Bruce had carried me near to Bampton when I saw, a great way ahead of me, a figure standing in darkening shadows beside the road. As I approached I saw that a man was flinging something about at Cow-Leys Corner. The fellow glanced up from his work, saw me while I was yet far off, and immediately fled. Bruce lumbered up to the place where the man had been busy and I reined him to a halt, curious about what I had seen. From atop the horse my eyes discerned nothing of interest, but surely there must be something here, I thought, else why the fellow’s actions and hasty departure when he discovered he was seen?
I dismounted and searched among the foliage at the verge. The place, I noted, was where Thomas atte Bridge had been buried near two months past. And then I found what had been cast about the grave.
Entrails lay scattered there, near to the wall which enclosed Lord Gilbert’s meadow. I could not identify the beast from which the guts had been torn, but surmised a goat had perished so the ritual I had observed from a distance could take place. Many believe that spirits will not rise in the dark of night to vex the living if the entrails of a goat be strewn about the burial place.
Was there some man of Bampton who feared the ghost of Thomas atte Bridge? Why else undertake to keep his spirit below the sod? Who might so fear a ghost? The murderer? I mounted Bruce and prodded him into motion with a conviction I had seen a thing which might lead me to a felon.
I dismounted at the castle gatehouse and sought Wilfred the porter. He appeared at the sound of Bruce’s great hooves against the cobbles, somewhat surprised at my halt at that place.
“Have you seen a man approach Mill Street from Cow-Leys Corner?” I asked. “He was in haste,” I added.
Wilfred scratched his balding pate and peered beyond me into the dusk. “Seen folk about, but none as was in a hurry,” he replied.
“Were any of these traveling alone? Did you note where they went?”
Wilfred chewed his lip in thought before he replied. “Two was alone. They went on past the castle. That’s the last I seen of ’em. Mill Street can’t be seen from the gatehouse once folk near Shill Brook,” he explained.
Nor can an observer at the castle gatehouse observe those who might turn away from Mill Street to enter the Weald. I began to think I might guess who it was I had seen at Cow-Leys Corner. The fellow had waited ’til near dark, the better to complete his errand unseen, yet early enough that John the beadle would not yet be about the streets of Bampton to enforce curfew. And if the man entered the Weald John would not see him, for the beadle’s duty lay only in Bampton. The vicars of the Church of St Beornwald, as representatives of the Bishop of Exeter, have responsibility for enforcing curfew in the Weald, a thing which neither they nor any other men trouble themselves to do.
I sent Bruce to the marshalsea with the porter’s assistant, advised Wilfred that I might return late, and set off for the Weald. Behind me I heard Wilfred cranking down the portcullis.
If it was Edmund Smith I saw scattering entrails about Thomas atte Bridge’s grave, I wondered where he might have found a goat. Wealthier tenants of Lord Gilbert and the bishop possess a few sheep, and some own goats. I did not think Emma in such company, and before the smith wed her he owned nothing but a few hens.
I walked in the dark to the end of the path and Arnulf Mannyng’s house. A faint gleam through the skins of his windows told that the family had not yet sought their beds. No man wishes to hear pounding upon his door at such a time, but I was impatient to learn the reason for what I had seen at Cow-Leys Corner.
I rapped upon Mannyng’s door and shouted my name to ease the fellow’s mind about who his late visitor might be. A moment later I heard him raise the bar and lift the latch.
I did not seek Arnulf Mannyng because I thought him the man I had seen at Cow-Leys Corner. Rather, I thought he might know who in the Weald possessed goats.
I apologized for disturbing the peace of his evening, then asked about goats. Mannyng stared at me for a moment, then invited me into his cottage and shut the door behind me.
“Why do you ask of goats?” he said. A cresset upon his table provided enough light that I could see a puzzled expression upon his face.
I did not wish for Arnulf, or any other man, to know yet what I had seen along the road. “Have any in the Weald who own goats seen one go missing?” I asked next.
“Strange you ask,” Mannyng replied. “We began shearing the wethers today. I keep six goats with the sheep, but this day I found but five. No sign of the other. Thought it’d run off, or got took by some wild hound.”
“It was killed, I think.”
“A hound?”
“Nay, a man.”
“Who?” Mannyng asked indignantly.
“I am yet uncertain.”
“But you have suspicion?”
“Aye.”
I bid Arnulf good eve, and walked north in the dark toward Mill Street until I stood in the path before the hut of Edmund and Emma.
I was about to put my knuckles to the door, then reconsidered. I am no coward, but neither am I a fool. No man knew where I had gone this night, or to what purpose. Was Edmund the man I had seen at Cow-Leys Corner, and he took amiss my interest in his business there, he might employ those muscular arms to silence me. Edmund has the heart of a cur in the body of a bull.
I have heard it said that the man who fears God need fear no man. That may be so, but I did wish to live to become a father. I set off silently for Mill Street.
Next morn, after Kate and I broke our fast, I sought Arthur, and with him to help draw explanation from Edmund, walked again to the Weald. Emma answered my knock and told me that Edmund was at work this day at his forge. Arthur and I retraced our steps to Mill Street, crossed Shill Brook, and found Edmund pumping his bellows over new-lit coals.
The day promised warmth, and already sweat stood upon Edmund’s brow and lip from his effort at the bellows. He glanced up at our approach, then resumed pumping, as if to say without words that his work was more important than any matter concerning me. Arthur recognized the slight and scowled at the smith’s back.
A smith cannot pump air to his coals forever. He must eventually set about his work. Edmund’s hammer lay upon a table, aside his anvil. I walked to it and picked it up. He would answer my questions before I returned the hammer to him, else he would accomplish no business this day.
Edmund saw me lift the hammer but continued at his bellows for some time, until the blaze was white with heat and even Arthur and I felt beads of sweat upon our brows. The smith finally ceased his pumping, folded his smoky, sweaty arms across his chest and glared at me. We had disagreed about his conduct in the past, so I did not expect a cheerful welcome, but the scowl now leveled at me bespoke more than a year-old dispute. So I thought.
“What have you done with Arnulf’s goat? You needed only the entrails to cast on Thomas atte Bridge’s grave.”
Edmund blanched. His face went from red with heat and exertion to white in a heartbeat. His words denied my accusation, but his visage said otherwise.
“Goat? Whose?” he protested. “I’ve no man’s goat.”
“You discarded the flesh after cutting free the entrails? A terrible waste.”
“Don’t know what you speak of,” he protested, seeming to gather his wits.
“Perhaps we should inspect your house, to see if there be some carcass there upon a spit. Mayhap Emma will remember if you left her last eve for a time, just before curfew.”
“You got no bailiwick in the Weald,” Edmund spluttered.
“True, but you are a tenant of Lord Gilbert, and I saw you last eve casting the entrails of some beast — a goat, I think — over Thomas atte Bridge’s grave, which lies upon Lord Gilbert’s land at Cow-Leys Corner. I suspect the vicars of St Beornwald’s Church will not take offense if I do their work and find a thief and murderer in the Weald.”