[Roger the Chapman 03] - The Hanged Man (19 page)

Lillis tossed her head. She had freed her hair from its silken bows and let it loose in a jet black mane. 'I would have told you,' she assured me scornfully. 'Besides, so many of the weavers are Lollards, there's no need to be afraid.'

'And many aren't,' her mother retorted. 'And there are those who wish us harm. One whisper of your grandfather's heresy and they would carry the tale straight to the alderman. If you wish to be turned homeless on to the streets, I don't.'

I intervened quickly before Lillis could reply. 'You have no cause to fear me,' I said quietly. 'You know I would never hurt you. But in fact, you need say nothing. I know that Lillis is telling the truth.' I suddenly remembered something. 'There was a book, hidden among the things in the chest. When you showed me what your father was wearing when he returned home, I saw the edges protruding among the clothes. A velvet binding and some edges of vellum.' I had an idea now what that book might be.

Margaret Walker would have protested again, but Lillis demanded the key and unlocked the chest. She tossed the concealing garments out on to the floor and turned towards me, the folio clutched between both hands. Her mother groaned in despair and covered her face with spread fingers. Lillis laid the book carefully on the table in front of me, then stood back to admire it, her head tilted a little to one side.

And indeed, it was still beautiful, even though the covers were rubbed and worn almost through in places, the gilt clasps and tassels badly tarnished, and many of the silk studs, which decorated the front, missing. The leaves were made of the finest vellum, and the script was most carefully done. I opened it at random and read a few lines from the Gospel according to Saint John. And although I had already guessed it to be a Lollard Bible, it nevertheless came as a shock to read the words in English instead of Latin; to have immediate understanding, rather than experience that delay necessary with translation. And the sayings of Our Lord sprang from the page marvellously fresh and vibrant, no sentence deleted at the discretion of a priest, no passage omitted because it was too contentious, or, more importantly, because it was ambiguous and might be understood two ways. I could see at once why the Church was so anxious to suppress the reading of the Scriptures in English, for every man and woman in the land could then make his or her own interpretations of Christ's word.

I kept these thoughts to myself, however, merely asking, 'How did Master Woodward come by this book?' Margaret Walker uncovered her face, relieved, I think, that I had not recoiled in horror or threatened such heresy with exposure to the authorities. My smile must have encouraged her further, for she even managed one herself.

'I don't know,' she answered, 'but someone must have given it to him. It's a gentleman's book, as you can see. Father could never have afforded anything so beautiful himself.'

I nodded, sure that I knew the donor. 'Was Master Woodward able to read?' I asked.

'None of us can read,' Lillis put in, drawing up a stool beside mine. 'But I should like to learn my letters if someone would teach me.' She gave me a challenging stare.

'No, Father couldn't read,' Mistress Walker confirmed, 'but the preacher would read the book to him whenever he called.'

'He took it with him to Bell Lane?'

'Yes. I brought it back here when I thought him dead. I know I should have got rid of it, but I couldn't. I hid it in that chest, and I was glad, afterwards, that I did, for it gave him some peace and comfort in his dying days when his poor brain was addled from the beating he had taken.'

'And when he was really dead, you still could not bring yourself to dispose of it to one of your Lollard neighbours, such as Burl Hodge?'

Margaret immediately laid a finger to her lips and bade me hush. 'We know these things, but never mention them aloud.'

'You have never felt tempted by the heresy yourself?.' I asked, and she shook her head vigorously.

'Let other fools jeopardize their lives. Indeed, I have been unforgivably stupid to keep that book. I shall rid myself of it as soon as I can.'

Yet, with sudden insight, I knew that she wouldn't. In spite of the fact that it was a danger to her, she would go on concealing it at the bottom of the chest because it had meant so much to her father. It was in that moment that I first realized the strong, fierce loyalty both mother and daughter had for those they loved. On an impulse, I turned and took Lillis's hand. 'I'll teach you your letters,' I promised, 'when we have time.'

The blinding, joyous smile she gave me transformed her thin features, making her almost beautiful. I wondered how I could ever have thought her plain. Together, we replaced the Bible in the bottom of the chest, and started to pile the clothes on top. This time, the two women's dresses went in first, followed by the blanket, sheets and the old burel cloak. The shoes and hose came next, and finally the clothes worn by William Woodward. Lillis threw in the boots, and once again I noticed how they had been pushed out of shape because they had been crafted for a smaller person. But not that much smaller, or the seams of the drawers and shirt would have burst rather than being merely strained. I shook out the amber doublet once more, and it was then that I saw the faint, rust-coloured stains across the neck and shoulders.

Chapter Sixteen

I must have exclaimed aloud, because I suddenly realized that the two women were looking inquiringly at me.

'What is it?' Lillis asked, and when I held out the doublet, she came to peer over my shoulder and I could feel her soft breath against my cheek.

'Bloodstains. Look. These faint, rust-coloured marks around the neck. And see here! Others on the shoulders.' Margaret reached across her daughter and took the garment from me, subjecting it to close inspection. 'You're right,' she nodded at last. 'The doublet's been washed and bleached in strong sunlight, but if you look carefully, you can still make out some of the stains. The velvet has lost its colour and is frayed in patches, as though it has been rubbed between two stones.'

Trembling with excitement, I pulled the shirt out of the chest and held it, in its turn, up to the light. At first I thought there was nothing to see, for linen, especially bleached linen, is easy to clean, and stains of any kind can be removed without much trouble. It was Lillis who thought of the rushlight, holding it so that its pale flame illuminated the material from the other side, to show me a faint tidemark of rusty-brown close to the neck-band.

'I - I don't understand,' Margaret faltered. 'These aren't the clothes Father was wearing when he was abducted.

These are the ones he returned home in.'

I sat back on my haunches, frowning, while Lillis folded the doublet and shirt before restoring them to the chest. She closed the lid.

I said slowly, 'We're seeing things wrongly somehow.

There must be a different way of looking at events which would help make sense of this discovery. Your father must have been attacked while he was wearing these clothes.' I suddenly remembered the mysterious horseman seen by Henry Dando, riding the bay. Why did I think that he might have been wearing the apparel now laid away in lavender and musk in Mistress Walker's oaken coffer? Henry Dando had not mentioned an amber doublet, it was true, but there was also a good frieze cloak, lined with squirrel's fur, and on a cold March morning this would undoubtedly have been worn, concealing what was underneath. I had no proof or valid reason for this assumption of mine, but I felt in my bones that I was right. Maybe Henry Dando, without realizing it, had recognized the cloak as well as the horse, if he had seen Edward Herepath wearing it at some time.

'Did you ever show these things to anyone else?' I asked Margaret Walker. 'To Mistress Ford, for example?' 'Not to her, no. It was good of her to visit Father, but she could only bear to stay a few minutes, and I did not wish to burden her with details. Master Herepath could not bring himself to come at all, but he did send soup from his kitchen. Although it was a bitter brew, undrinkable .'

I suspected another motive for Margaret's reticence, her fear that possession of such costly garments might be considered unlawful on her part and the true owner sought.

She had plans, no doubt, to sell them if her fortunes ever became desperate, and I for one did not blame her.

'To anyone at all, then?' I persisted.

'Nick Brimble was the only person. It was he who advised me to say nothing and conceal them.'
 

I rose to my feet. 'You've committed no wrong that I can see. Someone gave these clothes to your father to wear, therefore they were his by law and now are yours.'
 

'I told you so, Mother.' Lillis smiled with mocking affection, then turned her attention back to me. 'But what does it all mean?'

I was unexpectedly moved by the trusting, childlike expression on her face; her confident belief that I would be able to explain. I felt as though I were betraying that trust when I shook my head. 'I'm afraid I can't give you an answer at the moment. Maybe I shall be able to find one when I've thought about things more carefully.'
 

'You need your supper,' Mistress Walker told me briskly. 'Lillis! Draw a mazer of ale from the barrel while get some of the salted eels from the crock. They'll go well with the rest of the oatcakes left over from breakfast.'

As the two women fussed around me, both anxious for my comfort, I felt truly at home for the first time since my enforced stay with the Walkers, and began to think that, after all, I should do well to make the cottage my winter quarters. What was there for me in Wells? My parents were dead and it was long, anyway, since I had lived there.

Boyhood friendships cool with absence, and I had no living kin. And if I was not allowed to sell within Bristol city walls, there were plenty of surrounding villages where I could ply my trade. Besides, if I married Lillis...

I pulled myself up short. This was indeed running before I had learned to walk. I must give myself time to get used to the idea.

I spent a restless night, tossing and turning on my truckle bed, my mind shifting uneasily between my own problems and those of the mystery I had promised to solve. Eventually, however, personal worries sank beneath the greater complexities of William Woodward's disappearance. There was his bloodstained hat fished from the River Frome, and the bloodstained clothes in which he had returned home, five months after he had last been seen alive. Too much blood altogether. In the meantime, a man had been hanged for his murder, even though no body had been found, such had been the general conviction of Robert Herepath's guilt. Yet there was no doubt about the fact that Robert had stolen his brother's money, nor that he had been an unpleasant young man, wild and debt-ridden. Only one person had loved him, apart from his elder brother, and even she had turned against him at the last.

My straw-filled mattress seemed suddenly full of lumps, and I sat up with a silent curse. On the other side of the curtain, Margaret Walker was snoring, and Lillis, I guessed, was also asleep. She had seemed tired after supper, retiring early and giving me a shy, swift peck on the cheek. Happiness at my change of attitude towards her had made her sleepy, and I realized uneasily that she drew her strength from anger and aggression. All the same, I had given my word to teach her her letters, and that at least I would do before finally making a decision about marriage.

In the past, I had sometimes known inspiration to strike in the quiet of the early hours, but that night I was too confused to set my mind in order. There were thoughts just below the surface, like fish glimpsed beneath the ice of a frozen stream, but as yet I was unable to crack the ice to free them. I said my prayers again, repeating the familiar words and phrases to give myself comfort, but finally I added a plea of my own. 'Lord Saviour,' I said, not without a note of severity in my tone - for I have never believed that God demands grovelling sycophancy, whatever the Church might say - 'if you wish me to solve this mystery, you will have to give me a helping hand. It isn't fair to leave everything up to me.' I added a little petulantly: 'I haven't been well, remember!' After that, I lay down once more, curled on to my right side, and was sound asleep within minutes.

I had finished breakfast and was sitting at the table, shaving. Lillis had gone to the dyer's to fetch more wool for her mother, and Mistress Walker herself was at the other end of the table, about to start the day's cooking. She was making black pudding, mixing oatmeal and fat and sheep's blood together in equal proportions. I paused to watch her for a moment or two before removing the last of my beard. I was putting my razor back in my pack when Lillis returned with the laden basket. She gave me her wide cat's grin.

'Black pudding,' she said. 'Good. My favourite.' I pulled on my leather jerkin. 'I'm afraid I shan't be sharing it with you. I'm going away for a few days, to Gloucester.'

'Gloucester?' Margaret Walker looked up, dismayed.

'What do you want to go there for?'

'You've no horse,' Lillis objected.

'I don't need one,' I answered, 'while I've my own two legs. It will only take me two or three days. I know the road. I've walked it more than once. Thirty miles, perhaps, as the crow flies.'

'But why?' Mistress Walker insisted.

I debated for a moment whether or not to tell them, but could see no reason why they should not know. 'I want to find out if Edward Herepath really spent Thursday and Friday night in the city, as he said he did, last March; the night of the Annunciation of Our Lady and the following one. Maybe, even after all this time, someone will remember him.'