Unhallowed Ground Read online

  Upon one wrist I saw a small red mark, much like a rash, or a place where a man has scratched a persistent itch. No such scraping appeared upon the other wrist, but when I pushed up the sleeve of the cotehardie another thing caught my eye. The sleeve was of coarse brown wool, and frayed with age. Caught in the wisps of fabric which marked the end of the sleeve I found a wrinkled thread of lighter hue. I looked up to the branch above atte Bridge’s glassy stare. This filament was much the same shade as the hempen cord from which the dead man hung. Perhaps it found its way to his sleeve when atte Bridge adjusted the rope about his neck.

  I stood back from the corpse to survey the place. I was near convinced that Hubert Shillside must be correct. My life would have been easier had he been so. But my duties as bailiff to Lord Gilbert Talbot have made me suspicious of others and skeptical of tales they tell – whether dead or alive. It was then I noticed the mud upon Thomas atte Bridge’s heels.

  I knelt to see better, and Kate peered over my shoulder. Mud upon one’s shoes is common when walking roads in springtime, but this mud was not upon the soles of atte Bridge’s shoes, where it should have been, but was drying upon the backs of his heels. Kate understood readily what we saw.

  “Odd, that,” she said softly, so others might not hear. She then turned to the righted stool and gazed down at it thoughtfully. I saw her brow furrow and knew the cause. I drew her from the corpse to the trunk of the tree where we might converse unheard by others.

  “A man who walks to his death will have mud upon the soles of his shoes,” I whispered, “not upon the backs of his heels.”

  “And he will leave muddy footprints where he stands,” Kate replied. “I see none on yon stool.”

  “Walk with me,” I said. “Let us see what the road may tell us.”

  It told us that many folk had walked this way. The previous week there had been much rain, and the road was deep in mud. Footprints were many, and one man who had walked there was unshod. Occasionally the track of a cart appeared. A hundred paces and more east of Cow-Leys Corner I found what I sought. Two parallel lines, a hand’s breadth apart, were drawn in the mud of the road. These tracks were no more than one pace long. Kate watched me study the grooves.

  “Did the mud upon his heels come from here?” she asked.

  “Perhaps. It is as if two men carried another, and one lost his grip and allowed the fellow’s feet to drop briefly to the road.”

  “How could this be? Was he dead already?”

  “Nay. I think not. His face is that of a man who has died at the end of a rope. But if he did not perish at his own hand, someone bound him or rendered him helpless so to get him to Cow-Leys Corner.”

  While Kate and I stood in the road inspecting suspicious furrows, Hubert Shillside and eleven men of Bampton approached. The coroner saw us studying the mud at our feet and turned his gaze there also. He saw nothing to interest him.

  “What is here, Hugh? Why stand you here studying the road?”

  “See there,” I pointed to the twin grooves in the mud. As Shillside had not seen Thomas atte Bridge’s heels, he could not know my suspicion. He shrugged and walked on. The coroner’s jury he had assembled followed and would have obliterated the marks in the way had not Kate and I stood before them so that they were obliged to flow about us like Shill Brook about a rock.

  There was nothing more to be learned standing in the road. Kate and I followed the jury back to Cow-Leys Corner. Shillside and those with him studied the corpse, the rope, the stool, and muttered among themselves. The coroner had already voiced his opinion that atte Bridge died at his own hand. His companions, thus set toward a conclusion of the matter, found no reason to disagree. When a man has adopted an opinion it is difficult to dissuade him of it, but I tried.

  I took Shillside to the corpse and bid him bend to inspect the stained and mud-crusted heels. “The tracks you saw me studying in the road… made by atte Bridge’s heels, I think. Why else dirt upon the backs of a man’s feet?”

  “Hmmm… perhaps.”

  “And see the stool. If he stood upon it to fix the rope to the limb, he made no muddy footprints upon it.”

  Shillside glanced at the stool, then lifted his eyes to atte Bridge’s lolling head.

  “The fellow is dead of hanging and strangulation,” he declared. “I’ve seen men die so, faces swollen an’ purple, tongue hangin’ from ’is mouth all puffy an’ red.”

  “Aye,” I agreed. “So it does seem. But if he stood upon that stool to fasten rope to tree, he left no mark. How could a man walk the road and arrive here with clean shoes… but for the backs of his heels?”

  Shillside shrugged again. “Who can know? But this I’ll say: not a man in Bampton or the Weald will be sorry Thomas atte Bridge is dead. He tried to kill you. Be satisfied the fellow can do no more harm to you or any other.”

  I saw then how it might be. Shillside drew his coroner’s jury to the verge and they discussed the matter. Occasionally one or more of the group would look to the corpse, which now twisted slowly on the hemp. A breeze was rising.

  Father Thomas, Father Simon, and Father Ralph, vicars of the Church of St Beornwald, arrived as the jury ended its deliberations. The vicars looked upon the corpse and crossed themselves. Those who yet milled about Cow-Leys Corner vied with each other to tell what the priests could see: a man was dead, hanging by a cord from the limb of a tree. More than this no man knew. If there was more to know, there were those who preferred ignorance.

  Hubert Shillside approached me and the priests and announced the decision of the coroner’s jury. Thomas atte Bridge took his own life, choosing to do so at a place where it was well known that suicides of past years were buried. The stool was proof: Maud had identified it as belonging to their house.

  The vicars looked on gravely while Shillside explained this conclusion. The stool and rope, he declared, would be deodand. What use King Edward might make of them he did not say.

  Thomas atte Bridge was a tenant of the Bishop of Exeter, but was found dead on lands of Lord Gilbert Talbot. The priests and coroner’s jury looked to me for direction. Lord Gilbert was in residence at Goodrich Castle. As bailiff of Bampton Manor, disposal of the corpse was now my bailiwick. My suspicions remained, but it seemed I was alone in my doubts. Other than Kate.

  I saw Arthur standing at the fringe of onlookers and motioned him to approach. While he threaded his way through the crowd I spoke to Father Thomas.

  “Will you allow burial in the churchyard?”

  The vicar shook his head. Father Simon and Father Ralph pursed their lips and frowned in agreement. “A man who takes his own life cannot seek confession and absolution,” Father Thomas explained. He had no need to do so. I knew the observances well. “He dies in his sins, unshriven. He cannot rest in hallowed ground.”

  Arthur had served me and Master John Wyclif well in the matter of Master John’s stolen books. Now I found another duty for the sturdy fellow. I sent him to the castle to seek another groom and two spades.

  There was no point in prolonging the matter. Shillside asked if the corpse might be cut down and I nodded assent. It was but the work of a moment for another of the bishop’s tenants to mount the stool and slice through the rope. Thomas atte Bridge’s remains crumpled to a heap at the fellow’s feet. I told the man to unwind the cord from about the limb while he was on his perch. I knelt by the corpse and did the same to the cord which encircled atte Bridge’s abraded neck. I then straightened the fellow out on the verge. He was beginning to stiffen in death and it would be best to put him in his grave unbent.

  I knelt to straighten atte Bridge’s head and while I did so I looked into his staring, bulging eyes and gaping mouth. I see them yet on nights when sleep eludes me. The face was purple and bloated, so I nearly missed the swelling on atte Bridge’s upper lip. There was a red bulge there. And just beneath the mark I saw in his open mouth a tooth bent back.

  I reached a finger past the dead man’s lips and pressed upon the bent toot
h. It yielded freely. I pulled gently upon the tooth and nearly drew it from the mouth. Thomas atte Bridge had recently been in a fight and had received a robust blow. I was not surprised to learn of this. I knew Thomas atte Bridge. I would congratulate the man who served him with a fattened lip and broken tooth.

  But did this discovery have to do with Thomas atte Bridge’s death, suicide or not? Who could know? Perhaps only the man who delivered the blow.

  Arthur returned with an assistant and set to work digging a grave at the base of the wall which enclosed Lord Gilbert’s pasture. Cows chewed thoughtfully on spring grass and watched the work while their calves gamboled about. An onlooker urged Arthur to make the grave deep so the dead man might not easily rise to afflict those whose business took them past Cow-Leys Corner. Arthur did not seem pleased with the admonition.

  Kate left me while the grave was yet unfinished. She wished to set a capon roasting for our dinner and was already tardy at the task. Her business served to remind me how hungry I was. Some might lose appetite after staring a hanged man in the face. I am not such a one, especially if the face be that of Thomas atte Bridge.

  Hubert Shillside approached as Arthur and his assistant shoveled the last of the earth upon the burial mound. “One less troublemaker to vex the town, eh?” he said.

  “He’ll not be missed,” I agreed. “But for Maud.”

  “Hah. Them of the Weald say as how he beat her regular, like. She’ll not be grieved to have that end.”

  “Aye, perhaps, but he provided for his family. Who will do so now?”

  “There be widowers about who’ll be pleased to add her lands to their holdings.”

  “A quarter-yardland? And four children to come with the bargain? I think Maud will find few suitors.”

  “Hmmm. Well, she will have to make do. Perhaps the oldest boy can do a man’s work.”

  “Perhaps.”

  The throng of onlookers had begun to melt away when atte Bridge’s corpse was lowered to the grave. These folks chattered noisily about the death and burial as they departed for the town. They did not seem afflicted with sorrow, but rather behaved as if a weight was lifted from their shoulders. Did Thomas atte Bridge guess this would be the response to his death, having lived as he did, at enmity with all men?

  The coroner and I were among the last to leave Cow-Leys Corner. In my hand I carried the hempen rope, now sliced in two, which ended Thomas atte Bridge’s life. We walked behind the vicars. I was silent while Shillside spoke of the weather, new-sown crops, and other topics of a pleasant spring day. When he found no ready response from me he grew silent, then as we reached the castle he turned and spoke again.

  “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 ma
tter.

  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.