“You could slay a man who did harm to a daughter?”
“If no other penalty seemed in store for the man.”
“You believe all men be of such a mind?”
“I do.”
“What will you do?”
“I will go to our bed. Mayhap a new day will offer new counsel.”
It did not. Sleep was elusive. It came reluctantly and departed eagerly. I arose from our bed in a sour mood, which Kate saw and so busied herself about our chamber wordlessly. A kitchen servant brought a loaf and pot of ale, and when I had broken my fast I felt ready to face my duty. I made ready to depart the castle and Kate finally spoke.
“What will you do?”
“I intend to seek first Father Simon. I have two questions for him which will go some way to resolving this business, I think.”
“I pray you succeed,” she replied.
“Best pray I do not,” I answered wryly.
Father Simon’s clerk responded to my knock on the vicarage door and admitted me to the house. The rotund priest soon appeared, puzzled, I think, by my early appearance and black visage.
“Good day, Master Hugh. How may I serve you?”
“Two questions, then I will depart and trouble you with the business of Thomas atte Bridge no more.”
“Atte Bridge? I’ve heard nothing of that matter for many weeks. Thought you’d given up pursuit of a felon an’ laid the death to suicide.”
“I gave up quest for a murderer several times. But each time I did so some new matter arose to restore my interest. I never thought Thomas did away with himself, nor do I now.”
“And you seek me now because some new evidence presents itself?”
“Aye. The hempen cord your clerk purchased to fashion your new belt, whence did it come?”
“Many in the town grow hemp, soak the stems in Shill Brook, and wind the fibers into rope,” the priest replied.
“This is so, but not all hempen cord sold in Bampton is missing a length which matches the span of rope used to hang a man.”
Father Simon made no reply, hoping, I think, that I would give over my questions and depart. I did not.
“Peter Carpenter,” he said finally. “But you should not assume the carpenter guilty of such a felony. Others may have known the unused cord was in my shed and snipped off a length.”
“Did Peter know you kept the unused coil in the shed?”
“Don’t know. Robert made the purchase of Peter. You might ask him.”
“I may. I have another question for you. Does Peter confess his sins to you, and seek absolution, or does he confess to Father Thomas or Father Ralph?”
“You know I cannot reveal what is said in confession,” Father Simon said indignantly.
“I do not ask you to do so. I ask only if Peter confessed to you, or to another.”
“I cannot say,” the vicar said firmly, and folded his arms across his belly as if punctuating his denial.
“Very well,” I replied. “Your answer is helpful.”
The priest’s brows lifted at this, but I saw no need to enlighten him. He had told me a valuable thing but knew not he had done so.
Had Peter Carpenter confessed to Father Thomas or Father Ralph, Father Simon would, I think, have had no reluctance to tell me he had not heard of the man’s sins. Since he refused to answer when I asked, I was sure it was Father Simon who had heard Peter’s confession. If this was a confession of murder, the knowledge would explain why he tried to deflect my suspicion from John Kellet and save me a fruitless journey to Exeter.
Or perhaps he feared that I might construe some evidence against Kellet which would see the man punished again, this time for a thing he did not do, and of which Father Simon knew him to be innocent.
I walked north from the vicarage, past the bishop’s new tithe barn, and watched as John Prudhomme directed the folding of new-shorn sheep on to demesne lands. He saw me and waved cheerily, but I had no heart for gladsome reply.
All I suspected might be coincidence. I hoped it was so, but I was not satisfied with uncertainty. I wandered the town until dinner, considering and disposing of methods whereby I might find truth, and above all fearing what knowledge of the truth might cost me, the town, and Peter Carpenter.
Kate saw my solemn demeanor at dinner and divined the cause. She did not ask of me what I had learned from Father Simon, but guessed it was unsettling. When we were alone in our chamber she asked of me what news, and I told her.
“The priest speaks true that many folk cultivate hemp and flax for rope and flaxen yarn,” she said. “Some have plenty and enough to sell.”
“But do they sell a length of cord which matches the rope found about Thomas atte Bridge’s neck, when joined together with the cord coiled in Father Simon’s shed?”
“Why would Peter seek cord in Father Simon’s shed if he had of his own enough to sell?”
“There has been little employment for carpenters since the plague,” I reasoned. “Perhaps he needed money and sold unneeded possessions to find it.”
“Mayhap,” Kate mused, “but he has rope now, you say, to fasten scaffold together.”
“And he has fifteen shillings I gave him as early payment, so he might hire laborers and begin the work. Enough cord to build his scaffold would cost little more than a penny.”
“How will you discover if Peter hanged Thomas at Cow-Leys Corner,” she asked, “and what will you do if it be so?”
“I do not yet know… on both counts.”
I could not stay away from Church View Street, no matter who it was who assembled my new home. I left Kate stitching a new kirtle for her enlarging form and set out.
Peter, his apprentice, and two laborers had nearly completed setting posts and beams for the upper story. One worker, a poor cotter whose family was large and whose lands were few, was at work fitting wattles between posts. Warin had nearly completed brickwork upon the ground floor and would soon set to work upon the second chimney.
Peter Carpenter glanced down from his perch above me on the scaffold, acknowledged my presence with a nod, then returned to his labor. The man had wife, children, and now grandchild to provide for. What poverty would come to them if I found Peter had indeed slain Thomas atte Bridge? But what guilt would I incur against my soul did I learn of a certainty of Peter’s guilt and allow the crime to go unpunished? Or was it a crime? Perhaps it was justice, wrongly discharged.
I felt drawn to the hempen cords which bound the scaffold together. Without considering why I did so, I drifted close to the framework and unthinkingly fingered a length of the brown cord, as if touch could tell me whence it came and what it knew.
The hemp remained silent. From the base of the scaffold I raised my eyes again to the place where Peter and his apprentice were driving home a tree nail to fix a beam in place. Peter swung his mallet a last time, wiped sweat from his brow, and glanced down through the lattice of the scaffold to see me examining the hempen cord and studying him.
Some unaccountable recognition flickered between us. I knew then from the look in his eyes what Peter had done, and he saw that I knew. He stared at me, sighed heavily, then turned back to his work.
Peter’s oldest child, now Jane was gone, was a lad of twelve or so years. I saw then how Thomas atte Bridge might have met his end.
I suspect Peter was lurking about Thomas’s hut, seeking how he might avenge his daughter, when he saw in the moonlight John Kellet enter atte Bridge’s toft and harry the hens roosting there. He saw Thomas respond to the troubled hens, watched as Kellet and atte Bridge spoke, and perhaps was close by to hear what was said.
Next eve, when all was dark and quiet in the Weald, Peter and his lad tried the same ruse, disturbing Thomas’s hens until the noise once more drew him to his toft. Perhaps atte Bridge expected to find John Kellet there again. But instead Thomas saw a shadow approach and from out of the dark came a blow which laid him insensible in the mud.