My words were not entirely true. I had seen a man at Cow-Leys Corner. This may have been Edmund, or mayhap not. I thought to show the smith confidence that I knew him to be the man and see what was his response.
“I’m no murderer,” Edmund protested, and cast his eyes about as if seeking some unremembered place in his forge where he might hide. There was no escape, for Arthur and I blocked the entrance. Arthur does better at obstructing a door than do I, but together the smith would not get past us. And I yet held his hammer.
“No murderer? But a thief. If one, why not the other?”
Edmund’s shoulder slumped, and he leaned against his anvil as if likely to topple over without its support.
“He torments me, does Thomas.”
“Thomas atte Bridge?” I replied. I was confused. Atte Bridge was two months dead. How could he vex another?
“Aye,” the smith mumbled. “Comes in the night, when all others be sleepin’, an’ wakes me.”
“Why? What does he wish? To trouble the man who took his life from him?”
“Nay. I’m no murderer. ’E was plowin’ Emma’s furrow before ’e died. When I was to wed Emma she told me of it. Thomas was dead an’ gone then, and naught but Maud to protest did I seize the land what Thomas took.”
“Maud protested?”
“Aye. To me an’ Emma. Not to the vicars, ’cause she knew I was right an’ the land Thomas was takin’ was Emma’s.”
“Maud and Emma had words about this?”
“Aye, but not after we was wed. Didn’t argue with ’er, just took back what was Emma’s.”
“And now Thomas afflicts you in the night?”
“Aye. Tells me I’ll soon join ’im do I not give over them furrows ’e took from Emma.”
“You cast the guts of Arnulf Mannyng’s goat upon his grave.”
“Aye,” Edmund reluctantly agreed. “’Eard tell that’ll keep spirits in their grave.”
“Did it? Last night did Thomas afflict you again?”
The smith brightened. “Nay. Worked well, as folk do say.”
“Thomas did not rise from his grave to trouble you because you took his life?”
Edmund blanched again. “Nay. Never murdered no man.”
I believed him, and did I not I had no way to prove otherwise. But I would see justice done in the matter of Arnulf Mannyng’s goat.
“You will pay Arnulf a shilling for his goat.”
“A shilling?” Edmund complained. “Was worth no more than ten pence.”
“A thief cannot bid the value of his plunder. A shilling, and you will pay the debt before hallmote or I will have you up on charges. Then you will pay a fine to Lord Gilbert as well.”
The smith’s shoulders dropped again in submission. I had made no friend here, nor had I discovered a murderer, as I thought I might. Edmund Smith had been no friend before this day, so I was forfeit nothing, and whoso hung Thomas atte Bridge at Cow-Leys Corner was no more unknown to me than when the day began. I had discovered the theft of a goat, so I could boast of some small achievement.
Next day was Sunday. Kate was pleased to see, as we walked to the church past the site of Galen House, that Peter Carpenter had seen to clearing the place of burnt timbers and ash, and Gerard had supplied the first cart-load of elm timbers with which Peter and his crew might begin raising a new house. All that remained at the site was some blackened earth and my new brick chimney.
There was much work for me in the next days. I must see to the shearing of Lord Gilbert’s sheep and the sale of the wool, and it was time for the last plowing of Lord Gilbert’s fallow fields. Villeins who owed week-work I set to these tasks. This did not please them, as they had their own labors to complete, but such is the way of the world and my work. I must persuade folk to do things they would wish to avoid, whether this be laboring upon their lord’s demesne or suffering me to repair their injuries and wounds. Both oft require pain from those to whom I must direct my toil.
At least once each day I made time to observe Peter Carpenter’s progress. On Tuesday he brought another load of timbers from Alvescot, and late in the week two carts loaded with bricks came from the kiln at Witney. Two more cart-loads, Peter said, and Warin would have enough to build a second chimney and fill the spaces between the timbers he was raising.
I watched the carpenter wield his mallet and chisel to cut a tenon and rubbed my arm where Sir Simon had pierced me. To think that I had once considered that Peter might have delivered the blow with a chisel. There is no more amicable man in Bampton, I thought.
He spoke fondly of his daughter’s child. Jane’s babe, he said, was strong. He was placed with the cooper’s wife, who had a babe of her own to nurse. Peter seemed not to wish to speak more of the child, which I understood, considering how the infant had come to be. The part of the babe that was Jane would be loved; the part that was Thomas atte Bridge would be despised. It would have been easier, I think, for Peter and his wife to have accepted a lass. I hoped, for the sake of the child, that as he grew he would resemble his mother in character rather than his father.
By St Botolf’s Day Peter had erected scaffolds and with his assistants and apprentice was at work raising posts and beams for the upper story of the new Galen House. Beneath the poles and planks of the scaffolding Warin was at work with mortar and trowel, filling in the walls with layers of red-brown bricks. I found myself drawn to Church View Street several times each day, to monitor progress and watch as craftsmen put together a fine house from wood and clay.
Chapter 15
One afternoon I stood in the toft watching Peter and his apprentice hoist a beam from ground to scaffold. This timber was heavy, hewn square, six paces or more long, and thick through as a large man’s hand from fingers to wrist. The weight of two men and the beam proved too much for one of the poles supporting the scaffold. It bent under the weight. I saw it begin to bow and shouted to the men to look to their safety. They did so, but not before the pole snapped. Three poles yet supported the scaffold, and Peter and the apprentice seized two of these and so were spared a fall which might have required my services to repair their injuries. They had released the beam when I cried a warning. It thudded to the earth, doing no harm.
Peter clambered down from his perch, thanked me for advising him of danger, scratched his head while he inspected the fractured pole, then set to work raising another so the scaffold might be made whole and he might continue his work.
I watched as Peter selected a solid pole from the stack Gerard had delivered for rafters and set it in place of the splintered shaft. When it was in place he instructed his apprentice, a slender youth whose wiry form was more suited to the work, to mount the scaffold and secure the plank to the new post with a length of hempen cord wrapped thickly about both pole and plank.
Hempen cord. I was not pleased with the thought which then came to me. It had not occurred to me that a carpenter might have use for hempen cord.
My enthusiasm for observing the rebuilding of Galen House withered with this discovery. I left the site and walked slowly to the castle, considering the import, or coincidence, of what I had learned. I was distressed at what it might portend, but could not allow the revelation to pass unexplained.
I kept my own counsel for the next hours, but as dusk darkened the window of our chamber I told Kate what I had seen.
“Many craftsmen may find need of rope in their work,” she advised. “You said such cord was common.”
“Aye, I did, but a common thing in the hands of a man wronged by another may be put to uncommon purpose.”
“You believe the carpenter capable of such cunning, doing murder made to seem suicide?”
“Do you think me capable of such a thing?”
“Nay,” Kate replied with some heat. “Why do you ask?”
“I am not a father… not yet,” I added, responding to Kate’s smile. “But when I think of the injury Thomas atte Bridge did to Peter, and consider what vengeance I might seek should our babe be a lass, and some felon deal with her as Thomas did with Jane, then I am no longer certain of Peter’s peaceable nature.”