‘Isn’t common land protected by the customs of the manor?’ Barak asked.
‘Ay,’ Toby retorted. ‘But who runs the court, and keeps the books of record? The lord of the manor.’
Chawry turned on him. ‘You sound like one of these radical Commonwealth men, Goodman. If you want to find a bad landlord, look to Master Witherington.’
I said, ‘Goodman Chawry, do you see over there, a narrow strip through the commons where the grass is darker – is that the course of the old stream, which Witherington claims for the boundary?’
‘Ay, it is,’ Chawry said. ‘No water flows there now, though the old watercourse fills in when it rains.’
‘And down there, a third of a mile off, I see a stream, and a bridge.’
‘That marks the boundary. Where poor Edith Boleyn’s body was found.’
‘Then let us go there, and see.’
We walked on, to where a bridge of wooden planks crossed a stream, the boundary with Witherington’s land. On his side there was farmland to the left, sheep pasture enclosed by hurdles to the right. Further down we could see a village, and the church. Chawry said, ‘In some places, the local priest might have been asked to intervene in a quarrel, but the man here is weak, uneducated, and keeps out of things.’ He grunted. ‘Favours the old ways, and keeps quiet.’
We stood on the bridge, looking down at the little stream flowing slowly between its muddy banks, overhung by the occasional willow. Chawry took a deep breath. ‘You wish to see the place the body was found?’
‘Please.’
We returned to Boleyn’s side of the stream, and went through a gate into the pastureland. Chawry followed the stream for about fifty yards, then stopped, looking down the muddy bank. ‘It was just there, by that young willow. I was called out when the old shepherd discovered her. It was an awful sight, that naked body sticking up for all to see: when they pulled it out the head was all pashed in. The top fell to pieces, dropping her brains in the water.’
I stepped down into the mud, glad of the boots. Each step released stinking bubbles. Nicholas followed, extending a hand to aid Barak, who found it hard to balance because of his arm. Chawry and Toby stayed on the bank. Chawry called down, ‘Be careful, it sucks at your feet; you have to slod through carefully.’
‘Easy enough to get a body in the water, if you’re strong enough,’ Barak said. ‘Just need to hold it by the middle and drop it in.’
I looked back at the bridge, measuring the distance. ‘But carrying it here, and then through this mud, would be hard. Even if we assume Edith was bludgeoned and killed at the bridge – and it’s an obvious place for people to arrange to meet – the killer then had to carry the body here, and in total darkness. It would take a very strong man, and one who knew the ground, to do that.’
Nicholas nodded agreement. ‘I doubt I could do it.’ He looked at me. ‘Perhaps there were two of them.’
‘That’s a possibility,’ Barak agreed.
For a moment, we stood in silence in the mud, looking at the gently flowing water, a peaceful place now.
‘We agree it would be difficult for one man to carry Edith here,’ I said. ‘Yet surely a madman acting out some hideous fantasy would act alone.’
‘Or two brutal madmen who always act together,’ Nicholas said quietly.
I looked at him. ‘Gerald and Barnabas?’
‘Their mother could have contacted them, arranged to meet them here.’
‘Yet everyone has said they loved her, however they behave towards everyone else.’ I bit my lip and stared over the fields and meadows. ‘So many possibilities.’
We heaved ourselves out of the mud and returned to the path. Chawry was stroking his red beard. I said, ‘I am grateful to you, Master Steward, for showing us this place. One more question, if I may. Have there been any other murders, or disappearances, in this area in the last few years?’
He shook his head, looking puzzled. ‘None. This is a quiet place – apart from the ruffle with Witherington’s tenants a few months ago.’
‘I just wondered,’ I said lightly. I was thinking of the maid Grace Bone, who had disappeared as completely as Edith, just before her.
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’
I said, ‘That ruffle, I understand the twins were there, and there was some violence on both sides. Did Master Boleyn ask you to organize matters on your side?’
Chawry’s brown eyes glinted and he frowned slightly. ‘It was Witherington who tried to occupy our land forcibly. I had a paid informer among his tenants, so we were ready for them when they came. Master Boleyn asked me to organize matters and, yes, it was my idea to bring in the twins. Despite their bad relationship with their father, they are always keen on any sort of trouble. They are part of a little band of young gentlemen who hire themselves out when there are quarrels between landlords, or between landlords and tenants. If things got rough, blame Witherington.’
‘Did Master Boleyn know the twins were coming?’
His eyes glinted again. ‘I thought it better not to tell him. I contacted them through their grandfather.’
‘Probably best,’ I said. I thought, There was a streak of ruthlessness in this man. ‘Thank you for your help. I think you should return to your mistress now. We shall go on to South Brikewell and see if we can talk to Master Witherington.’
Chawry inclined his head. ‘Be careful, sir. Witherington can be a brute.’
As we crossed the bridge I looked back. Chawry was standing on the path, staring at us. Then, ahead of us, we heard cries and shouts, voices raised in anger. On Witherington’s lands, something was happening.
Chapter Seventeen
We walked on, towards South Brikewell village. The shouting continued, and on the rising ground beyond the village we could discern figures running about in the fields, and white birds flying up. We walked past the gateway of another manor house, newer than Boleyn’s, built of flint. In the courtyard men were running to and fro, and a couple of horses were being brought from the stables. One man stood holding a pair of enormous hunting mastiffs on leashes. They saw us and began barking angrily, baring their teeth.
‘Doesn’t look like a good time to visit,’ Barak said. ‘There’s trouble of some sort going on.’
‘We could see what’s happening in the fields,’ Toby suggested.
‘Maybe that’s best left alone,’ Nicholas answered.
‘No,’ Barak said. He was holding his prosthetic hand up with his left; the dragging weight of it told while he was walking. Nonetheless, he was keen to discover what was happening. ‘It may be useful to take a look. We’ve all got knives,’ he added, ‘and Nick has his sword.’
‘All right,’ I agreed. ‘But be careful.’
We passed through the village, again mainly poor houses built round a pond, and somewhat smaller than North Brikewell. Behind it enclosed pasture was dotted with newly shorn sheep. In the middle of the pasture stood a shepherd’s hut, and I wondered if it belonged to the man who had found the body, Adrian Kempsley.
The village was deserted apart from a few chickens and goats scrabbling around. Most windows were shuttered, but where they were open we saw faces, mostly old people and children, looking out with anxious expressions. We could now see, in the fields beyond, some thirty people, mostly men but also women and some older children, walking along the narrow ridges that divided the strips where oats grew, green and short for the season. They carried nets and pitchforks, and three young men had bows and arrows. As the people moved slowly along, more white birds rose from the ground, flying in a disoriented way. People slashed at them, and one of the archers loosed an arrow, bringing a bird to the ground.