The Pardoner's Crime (9 page)

Emma averted her eyes. ‘But as I say, sir, he is a good man. He has taught me many things. About grocery and spicing, and his apothecary work. And he taught me much of midwifery.' She finished binding his bandage. ‘The leg is still somewhat swollen, Sir Richard. If you would permit me, I will rub it a little. That will help to dispel some of the fluid that accumulates after a wound.'

Richard nodded his head and rested back, finding Emma's gentle manipulation on his calf very relaxing. ‘Did you know the man in the stocks, William Scathelocke?'

‘Of course, Sir Richard. He was a pinder and one of the best slaughtermen in the area.'

‘And did he work for any particular butcher?'

Emma pursed her lips as she kneaded his lower leg. ‘I think not, Sir Richard. You would have to ask around in the
shambles
where all the butchers' shops are. Or ask at the guildhall.'

‘I shall do that. And in fact I must pay a visit to the
guildhall
sometime. I must learn more of the Wakefield Mysteries.'

‘Ah yes, the plays. My husband and I are involved, since he is the master of the spicer and grocer's guild.'

Her skilful fingers had begun rubbing the back of his knee, gently working on the lymph nodes that had swollen there.

‘Will you be acting in these plays, Emma?'

She laughed, a sweet trill of a laugh that seemed to bubble up with pleasure. ‘Oh I could not act, Sir Richard. But I help some of the other wives and seamstresses with costumes.'

Richard was feeling extremely relaxed. Yet he was also aware as Emma's hands moved above the knee to work on his thigh muscles that he was feeling something else. Something he had not felt since his wife had died. He felt himself becoming aroused by this green-eyed wife of the local apothecary. His manhood had begun to enlarge, producing a bulge that he was both conscious of and
embarrassed
by.

‘That is good, Emma,' he said, abruptly sitting up and swinging his legs off the couch. ‘I … I must away on business.'

Emma's cheeks had developed two patches of crimson, and she had snatched her hands away and put them behind her back. She rose quickly, her eyes fixed on the floor. ‘I would suggest that you return tomorrow, sir. I … I could redress the wound.'

Richard pulled on his boot, stamped the heel on the
reed-covered 
floor to get it in place. ‘And I shall settle with your husband then, if that is all right?'

He left quickly, embarrassed that Emma Oldthorpe had seen that she had aroused him as a woman may arouse her husband. Yet as he mounted his horse he could not help the smile that had crept to his lips.

Hubert usually performed tasks that Sir Richard set him with vigour and zeal. When his mission involved indulging himself in food and a mug or two of ale, his enthusiasm soared. And when it might involve spending time with a buxom wench such as Mistress Beatrice Quigley of the Bucket Inn, he moved with the verve of a stallion given the run of a paddock.

The inn was only half full after the usual midday rush. It smelled agreeably of rabbit stew and freshly baked bread. Hubert ordered a mug of ale, a plate of stew and a hunk of bread from one of the serving girls and ate with gusto. In answer to his query about the whereabouts of the landlady the girl answered that she was busy with the ale-taster, who was checking the strength of her beer in the Bucket Inn
brew-house
. Accordingly, after wolfing his food down Hubert ordered another mug of ale and moved to an inglenook where he sat watching the rest of the clientele.

His spirits rose when Beatrice came in, shaking her head and cursing the incompetence and impudence of the town
ale-taster
. The girl who had served Hubert whispered to her and she turned and spied Hubert.

‘Good day, Master Hubert,' she greeted, her voluptuous lips forming into a smile that revealed her strong white teeth and the appealing gap between the two front ones. ‘Is your master Sir Richard not with you this afternoon?'

‘He has gone to the apothecary's,' Hubert replied, standing and gesturing to the seat beside him. ‘But I would be grateful for some of your time and the answer to a question or two.'

Beatrice's eyes sparkled and she winked. ‘Questions about
the law, or did you want to ask me questions of a more personal nature?'

Hubert laughed. He certainly found Beatrice Quigley an attractive woman and he was pretty sure that she had felt the same force. A handsome couple they would make, he felt. And a handsome coupling, a little demon in his mind urged. ‘A few of both,' he grinned. ‘Will you drink some ale with me?'

‘I will have a little mead,' she returned, signalling to the serving girl.

‘A sweet drink for a sweet lass,' Hubert said, raising his mug to her.

In return she smiled coquettishly and gave him a playful prod in the ribs with an elbow. Her drink arrived and they politely clinked pots. As they drank they naturally fell into conversation. He told her of himself and she told him of how she had inherited the Bucket Inn when her husband had died of apoplexy.

‘That was after a night of excessive passion, Master Hubert,' she confided.

‘Enough of the “Master,” Beatrice. I am plain Hubert to you.' And already his mind was thinking of the coupling that he hoped would be not long in coming, especially as she was being so candid. ‘But to business, now,' he said tweaking her knee through her dress. ‘Mayhap we shall have time for further chat later.'

‘I am all attention, Hubert. Ask what you will.'

‘Sir Richard is concerned about the murder of the man William Scathelocke. Do you know anything of him?'

Beatrice coloured and took a sip of her mead. ‘Of course. He was one of the pinders and an excellent slaughterman. He could dispatch an ox, pig or horse as quickly as that,' she said, snapping her fingers in front of her. ‘His main problem was that he drank too much. Of late he was always drunk.'

‘Why did he drink?'

Beatrice bit her lower lip. ‘A woman, of course.'

‘Which woman?'

‘Matilda Oxley.'

Hubert's jaw dropped. ‘You mean—'

‘Lillian's cousin. That is right.'

‘But she is betrothed to the outlaw Robert Hood, isn't she?'

‘She is now. He and William Scathelocke were friends once, then they became rivals for Matilda's affections.' Beatrice sighed. ‘And she chose Robin.

‘And then he began drinking. He was always drunk. It made him ill and he became incompetent and stopped doing his job properly. That is how he ended up in the stocks, although in everyone's opinion the punishment was too harsh.'

‘Did he drink here?'

‘He used to, until he was spurned by Matilda. From then on he hated her, Robin and everything to do with them.'

Hubert contemplated taking another sip of his ale, but laid the mug down instead. He leaned closer to Beatrice and
whispered
, ‘Could he have been the one who raped Lillian?'

Beatrice's eyes opened wide in first alarm, then in shock. ‘So that's it! You want to tidy this case away and have it pinned on poor William Scathelocke?' She shot to her feet, her eyes blazing. ‘You know full well that a Pardoner confessed to the crime this morning. Why are you trying to say such a … a horrible thing?'

A trio of men drinking at a neighbouring table looked round to see what all the commotion was. As one they stood up and advanced towards Hubert.

‘Is this bumpkin causing you grief, Beatrice?' asked one, a big man in a horsehair mantle. ‘Shall we show him the dust of the lane?'

‘It looks like that judge's man,' said another, with a cloth over one eye socket.

‘That's no excuse for upsetting Beatrice,' said the third, a bald older man with a grey beard. ‘Just say the word, Beatrice.'

Hubert eyed them all, but without fear. With the possible exception of the big man he felt sure that he could give a good account of himself against all three if needs be.

But Beatrice shook her head. ‘He is just leaving, thank you, lads. I don't want you or your gang breaking any more of my chairs like last night.'

George-a-Green was contrite. ‘That wasn't my fault, mistress. That was all because some jackanapes set fire to my cloak.'

The others chorused support for the pinder.

‘Beatrice, I did not mean—' Hubert began.

But the look in her eye told him that remonstration would be useless. He stood and bowed before taking his leave.

Once outside he chided himself for being so unsubtle. Then he grinned as the image of her standing over him with her flashing eyes and heaving breast came into his mind. She was certainly a woman of spirit. Taming that spirit was going to be a challenge that he would relish.

Neither Sir Richard nor Hubert made any mention to each other of the emotional meetings that they had both had since leaving the Moot Hall. Together they made their way back to Sandal Castle.

After visiting the guildhall and finding it closed and locked Richard had paid a visit to the shambles and talked with several of the butchers there. All had known and used William Scathelocke and confirmed that he had been a good and useful slaughterman. They had all mentioned his drinking and his rowdy behaviour, but none had known why he had started drinking so much. The news of him being a rival for the
affections
of Matilda Oxley had come as a surprise to Richard.

‘Could that be another link with the Hood then?' Richard mused. ‘Perhaps the Hood could have been getting rid of an old enemy when he found him there like a sitting duck? Or perhaps he could have been ensuring his silence.'

‘How so, my lord?'

‘Suppose that the Hood had been the rapist? The stocks are not far from the cemetery. It is possible that Scathelocke had seen something.'

Hubert chewed his lip. ‘I asked Beatrice Quigley if she thought that Scathelocke could have raped the girl. She went half mad and virtually threw me out of the Bucket Inn. She went on about the Pardoner having confessed.'

Richard nodded. ‘And, of course, there is nothing to suggest that the two crimes are in any way linked. Unless the Hood is involved.' He patted his mount's neck and it snickered back at him. ‘But the more one thinks about it, the more likely that seems. One thing is a pity though.'

‘What is that, sir?'

‘That we don't have one of the Hood's arrows. And we were so close to them only yesterday morning.'

It was late afternoon by the time the little procession left Wakefield and took the road towards Kirklees Priory, some ten miles distant. Lady Katherine and Father Daniel went first in a horse-drawn common cart, followed by Ned Burkin and the Pardoner, then by Owen Kidd, the Northgate constable and two other men of the watch.

The prioress and the nun's priest were busily discussing a priory matter, Ned Burkin was slurping from a skin of ale, and the Pardoner was hunched over his donkey, mumbling in Latin.

Owen Kidd prodded the Pardoner with the staff and cross that he was carrying along with the Pardoner's other
belongings
. ‘You are a lucky dog, Pardoner,' he said. ‘Sir Thomas would have had your balls cut off and your eyes fed to the crows by this afternoon if he had his way. The new judge seems a much more … mealy-mouthed type.'

Albin of Rouncivale mumbled obsequiously and seemed to hunch up further, as if in attempting to do so he would
disappear
and escape further taunts. He was feeling totally wretched and more than a little scared. So far no one had shown him any shred of kindness. He knew that everyone would consider him an outcast, guilty and worthy of nothing except castration, blinding and even death. He knew that he
would have to bide his time and try to gain the support of the prioress and the nun's priest and then perhaps he would have a chance at the consistory court in York.

The two men of the watch chuckled away to each other.

‘Come on, Ned, let us have some of that ale,' one of the men complained.

In answer Constable Burkin made a sign, took another swig, then said, ‘You men just keep your eyes peeled. I will watch the prisoner; you just look out for robbers and outlaws as we pass through these woods.' He turned and blinked at the Pardoner. ‘I must say though, you don't actually look like the sort of a man who would rape a young girl.'

Albin of Rouncivale looked up at the constable. He shook his head. ‘I didn't rape her.'

Ned Burkin stared at him as though he was talking to a madman. ‘What are you saying to me, you dog? You said
yourself
that you raped her. And you stood before the judge this morning and—'

‘I admitted no crime this morning. I just claimed benefit of clergy. I was fleeing for my life last night and I had to get away from two men. That is why I confessed and let you arrest me. I think they were going to kill me.'

‘What foolery is this?'

‘I needed to have my case tried by a consistory court. Once we get to Kirklees Priory I will talk to the prioress and the nun's priest.'

Ned Burkin scowled. ‘I think that you should be talking to them now, you villain.' And he called out to Father Daniel.

The nun's priest pulled on the reins and stopped the cart and turned round as the constable and his prisoner drew near.

‘Gad, we're stopping now!' exclaimed one of the men of the watch. ‘It will be nightfall before we reach Kirklees Priory at this rate.'

‘I can't say I like these woods,' groaned the other man of the watch, a gangly fellow with yellow teeth. ‘These shadows make me feel uneasy.'

Constable Burkin touched his forelock. ‘This Pardoner says he needs to talk to you both. He says that he only confessed to this rape to escape from two—'

A high-pitched whistle rang out, followed by a call from behind them.