‘I … I knew about the woman in Worcester. My lord said she had … had tried to kill him as he slept and he had lashed out. When you came asking after him I thought … I thought he must have killed her and …’ The woman was desperately trying to make up reasons. ‘I did faint, but because I thought you would take him away, and I did not want you to find him.’
‘So he was in the solar, was he?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘I see. And remained there until he came to us in Lench that morning?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘You are a loyal wife, my lady, and a weak liar. Your lord was seen and recognised in Evesham, the day of the killing.’
‘It is impossible.’
‘No, he was seen, and the person who saw him had no cause to lie to us.’ Bradecote turned his attention back to Raoul Parler. ‘You did not come here at all. You left Worcester with spilt blood on your hands and the spilling of blood in your mind. You and Osbern de Lench loathed each other, and then you found out he was bedding your leman, whether by accident or gaining pleasure from knowing he usurped you. Do not lie to me again and say you did not seek him out.’
‘All right, so I did, but I did not kill him.’
‘And why would you not?’
‘Because I did not see him.’ Parler sounded both relieved and yet still annoyed at this, and it held the ring of truth because of it.
‘What do you mean?’ Bradecote regarded the man suspiciously.
‘Just what I say. I rode to Lench, or leastways near to it. I did not seek him out in his hall, for if he had his men there I could have been overpowered. I knew, as all knew, that he sat upon that little hill as though he were God Almighty, every noontide, so I kept on the Alcester road instead of cutting south on the Evesham road to the village and went up the hill from the north-east, thinking to confront him there.’
‘And?’
‘And nothing. He did not come. I assumed I must have been too late, or for some reason not gone there that day. I waited, but in the end it was stupid to remain. So I went to Evesham.’
‘And did you or did you not come down the hill and join the Evesham road where the track joins it?’
There was a silence. Parler stared stonily at the undersheriff.
‘Answer the question, my lord.’ It was the first time Catchpoll had spoken, and he did so quietly but firmly.
‘I did.’
‘And did you see the corpse of Osbern de Lench?’
‘I did, and spat upon it.’ A slow smile grew on Raoul Parler’s face. ‘It was something worth celebrating in Evesham, I can tell you.’
‘And what exactly did you see?’
‘I saw him lying there, on his back, eyes shut as if sleeping, and had he been fully clothed I would have thought him but unconscious after a fall.’
‘You did not touch the body?’
‘No, why should I have?’
‘You did not perhaps add to his wounds?’
‘What possible use was that?’ Parler snorted. ‘The work was done for me. My only sorrow was I suppose he died swiftly. There was a knife wound that would surely have killed him in moments, though I still hope he felt the other I saw first.’
‘You saw but one other?’
‘Yes, but I was not counting or looking. I was just plain rejoicing.’ Parler gave sharp crack of laughter. ‘It did me good to see it, and I thank God I was in that place and at that time.’
‘Was his horse there also?’
‘No. It was just him, and the sound of the skylarks rejoicing with me. Even the birds were happy he was dead.’
‘And did you find his hat and cloak?’
‘That hat! No, I did not, though I was not seeking it. Worn that hat he has since but a few weeks after his first wife died. That badge was hers, I heard, some brooch for a cloak. I would not have called the bastard sentimental, not in the slightest.’ He shook his head, but the smile, which had not faded, lengthened the more. ‘I suppose it was him wearing it at Lincoln gave me the idea of suggesting he killed her. Must have hurt the more, eh?’
‘You really did hate him, didn’t you.’ It was not a question.
‘Oh yes. Never liked him, even when there was his sister as link between us. Lincoln was just when it all came to a head. Well, the boil is lanced for good now, though I have to put up with that blustering pale imitation that is his son in his place. I never suggested he was not lawful, however good the jest, because there is no doubting his siring, though he takes in character as much after his mother.’ Parler sighed. ‘Now, since you have it all, get out of my hall.’
‘Not yet, Parler. You lied to us before. How do we know you are not lying to us again? Nothing you say can be proved. Your explanation sounds sensible, but could as easily cover the deed, so why should be believe you?’
‘Bu …’ Walkelin opened his mouth, and shut it again, even before Catchpoll growled at him.
‘Why would I lie?’ bemoaned Parler.
‘To keep your neck from a rope would be a good reason. You left Worcester intent if not upon killing Osbern de Lench then at least harming him as much as you did the woman.’
‘Yes, but I did not actually kill him. I never saw him until he was already dead. You have to believe me.’
‘No, we don’t,’ Bradecote responded, instantly.
Catchpoll very nearly sighed with pleasure. This was just how serjeanting worked.
‘Even if we do, eventually, and only by finding a killer who confesses to it, you are still facing the ire of William de Beauchamp.’ Bradecote, though he felt that it was unlikely Parler had slain Osbern de Lench, did not want
