised the hue and cry, was it not? He made no mention of any other man there.”
“What say you, Master Hugh?” Father Thomas asked. “Was Thomas long dead when he was found? You have more understanding of such matters than we.”
“He was beginning to stiffen in death. He was hanging from the tree since well before dawn, I think.”
“So unless Kellet arose and set off very early, he would have seen him there, even in the dark of night, as Thomas was so near the road.”
“When did Kellet set out for Exeter?” Father Ralph asked of Father Simon.
“He bedded with Robert,” the vicar replied, and looked to his servant.
“Kellet slept little. I awoke twice the first night to find him out of bed.”
“Men often have need to rise from their slumber in the night,” Father Simon said. “I find it more so as I grow old, and Kellet is no longer young.”
“First time,” Robert continued, “I saw him upon his knees before the window. When he saw that I had awakened he returned to bed. Where he was the second time I awoke I know not.”
“Visiting the privy, I’d guess,” Father Simon said.
John Kellet out of bed and upon his knees in the middle of the night? This was indeed a revelation. Such a scene, knowing what the man had done, was difficult to imagine. Father Ralph voiced my thoughts.
“John Kellet on his knees at midnight is not credible. Probably he heard Robert stir in the night and feigned prayer.”
“Why would he do so?” Father Simon objected.
“Because he was about some nefarious business he did not want known, like finding a coil of rope in your shed.”
“Bah. John Kellet is a changed man, I tell you. He wears a hair shirt.” Father Simon looked to me for confirmation, as if his earlier revealing this to me made of me a witness. I shrugged and said nothing.
“Why did he seek only you, and skulk about the town unknown to all others?” Father Ralph asked.
“He knows there is much ill will toward him, and did not claim it should be otherwise. He wished only to thank me for providing for him when he was a child.”
“What of the second night?” I asked Robert.
“I slept soundly and did not awaken ’til near dawn.”
“John said he would depart early,” Father Simon added, “and would not trouble us when he did so. My cook left a loaf for him upon the table and it was half gone when I arose.”
“He did not take the whole loaf?”
“Nay. But half. I told you of his changed appearance. A walking skeleton.”
Robert nodded agreement.
“And you do not know when of the clock he set out?”
The vicar and his servant shook their heads.
“Did he speak of his journey to Compostela?” Father Thomas asked.
“Some. Spoke most of folk here in Bampton,” the servant replied. “Said there was hardship aplenty on pilgrimage but he would not speak more of it. Asked of doings in the town since he’d been away.”
“Did he ask of Thomas atte Bridge?” I questioned.
“Aye, him more than most. Wanted to know had he changed his ways. I told him not so as anyone would notice.”
“How did he receive this news?”
“Seemed disappointed, troubled, like he’d expected to learn different.”
“Of an atte Bridge? The father was not a bad sort,” said Father Ralph, “but the sons… ’tis no calamity they are gone.”
“So whoever murdered Thomas atte Bridge,” Father Thomas replied, “if murder it was, has done a kindness to the town?”
“That is for God to judge,” Father Ralph crossed his arms sanctimoniously. “Men must preserve order and punish evildoers.”
“Some might say as that’s what was done, Thomas bein’ as he was,” Robert said softly.
Father Ralph blew out his cheeks and looked askance at the servant for his unwanted opinion.
“One other thing,” Father Simon said. “John wears no shoes. Walked from Spain barefoot. Said his shoes wore out on the way to Compostela and he had no coins to replace them. Decided to go on with no shoes as penance.”
“There were such footprints in the mud at Cow-Leys Corner,” I said. “Some barefoot man trod the road and stood under the limb where Thomas atte Bridge was found.”
“Many poor folk save their shoes and go about barefoot when the weather warms,” Father Simon asserted.
This was so. I tried to recall the day atte Bridge was found. Of all the throng gathered at Cow-Leys Corner, did any go about bare of foot? I could not remember. There were other matters clogging my thoughts that day.
“Father Simon’s returned cord leaves us, I think, with a serious question,” Father Thomas said. “Was the cord taken by a murderer, or an accomplice in suicide? Master Hugh, you believe a murderer, is this not so?”
“Aye.”
“And you?” The priest turned to his associates.
“It may be as Master Hugh says,” Father Simon offered. “But I know his mind. He believes John Kellet guilty of a felony, and will seek evidence to prove it so. It cannot be. Kellet is not the man we knew of days past. Master Hugh remembers him only as he was.”
“When he did slay Henry atte Bridge,” Father Ralph continued the thought, “and would have aided Thomas atte Bridge in doing murder to Master Hugh. Will a leopard change his spots? Master Hugh must travel to Exeter and seek Prior Richard. He must be told of Master Hugh’s suspicion and John Kellet must be examined closely.”
I greeted this recommendation with mixed feelings. I had convinced myself that John Kellet was guilty of Thomas atte Bridge’s murder, and had some evidence it was so. Pilgrimage to Compostela was small penance to pay for his previous crimes, and did I not seek him and truth at St Nicholas’s Priory he would escape retribution for this new felony. But I had no wish to travel to Exeter, even at a season when the weather was benign and the roads dry.
“Perhaps,” I said, “a letter might be sent to the prior. He and the almoner, if told of this business, might query Kellet about his hours in Bampton.”
“If he answers falsely,” Father Ralph replied, “how will Prior Richard know? Kellet has served the priory for but a few days. His character is unknown there. No, a letter will not serve. You, who know Kellet and might press him if he dissembles, you must go.”
“Such a journey will be a waste of Master Hugh’s time,” Father Simon said heatedly. “Kellet is a new man. He lives now as a penitential and mendicant. Why would he do some new felony for which he must do even greater penance?”
Father Ralph and Father Simon scowled at each other, then looked to Father Thomas, each seeking support for his opinion.
“Pilgrimage and penance may indeed change a man. I hope for John Kellet’s soul it did. But you, Master Hugh, will not be convinced it is so unless you travel to Exeter and seek him. If he is yet iniquitous you may be able to discern it. Is he not, that also may be plain. If you assume his guilt in the matter of Thomas atte Bridge, you will not seek another. Then whoso did murder atte Bridge, did Kellet not, will escape punishment for his felony, in this world, if not the next. Father Ralph speaks true. You must go to Exeter, to put your own mind at ease, if for no other reason.”
There was little more to say of the matter. If I did not go to Exeter, when Lord Gilbert returned at Lammastide and I had found no murderer in Bampton, my employer might be unhappy. Thomas atte Bridge was not his tenant, but died upon his land. Lord Gilbert would not be pleased to find me slothful in my duties. And if John Kellet was guilty, as I thought likely, I would not prove it so from Bampton while he served St Nicholas’s Priory.