I finished my second cup of ale, which I had been swallowing slowly to make it last, and asked, ‘Do you know that there’s a way of getting out of the town after curfew?’
Goody Godsmark gave me a pitying look. ‘If you mean that hole in the wall by the Needless Gate, everyone knows about that, Chapman. I can tell you weren’t born and bred in this city.’
I acknowledged this lack of foresight on my mother’s part and queried, ‘Do you think Walter was seeing a woman? Meeting her outside the walls, after dark?’
My companion cackled like a hen about to lay an egg. ‘No, I don’t,’ she retorted. ‘You obviously didn’t know very much about my son. He didn’t care for women, didn’t my Walter. Pretended he did, o’ course. Wouldn’t have been good for him to have said otherwise.’ She gave another raucous laugh. ‘But I was the only woman in his life, believe me! You know what I’m saying, Chapman?’
‘Er — yes,’ I murmured. I knew all about the vice of the Greeks. I had seen it practised amongst some of my fellow novices and the monks at Glastonbury, although it would never have done to have reported it to the master of novices or Father Abbott. Everyone wished to remain in ignorance, and it was the informer who would have been punished. ‘In that case,’ I urged, ‘could he have — er — could Walter have gone down to the river to meet. . another man?’
The goody thought about this for a moment or two before shaking her head.
‘Don’t see why he should. If he brought a friend home, I always made myself scarce for an hour or two in the nearest alehouse. Does that shock you?’
‘N-no,’ I said, not quite truthfully. (Sometimes it worried me that, as someone who secretly questioned many of the Church’s teachings, I was not as open-minded as I would wish to be.) I hurried on, in the hope that she would fail to notice my momentary hesitation. ‘No one else, apart from you, knew about Walter’s — er Walter’s. .’
‘Buggery? There’s no need to be mealy-mouthed with me, young man! Well, his friends knew, the men who were like him. But that’s all.’
‘You never told anyone else? Accidentally? Or because you felt the need to confide in someone?’
She glanced contemptuously at me. ‘Of course I didn’t! You protect the people you love at all costs. You lie and steal and cheat and kill for them. You’re a husband, a father! You don’t need me to tell you that, do you?’
I shook my head, thinking of Adela and the children and how, if necessary, I’d commit any crime to prevent harm coming to any one of them. Even that wretched dog, who I could hear whining pathetically outside Goody Godsmark’s door, had so insinuated himself into my affections that I’d lay about any person trying to hurt him. None of this, however, solved the problem of why Walter had left the city after curfew last Tuesday night, or who he had gone to meet.
But was I right in assuming that his death had indeed occurred on Tuesday night, and not some time during the following day? It had, after all, been late on Wednesday evening when I had found his body. Yet, if he had been murdered, it seemed improbable that it had happened during daylight hours, when his cries might well have attracted attention not only from the brothers at the friary, but also from the sentinels on the castle ramparts. And where had he been all Tuesday night if he had not already been dead?
But suppose he had not been killed deliberately? Suppose it really had been just an unfortunate mishap? There again, during the day, wouldn’t someone have heard his calls for help? And if he had tumbled in accidentally the night before, I was back to the same two questions: why had he been there and what had he been doing?
Goody Godsmark’s voice cut across my tumultuous thoughts.
‘You said just now, Chapman, that you have some doubts about the manner of my son’s death. What reasons do you have for thinking it might not have been an accident?’
I felt she had a right to know, even though Richard Manifold would probably curse me for passing on the information.
‘One of the brothers at the Dominican friary saw a man crossing the Broad Meads just around dusk. He couldn’t swear it was Walter, but it might well have been him. Brother Thomas also thought he saw another figure — man or woman, he couldn’t be certain — standing on the river bank. In addition, there’s what you yourself told me, only five minutes since. You said that on the first occasion he left here after my departure last Tuesday, Walter told you that his errand was about making money, not spending it. Do you think it possible that he was blackmailing someone? Someone who arranged to meet him down by the Frome, and who then pushed him in, knowing your son couldn’t swim?’
She turned on me at that, her little face as tightly muscled as a clenched fist.
‘You’ve no right to say things like that!’ she flung at me, and every word was like a stone, each one hurled with increasing ferocity. ‘Get out of my cottage now!’ She jumped up and grabbed the besom from its corner, advancing on me with the obvious intention of using it to good effect.
I retreated to the door. ‘Don’t you want my help in finding out the truth about Walter’s death?’ I demanded, one hand already on the latch.
‘I can do without your kind of help!’ she shouted. ‘Insulting my Walter! Blackening his name! Go on! Get out, before I lay about you. Blackmail, indeed! My son wouldn’t stoop so low!’
I remembered her recent remark, that people would lie to save the skin or the reputation or the peace of mind of those they loved. And I had no doubt that Goody Godsmark had loved her son, however low his credit had sunk in the eyes of the rest of the world. She might suspect that my suggestion was close to the truth, but she would never admit to it. I honoured her for her loyalty.
I got out of the cottage just in time. I heard the besom’s handle strike the wood of the door as I pulled it shut.
Hercules ignored me. He had decided that his wishes had been disregarded for long enough, and was sulking. He had stopped whining and was lying full length, his nose between his paws. When I untied the rope from the nail in the wall and gave it a tug, he refused to move. I twitched it again with the same result.
‘If you don’t behave yourself,’ I warned him angrily, ‘you’ll go back where you came from to run wild on the downs.’
He didn’t believe me. Why should he? I didn’t believe myself. With a sigh, I picked him up and once again put him under my arm.
‘I can do without this sort of behaviour,’ I told him severely as I marched off down the street. ‘I’ve had a very disturbed night and a terrible day. I’ve been accused of murder and had to clear my name. I’ve lost a friend, whose death I ought to have been able to prevent. I’ve offended an old woman, who doesn’t deserve it, through telling her the truth about her no-good son, and I’m no nearer discovering the facts behind these killings than I was this time last week. So, I’m in no mood for your antics, my lad!’
Hercules squirmed a little, almost as if he knew what I was saying, then managed to reach my chin with his tongue and licked it. I looked down at him, squinting through half-closed eyes.
‘All right,’ I said at last. ‘I may be all sorts of a fool, but you’re forgiven. Just stop thinking that you can twist me around one of your paws. Now,’ I continued, ‘as we’re so close, we’d better call on Margaret Walker. You’ll be able to see the children. And, if we’re lucky, Adela and Adam may not have left for home yet.’
I put Hercules down and he trotted docilely at my heels, the very model of canine good behaviour (except for one or two hopeful sniffs at the carcass of a dead sheep, lying amongst the rest of the garbage in the drain), while we pushed our way through the crowds and crossed Bristol Bridge into Redcliffe. But we were still within a hundred yards of Margaret’s cottage when our ears were assailed by the noise of my younger son’s screaming. Something had obviously upset his little lordship, and he was intent on letting the entire neighbourhood share in his annoyance.