“The man is surely dead of his own hand, Hugh. You must not seek a felon where none is. And even was atte Bridge slain, there is no man in Bampton sorry for it. He was an evil fellow we are well rid of.”
Chapter 2
Next day, near noon, I received a visitor. Maud atte Bridge appeared at my door, red-eyed from tears and a sleepless night. I opened the door for her entry and Kate, observing her condition, offered a bench by the fire. The woman sat and sighed, then looked up to me and spoke.
“They all say ’e hung hisself,” she began, “but ’e din’t.”
“Why do you say so?”
“’E just wouldn’t. I know my Thomas.”
“What happened the night before he was found? Did he leave the house early in the morn, or was he away all night?”
“All night. We’d covered the fire an’ was ready to go to our bed when we ’eard hens cacklin’. They ain’t likely to do so after dark less they’re vexed. Tom thought maybe a fox was at ’em, so took a staff an’ went to the toft.”
“Did he return?”
“Nay. Hens quieted an’ I thought ’e’d run the beast off that troubled ’em. But ’e din’t come to bed. After a time I went out to seek ’im, but ’e was not to be found. Never saw ’im again ’til folk took me to Cow-Leys Corner, an’ there ’e was.”
“The stool found there… you said it was yours.”
“Aye. Went missin’ two days past. Tom was workin’ with the bishop’s plow team an’ I was plantin’ onions in the toft. When we was done an’ the day near gone we couldn’t find the stool. ’Twas there in the morn.”
“Your children saw no man enter the house and take it?”
“Nay. They was in an’ out. Oldest was helpin’ me in toft. Babe was sleepin’, an’ couldn’t know a man stole a stool anyway.”
“Perhaps Thomas took the stool himself that day, having planned his death and the means?”
Maud looked to the flags at her feet. “Mayhap. ’E was right fierce about it bein’ took, though. Said ’e was gonna watch others in the Weald to see did any have it, an’ deal with ’em when ’e found it.”
“Did Thomas fight with another the day before he died?”
“Fight? Nay… not that ’e spoke of.”
“But he often quarreled with others, is this not so?”
“Aye, as you well know.”
“But he’d been in no recent disputes?”
“Nay. He’d not spoke of any.”
“And his face showed no sign of blows?”
Maud peered up at me suspiciously. “Nay. Why should ’e appear so?”
I decided to keep silent about Thomas atte Bridge’s damaged lip and tooth. I was learning that knowledge can be a useful tool, and occasionally a weapon — a weapon most effective when an opponent knows nothing of its existence, like a dagger hidden in a boot.
“Vicars wouldn’t bury ’im in churchyard,” Maud continued. “’Ow’ll ’e get to heaven?”
I did not reply. I saw no point in reminding the woman of her husband’s many sins. The Lord Christ said the path to heaven is narrow, and few there be who find it. It seemed to me unlikely that Thomas atte Bridge would be among those few, no matter was he buried in hallowed ground or not. But Maud faced enough grief. She needed to consider no more.
“You bein’ Lord Gilbert’s bailiff, it’d be your part to find who slew Tom an’ set things right, so he can be buried proper in the churchyard.”
I looked from Maud to Kate, and saw in my bride’s eyes a reflection of my own thoughts. Kate knew of Thomas atte Bridge’s assaults upon me. I had told her how he left lumps upon my skull in Alvescot Churchyard and at St Andrew’s Chapel when I discovered his part in the blackmail he, his brother Henry, and the wicked priest John Kellet had visited upon transgressors who had confessed to the scoundrel priest.
So although I had ample reason to leave Thomas atte Bridge in his grave at Cow-Leys Corner, I saw in Kate’s eyes that I could not. Did some other murder him, it would be a great injustice to abandon him there, lost and unshriven. Atte Bridge was himself guilty of much injustice, but holy writ says the Lord Christ died for his sins as well as mine.
Who would murder Thomas atte Bridge? Surely it would be some man wronged at his hand. Atte Bridge had few friends in Bampton and the Weald. If I was convinced the fellow was murdered, and sought the man who took his life, I would likely seek one who did what others would have wished to do, had they the stomach for it. Who, then, would assist me? Who would wish to see a friend hang for slaying a reprobate?
I had faced a similar problem when I sought who might have struck down Thomas’s brother, Henry. Henry was as despised as Thomas, perhaps more so. Townsmen were pleased these brothers would trouble them no more. They would not be happy was I able to lay Thomas’s death at the feet of a friend. Again I caught Kate’s eye. Did I seek approval more than justice? Even justice for the unjust?
I sighed and chewed upon my lip. Perhaps, I thought, I may discover that Thomas atte Bridge did indeed take his own life, and planned it so as to suggest some other had part in the business. This would be convenient. But justice can be often inconvenient.
I promised Maud that I would examine the circumstances of her husband’s death. She departed Galen House with many expressions of gratitude, as if I had already resolved the matter.
I had discarded the rope taken from Thomas atte Bridge’s neck in a corner of the chamber. My eyes fell upon it as I sat at my table and pondered the obligation I had accepted. Two lengths of hempen cord lay tangled. Three of the ends were sliced through cleanly. I had seen a knife make one of these cuts when Thomas was cut down. The fourth end was frayed with age. When the rope was one piece it had one worn end and one newly cut.
Kate had prepared a coney pie for our dinner. My mind returned to the rope while I ate. Kate saw I was preoccupied, followed my gaze, and guessed the cause.
“You are silent, Hugh. Does Maud’s complaint trouble you?”
“Aye. Lord Gilbert entrusts me with justice in Bampton. If a man is murdered here I must seek whoso has slain him. But if Maud speaks true and her husband was done to death by another, there are those who would agree the murderer has done a laudable deed.”
“You think the same?” she asked.
“I am troubled. Murder is a grievous sin, but I am not sorry Thomas atte Bridge lies in his grave. What if I discover he was murdered and the felon is a friend? What then will I do?”
“You will do the right. I have faith in you,” Kate replied softly.
“I might sleep more soundly did I have your confidence.”
“I will do what I may to see you sleep well, your burdens forgot,” she smiled.
I am sure my face reflected a lightened spirit after her words.
I could not drive the discarded rope from my mind that day. It seemed there might be significance to the odd number of cut and frayed ends to the two sections. Late in the day I took a length of the hempen cord with me and called at Maud’s hut.
The door was open to the warm spring afternoon but only silence greeted me. A cottage with four children should be a noisy place. I rapped my knuckles against the door-post and heard the rustle of rushes on the floor in response. Maud appeared, her youngest child upon a hip, both of them blinking in the sunlight after the dim interior of the dwelling.
I showed her the rope. She recoiled as if I had swatted her with it, but regained composure when I told her I was about the work she begged of me. I asked if Thomas had owned rope like that in my hand. Such common stuff might be found about a cotter’s house. Did a man have a field planted to hemp, it was easy enough to make. I thought Maud might produce a length of cord like it and I could compare the cut ends. She did not. Thomas, she contended, had no such rope nor had he possessed any or had need to for many years.
That Thomas atte Bridge might have owned things his wife knew not of I did not doubt. But it seemed unlikely he would keep possession of a hempen rope from her. He might, however, borrow such a cord from another and Maud know not.