[Roger the Chapman 03] - The Hanged Man (13 page)

Such kindness and consideration made me feel worse and, once behind the curtain, I sank down on the edge of their rumpled bed, burying my face in my hands. But it was too late for remorse and, in any case, I told myself sturdily, I was not wholly to blame. I must just make certain that it did not happen again. All the more reason, therefore, to fulfill my promise to my hostess and either discover what had happened to William Woodward during his mysterious absence, or admit defeat and then move on, as far away from Lillis as I was able.

Breakfast was a silent meal, all three of us preoccupied, Mistress Walker with the prospect of a day's spinning ahead of her, Lillis and I with our thoughts.

'And where do your inquiries take you today?' Margaret asked me as she finished her porridge and rose from the table. 'Lillis,' she went on, 'I shall need you later to help me skein the wool and carry it to the weaving sheds, so don't go wandering off.'

Lillis, who was gathering up the dirty pots and plates ready to wash them, nodded silently. I had delayed shaving until after the meal, and was scraping at my stubbled chin with my black-handled knife.

'I'm away to see Alderman Weaver again, if I can. There's some information which I hope he will be willing to give me.'

As I spoke, I glanced at my discarded pack in the comer, and was seized with an urgent longing to be tramping the open roads once more, free of all obligations and relationships; flee of love and shame and guilt; free of the ghost of a young man hanged for a murder he did not commit; flee of the necessity to discover who had tried to kill a defenceless old man. I could almost feel the springing turf beneath my feet, the wind in my hair, the rain in my face. I could see myself opening my pack, the eager faces of the village: women and girls as they clustered around me...

But I had once been trained for the monastic life, and in Chapter Sixty-nine of the Benedictine Rule it is set down that truth and justice are to be preferred before mere fallible inclination; and I had no doubt that God Himself had singled me out, as He had done on the past two occasions, for this present task.

Margaret noticed the direction of my glance and said abruptly, 'You have no need to continue if you don't wish to. You're fit enough now. Get back to your peddling. I shan't hold you to your promise.'

Lillis had moved towards the door, needing to go to the well to draw more water for the dishes. As she opened it, she recoiled with a startled cry. A dead cat, rotten with maggots, had been laid across the doorstep.

'Has this happened before?' I asked, stooping to pick up the carcass by the scruff of the neck and throw it into the street sewer.

'Once or twice,' Margaret Walker admitted. 'Although who's to say it's deliberately meant for us'? People have to dispose of their dead animals somehow.' I made no reply, but knew that I must put aside all thoughts of escape for the present. My task was as yet unfinished and, however it ended, either in success or failure, I had not yet explored all the possibilities which might lead me to an answer.

Chapter Eleven

There was certain impatience in Alderman Weaver's manner during my second visit, for which I did not blame him. He must have thought himself well rid of me after the first visit, and to find himself face to face with me once more only served to remind him how deeply he was in my debt. And no one likes to be under a permanent obligation, particularly to someone so inferior in station.

I hastened to assure him that I should not trouble him again, and he instantly grew more affable.

'I should not have worried Your Honour now, but that certain information which has come my way leads me to believe that the Irish traders may have been concerned in Master Woodward's disappearance after all, and I wondered...' I hesitated, choosing my words carefully.

'What I would say is, Your Honour seems to have... connections with these, er, gentlemen. Would it therefore be possible for you to tell me where they might be found when in the city?'

'The alderman looked taken aback. 'But I have already old you,' he protested, 'that I have made inquiries, and no sighting of Master Woodward is remembered in Ireland.'
 

'You said you made inquiries of your friends. I should like to put some questions to the slavers themselves.'
 

Alderman Weaver appeared even more disconcerted, and drew closer to the fire for comfort. Outside, it was another dank and melancholy day, and through the glass windows, I could see slivers of grey, monotonous sky.

Walking here, in spite of my frieze cloak, I had been chilled to the bone.

'I did not say,' the alderman blustered, 'that I had any contact with the slavers! Merely that I know people who.., who could have.' I made no reply, but looked steadily at him, watching the colour fluctuate in the puffy cheeks. After a few moments trying to outstare me, he finally gave in. 'Oh, very well! Perhaps I do know where they may be found. But I warn you, making contact with these men is a dangerous business. In the eyes of the law, they are criminals.'

I refrained from suggesting that they were probably also criminals in the eyes of God because, even then, young as I was, I had discovered that God's law and man's are not always the same: there are too many ambiguous answers to prayer for anyone to speak with confidence on behalf of the Almighty, one of the views which had set me at odds with the Church hierarchy and convinced me that I was not suitable for the monastic life. I said simply, °I am prepared to take risks. And if I can call upon your name for protection, I think they cannot be too great.'

Alderman Weaver seemed to be both pleased and offended, each emotion struggling to gain the upper hand.

Eventually, pride won as he looked through my eyes and saw himself as a man of the world, a person of influence with both high and low.

'Very well. There's an ale-house in Marsh Street. It has no name, but as you approach from the direction of St Stephen's Church, it will be on your right-hand side. It hacks on to the great quay, not far from where the Frome runs into the Avon. The landlord is called Humility Dyson. Mention my name to him and ask for Padraic Kinsale or Briant of Dungarvon. If they're not there, he can usually tell you when they're expected. But take my advice, don't go at night and don't go unarmed. Do you have a cudgel?'

I nodded. 'It's with my pack at Mistress Walker's cottage. Thank you, Your Honour. I'll take up no more of your time.'

The alderman regarded me thoughtfully. 'You'll not discover anything, I'm afraid. I made very careful inquiries, as I told you. Whatever happened to William Woodward, he wasn't taken captive to Ireland.'

It was on the tip of my tongue to take him into my confidence, but I decided against it. He would only scoff at my theory of murder, for it might well implicate one of his friends or the son of one of those friends. As well to leave him in ignorance. So I thanked him yet again for his time and trouble, and left by the street door as, on this occasion, I had entered, much to the housekeeper's indignation. But she made no formal protest; obviously Ned Stoner had enlightened her as to the service I had once rendered the alderman. A chill wind was sweeping Broad Street and I drew in a breath of sharp, cold air.

The morning was beginning to gather pace and the bustle of a large city, the second most important of the kingdom, hummed in my ears. Carts rumbled past, making for one of the city gates, laden with hogsheads of wine, bales of cloth, crates of soap, south to Exeter, Salisbury or Southampton, north to Coventry, Chester or Norwich, following the westerly trade routes into neighbouring Wales, in an easterly direction to Oxford or London. Street-sellers were abroad crying their wares, reminding me sharply that I should be doing the same; shouts and halloos echoed from wharves and quays as the dockmen unloaded ships from Ireland, Cornwall, Spain, Italy, and even from faraway Iceland.

I returned to Mistress Walker's for my dinner to find Lillis absent. In answer to my query, I was told she had gone to eat with Nick Brimble and his old mother, who were both fond of her. I thought there was some slight constraint in Margaret's manner and wondered, with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, if Lillis had confided in her the events of the night. But when nothing was said, I decided it must be a guilty conscience and did my best to be cheerful, even ingratiating.

After some absent-minded chatter, I thought it wisest to let Margaret Walker know where I was going, and explained my morning's errand to Alderman Weaver. 'For think it possible that your father may have been carried to Ireland after all,' I said.

She glanced up from her plate, startled. 'You take care,' she advised me. Genuine concern for my safety showed in her face. 'That ale-house has a bad reputation. All the rogues and vagabonds of the city are known to congregate there. They'll cut your throat as soon as give you the time of day. I'm astonished that a man such as Alderman Weaver has intimate knowledge of it.'

I smiled at that. 'Men don't amass fortunes by being scrupulous about who they trade with,' I told her. 'You can't pick and choose in business and must go where there's money to be made. As for myself, I shall take my cudgel with me; my Plymouth cloak, as they call it in the south. I'm big and strong and forewarned of possible danger. I can fend for myself.'

She frowned. 'You've been ill, remember, and still show signs of weakness now and then. Must you go? I thought Alderman Weaver had assured you, as I did, that my father could not possibly have been taken to Ireland.

If that were so, why would he have returned wearing someone else's clothes?'

'That I don't know. But it seems to me that the slavers could have been paid to transport Master Woodward over the water and kill him, so that Robert Herepath might be accused of his murder.'

Margaret considered this for a moment, no trace of hostility now detectable in her manner. She was a quick-witted woman and immediately saw my meaning, 'But,' she asked, 'in that case, why not dispatch Father in the cottage and leave his body to be found?'

'Because it was necessary that the house should be empty when Robert went to steal the money. If he had seen a body, he could have abandoned his purpose and raised the alarm. On the other hand, if the murder had been delayed until after the theft, your father might have awakened and prevented it. So Master Woodward had to be removed, and his own story bears out the idea that he was taken to Ireland, just as his condition testifies to the fact that an attempt was almost certainly made on his life.'
 

Her frown deepened. 'But that points the finger of suspicion at Edward Herepath. He knew that Father was keeping the money for him until his return from Gloucester and, on his own admission, let the fact slip to his brother.'

'In itself a suspicious circumstance,' I pointed out, 'if you consider his reason for asking Master Woodward to guard his property in the first place. You told me yourself that Edward Herepath thought the money safer in Bell Lane than Small Street because, although he trusted his servants, he could not bring himself to trust Robert.

Nevertheless,' I hastened to assure her, 'that does not mean I necessarily consider Edward Herepath guilty of the plot. There must have been others who knew of his absence from home; others to whom he or your father may have dropped a word, and one of them may have turned the circumstances to his advantage. Someone who hated Robert Herepath - and there seem to have been many such people.'

Margaret Walker bit her underlip. Her dinner had cooled, half-eaten, on her dish, and she pushed it aside.

'But who was to know for certain that Robert would steal the money?'

I shrugged. 'Everyone who knew him, I should fancy.' There was silence, then she gave her head a brisk shake. 'My father wasn't taken to Ireland,' she said with certainty, 'and so you will discover, just as you will find this story of yours is a bag of moonshine. There's no connection but that of accident between my father's disappearance and Robert Herepath being hanged for his murder.'

I saw that there was no arguing with her in this mood.

She had closed her mind to the possibility of being mistaken, and it was up to me to prove her, and all the others who agreed with her, wrong. I rose from the table and fetched my cudgel from its resting place, propped in a comer of the cottage beside my pack. As I once more wrapped myself in my cloak, Margaret spoke my name. I looked round, suddenly wary.

She had risen to her feet and was propping herself against the table behind her with white-knuckled hands.

'Roger...' She stopped, as if wondering how to continue.

Then she said, 'Roger, Lillis is young for her years... irresponsible. She does not always foresee the.., the ,consequences of her.., her actions. But you are just the opposite. You have a wise head on your shoulders. l... I trust you.'

I could not meet her eyes. She was suspicious, but hoped that her suspicion was misplaced. Lillis had not said anything, but something in her manner had made Margaret uneasy. I mumbled a few words and hurriedly left the cottage, making my way back across the bridge and turning towards Marsh Street.

From St Nicholas Back, I walked through the bustle of Ballance Street, which skirts the great marsh itself, until I could clearly see the spire of St Stephen's Church rising above the houses. From there it was but a step before I swung left into Marsh Street, swarming as it always was at any time of the day with sailors, that fraternity of the sea who live largely by their own rules and pay little heed to the rest of us landlubbers. But they were not entirely lawless. I was later told that a levy of fourpence a ton on all cargo arriving at the port provided homes for a priest and a dozen poor mariners whose seafaring days were done, and whose prayers were offered regularly twice a day for all those still labouring upon the oceans. I wish I might have known it at the time, for my heart would not have hammered quite so fast as I crossed the threshold of the ale-house.