‘I am the son of Osbern de Lench, son of William Herce, son of—’
‘I know the bloodline, dolt.’
‘Then you know I am of this family and your question is no question at all.’ Hamo, rather to the surprise of the sheriff’s men, sounded suddenly his usual self, as though the rage had never existed.
‘As long as your mother did not—’
‘Stop!’ Bradecote held up a hand, though his voice alone would have been sufficient. ‘Squabbling may please you, de Lench, but we have better things to do than listen to it. I would speak with each of you, but not together. Lady, take your son into the solar and remain there.’ He looked to the pale widow, who nodded, and went to lay a hand upon Hamo’s arm. He looked at it, but said, quite matter-of-factly, that he did not need support and was not in any way hurt. As the solar door closed, Bradecote folded his arms and addressed Baldwin de Lench.
‘So your sire forbad the match with the widow whose blood he did not think worthy. Was he going to disown you?’
‘For him?’ Baldwin pointed to the shut door and laughed, mirthlessly. ‘No. He had more care to his lands than that. He had another match in mind for me, but Jesu, the woman is a cold, silent piece. As well lie with a corpse as her. I told him nay. We argued, but then we have argued often enough before. It was our way.’
‘And after this argument, the lord Osbern relented, did he, my lord?’ Catchpoll was in no doubt of the answer.
‘No, he did not. He said that just as his brother, Roger, is master of the manor that came with his wife, I could live in whatever came with her, which is nothing, or bide my time in the mercer’s house. He would not let her set foot in his hall in his lifetime.’
‘A lifetime now cut short,’ commented Bradecote.
‘Not by me. Had I wished that, surely I would have done it then, when he said it, and that was months ago.’
‘So why did he send you to Tredington? Was it not to cool your heels?’
‘No. Well, in part. I kept quiet about Emma, but I remained resolute that I would not wed the woman of his choice. Finally, I told him I would rather not sire a son at all than with her, and he told me I would do as he bid, and to go to Tredington, oversee the harvest and think upon the foolishness of my words.’
‘You obeyed him in that, then.’ Bradecote noted.
‘It was easier, and besides, the steward there is as dithering as an old woman and always sending messages to ask this or that. The man cannot make a decision about wiping his own backside without consulting someone else. We ought to have got rid of him ages past, but his sons died and his grandson is still learning the duties. By next harvest I will have someone there who can think and can obey without knowing every last detail.’ Baldwin sounded perfectly reasonable. He sighed. ‘Emma was available to me, since I can pay for her, and I could afford to wait until my time came as lord. My sire was not a young man, and of late seemed to dwell increasingly upon his own mortality. Whether I had the running of the manors or not, they were mine by blood inheritance and were not going anywhere. I am Baldwin de Lench.’ He shrugged. ‘I doubted he had many more summers, and Emma is but seventeen. We have time on our side.’
‘If you can pay for her, why hold out to have her as your wife?’ It was cynical but practical, and Bradecote saw Baldwin as fundamentally practical when his anger did not cloud him.
‘I pay as much to keep her money-grabbing father from selling her off to another man as anything, and to keep her as she has been used to live. It is her and no other, for me.’
Bradecote could not quite conceal the astonishment he felt at this admission. Baldwin de Lench had not seemed in any way a man who would have such an attachment. He looked more the sort to take his pleasure and move on. Nor, importantly, had he shown any sign of being a patient man. It gave the undersheriff doubts.
‘If you have no other cause to keep me, I will be about my business, my lord Undersheriff.’ Baldwin did not sound as if he intended to remain, unless physically constrained, and half turned before Bradecote gave the nod of agreement. Walkelin, who had been by the doorway, stepped aside, and the lord of Lench passed him with a grunt. Father Matthias, feeling his was an unwanted presence, begged to be excused in far more emollient terms, and departed with an obeisance to the undersheriff.
‘And how much of that was true, I wonder?’ mused Catchpoll.
‘Well, he may have his aim set only upon the widow now, but will he be constant? I have no idea. I think he believes what he says about her though.’ Bradecote rubbed his chin. ‘Not a side I had expected, Baldwin the lovelorn swain.’
‘More important, my lord, was he as accepting of his father’s command as he said?’ Catchpoll sounded doubtful.
‘It seemed to me,’ offered Walkelin, ‘that he respected his father, on the one hand, and railed against him on the other. Two peas from the same pod in character, so they would be bound to rub each other the wrong way, but the lord Baldwin sort of understood how his father viewed life.’
‘I can see Baldwin being hot-headed and violent. Holy Virgin, we have seen that ourselves, but if this forbidding of his wedding the love of his life is not of very recent date, would he plan a killing in cold blood? Both sons seem to be prone to a sudden killing-anger, and they got that from the siring
