The Lord Bishop's Clerk (23 page)

The search revealed nothing, so wet, cold and disgruntled, Bradecote and Catchpoll headed for the warming room, where they hoped a brazier would have been lit to dry out any brethren forced by circumstance to be outdoors. They were out of luck, but a ruddy-faced brother made the appealing suggestion that they go to the kitchens, where Brother Boniface might take pity on them and provide hot ale spiced with herbs. The pair brightened, and took the advice with thanks.

Fortified by warm ale, smelling of wet wool, and steaming gently, Bradecote and Catchpoll resumed their ruminations.

‘We can find out if the lad was with the other workmen, out in the town when the murder took place,’ Catchpoll said, ‘and if that is so, then perhaps he found something afterwards. If he did, then it must have been clear who it belonged to, else he would not have been able to approach our murderer with it, presumably thinking he would be paid for his silence. It could have been something dropped on the workshop floor. The apprentices are the ones who have to sweep up, remember, and it would not have had to be something very distinctive if it belonged to Master Elias. I expect they all know the things he wears or carries, but then there is the problem of “how”. Master Elias went out with the journeyman, he said, and the journeyman agrees.’ Catchpoll frowned, for Bradecote was clearly not concentrating on what he was saying.

‘I seem to have half an answer,’ Bradecote paused, ‘but only half.’ He relayed what he had been told by the cellarer. ‘What I still cannot work out though, is if he killed Wulfstan before “seeking him” with the cellarer, how come he was not wet? The boy had to be dead by then or else he would have reached the workshop with the pitcher. Master Elias was out, and alone, but at that time could not have done the deed.’ He shook his head in perplexity.

‘There’s ways to keep drier, my lord. What if he had a piece of sacking over his head when he went out? If the lad had lingered, as he was thinking, he might have met him coming back, and killed him upon the opportunity of a moment. There he was, alone, with a lad who might have hinted that he knew something that would send him to the noose.’

‘It makes some sense, and yet … though if you add it to this morning …’

‘You speak in riddles, my lord. What of this morning?’

‘Because as I rounded the corner of the transept this morning, after we parted, a chisel “fell” from up top and embedded itself in the earth no more than a stride from me. Master Elias was very swiftly down the ladders, full of apologies and anger at Wulfstan for dropping it. The apprentice tried to deny it, and then gave up.’

‘Likely he would try, with it landing so near someone, and someone far too important,’ offered Catchpoll.

‘But what if he was telling true, and it was not him? What if it was his master, and he accepted that he would get the blame for the “accident”? If Elias wanted uproar, what better way than kill me?’ Bradecote managed to sound sanguine about his own potential mortality, but was increasingly worried that his own failure to take the incident more seriously had enabled the mason to get rid of Wulfstan.

Catchpoll scratched his nose. ‘It has a sense to it, my lord, I will grant that, but does not mean the lad was not also privy to something that might incriminate. If you was done away with, then putting blame for the accident upon the lad Wulfstan would be easy and handy. Mind you, there could be no suggestion that he killed the clerk. I doubt not he was with the other lads that evening, or else they would have said.’ Catchpoll tugged at his left ear. ‘This would be as good a time as any to tell you what I found out about Master Elias of St Edmondsbury, my lord.’

Bradecote did not look pleased. ‘Indeed, Serjeant.’

Catchpoll gazed at his superior innocently, but only partially concealing his pleasure. His methods for acquiring information were not all subtle, and usually involved a mixture of bullying, threatening, mild bribery, and, he preened himself, clever questions. The clever questions were what really pleased him, and, unknowingly, he felt much as Brother Eudo on the matter; discovering much without the other person being aware that they were even giving information was highly satisfying. He had gone earlier in the afternoon to the workshop armed with his wits and a tray of oatcakes. He managed to give the impression that he had persuaded the kitchen staff to part with them, rather than the truth, which was that he had fortuitously waylaid a brother bringing them as a gesture from the abbot. He was thus instantly regarded with favour, and invited to join the masons in their unexpected break. Master Elias was up the scaffolding, checking with his most senior man that the lashings would withstand the rough weather that was fast approaching, so they could afford to down tools, dust off hands and ease backs for a moment.

Serjeant Catchpoll might have a smile like a death’s head, but he was able to ply them with a few choice tales at his own, and the lord Sheriff of Worcester’s, expense. His own casual talk loosed tongues, and he was soon gleaning information about the places the team of masons had worked before, and when, without so much as a genteel enquiry.

Through all this, he had discovered that Master Elias’s sympathies lay with the Empress Maud, and that, in his cups, he had been known to say that not only soldiers could be of service to her. The implication, to Catchpoll, was that he provided her with information. His work meant travelling about the country, and gave good opportunities to use both ears and eyes.

‘One of the apprentices, not the one who was murdered, proudly listed all the places he had worked under Master Elias. These included Ely, Peterborough, Abingdon and Oxford, at the time of the siege.’

‘I would not be surprised if Henri de Blois had sent a man to watch that situation, and a trusted man at that. Master Elias would have heard the gossip, if no more, about the lord Bishop of Winchester’s clerk. We already know it has made its way round Winchester.’ Bradecote spoke almost to himself.

‘Exactly, my lord.’

‘So the idea is that Master Elias meets Eudo the Clerk in the Lady chapel, presumably by design, kills him with one of his own mallets, which he puts back in a haphazard way, because you would expect him to put it in the right place out of habit, and it is an obvious weapon. Then he goes back, drags the body to the position in front of the altar, and raises the alarm.’

‘Having remembered to destroy any letters or information the man held. It fits, my lord.’

It certainly made sense, although it would be better with a clearer motive. Perhaps they had met to exchange information and argued. No, the mallet proved prior intent. Both law officers cudgelled their brains for reasons. Catchpoll was less worried than Bradecote about it, but came up with the most likely ideas. Either Eudo had discovered something about Master Elias, be it clandestine activity or shady dealings to do with the provision of materials, or he thought he could threaten him using unfounded allegations, as he had tried with Brother Remigius and the lady d’Achelie.

‘So if the apprentice found something incriminating and thought to do a little “threatening” of his own, he paid for his stupidity. Having said which, it could likewise be that he knew Elias “dropped” the chisel and his master could not be sure that he would not come to us, quietly, and swear as much.’ Bradecote was talking almost to himself, and Catchpoll thought he could detect perturbation in his voice.

‘It might even be both, my lord. He might only have hinted about that to his master, after the chisel “accident”, which might yet have been just that. If he found something in the workshop, he would have recognised whatever it was as his master’s easily, and that would not be the case if it belonged to anyone else, and so perhaps, after being taken to task for his error with the chisel, he brought it up when closeted alone and feeling the edge of Master Elias’s hand and tongue.’

Bradecote rubbed his hands together briskly. They were gradually regaining sensation, and had reached the painful stage.

‘Either way it comes back to Master Elias, excepting that we cannot, without that sacking you mentioned, find how he managed to kill the apprentice. If there is enough suspicion do we corner Master Elias with our theory or simply arrest him and drag him off to the sheriff in Worcester? I have no knowledge of how these things proceed, Catchpoll.’

Serjeant Catchpoll gave him a ‘Don’t you worry, my lord, I have everything under control’ smile, which irked his superior, as he knew, and intended that it would.

‘I made sure Reynald stuck with him when he waited for the body to be laid in the chapel. The pitcher still niggles me, like the sacking. Wait! He wrapped the sacking about the pitcher and disposed of both at once, my lord.’ Catchpoll sounded pleased.

‘Then where, Catchpoll? I still cannot quite work out where he hid or threw it, because we searched thoroughly enough. It is the gap in our certainty.’

‘Aye, but we have enough to begin, and many is the criminal who has confessed with but half the tale known by the law, and no great pressure brought upon them, neither.’ Catchpoll sniffed. ‘I expect we will find him still in the mortuary chapel at present, which would be a good place to confront him. We can place him in the cell reserved for erring brothers overnight, and remove him to Worcester in the morning.’

Serjeant and acting under-sheriff headed purposefully for the mortuary chapel. Bradecote was grim faced, for this was where the consequences of the law began to be felt. He was sending a man to trial and almost certainly a shameful death, and in cold blood. However justified, it was very different from striking a man down in the heat of combat. Catchpoll had no such qualms. This was his job, and the proof of his success.

Master Elias was kneeling in prayer before the body, now laid out before the little altar. Reynald stood impassive at the back of the chapel. Catchpoll indicated by means of a short jerk of the head that he should absent himself, and he slipped out silently.

‘Murder is a foul thing, Master Elias,’ announced Bradecote, ‘and there have been two within the walls of this abbey in the last three days, undoubtedly connected. On both occasions you discovered the body.’

‘I did, my lord, though it gives me nothing but sorrow.’

‘Sorrow that you had discovered them, or sorrow at the thought that your soul stands damned for the crimes?’ Bradecote’s tone was harsh.

Master Elias rose swiftly, his face livid, though whether from terror or anger Bradecote could not tell.

‘You are accusing me of killing my own apprentice, a mere lad?’

‘Yes. And the lord Bishop of Winchester’s clerk as well, of course.’ Catchpoll, standing with arms folded, sounded quite matter of fact.

‘It’s a lie, a wicked lie!’ roared the stonemason, the echo reverberating off the walls.

‘We think it perfectly true, nonetheless.’ Bradecote strove to be as impassive as the serjeant.

‘I have no reason to kill anyone, my lord, believe me. No fault has ever been found with my work or my actions, and I can call on abbots and bishops to attest my character.’

‘Men of good character can be led astray, Master Mason, and once one crime is committed, others are easier, are they not, Serjeant?’

‘Oh yes, my lord. In my experience, it is often the case.’

Master Elias was looking one to the other, horror and fear blending together in his cheeks. It was as if they were talking over him, not hearing his words. He blinked several times and then sat down suddenly upon the stone step before the altar, sagging like a dumped sack of grain, and dropped his head between his hands.

Bradecote expected him to admit his guilt, and waited patiently for him to pull himself together. Nothing happened, and Elias remained as motionless as the corpse behind him. Catchpoll was not as patient as his superior, and eventually broke the silence.

‘You were in contact with Eudo the Clerk to pass or receive information of use to the Empress Maud. You arranged a meeting but did not trust him and came armed with one of your workmen’s mallets. We do not know what was said, but he probably threatened you with disclosure and you had to silence him, so …’

‘No, no, that was not what happened.’

‘You did have a meeting arranged with him though, didn’t you?’ Bradecote kept his voice unemotional.

‘Yes, my lord, but it was to be in the workshop, and he never came. He never came, I swear.’

Catchpoll ignored this interchange and continued, ‘So you hit him with the mallet, good and hard. You then left the chapel and replaced the mallet in the workshop.’

‘If I had done so I would have put it back properly, so that it would not be discovered, not leave it out.’

‘You probably did put it back, and only told us it was left out to distract us. Within the church there are few things that could have been used, and carrying a heavy implement into the church would have been too risky for our killer. It was highly likely that we would suspect a mallet of being the object used, so you might as well reveal it while covering your own tracks.’

‘This is madness. Why would I then go back to … the Lady chapel you said … and move the body in front of the altar, then wait until the Compline bell to “discover” it?’

‘Because it was good cover. If anyone entered after you had moved the body, well, you were in the workshop and could slip outside if you had to. You would have only to unbar the door and claim that your men had forgotten to put up the bar before leaving for the town. You see, you gave them leave of absence to help your plan.’ Catchpoll was dogged.

‘Yes, yes, I gave them the evening off. But it was just so that I could meet Eudo in the workshop, and he did not come. You must believe me.’

‘Why the penitential pose?’ Bradecote was keen to understand the minutiae of the murder. It could not have been the act of mere whim.

‘I do not know. It was not me.’ Desperation gave the mason’s voice a strident quality. He was almost screaming.

‘We now get to today’s killing.’ Catchpoll ignored him.

‘Today,’ sighed Bradecote, ‘you were forced to kill again because Wulfstan the apprentice found something of yours in the workshop yesterday that was out of place or,’ he warmed to the theory, ‘perhaps even had traces of blood on it. What did you actually use to clean the blood and brains from the mallet, by the way?’ He did not mention the chisel.