Hugh Bradecote did not want to listen to more, more with which he wanted to disagree, and yet felt sympathy. The killing of Osbern de Lench was that of a man, and assuredly by a man, but suffering women had been what they had faced since; this sad and almost unwilling adulteress; the worn out but loyal and betrayed wife of Raoul Parler; the Widow Brook reduced to selling herself to unpleasant but powerful men to survive. Winflaed the Healer had been strong, but right at the last, she had become a victim too. In comparison, the harm to Edgar of Flavel, and to Fulk the Steward, seemed so much less important. He gave himself a mental shake. He was becoming soft-hearted and Catchpoll would tell him how much that was to be avoided.
‘Lady, I am not the Church, I am the Law, and what I ask is not judging, just truth-seeking. Baldwin found you and the steward together. You were, he said, holding hands, and you were smiling at the steward. Why does not matter, but what happened after may have importance. Tell me exactly what happened, from the moment Baldwin came in.’
‘It seemed to happen so fast. Fulk told me that all this would pass, and that once I was not in this place, life could be better, would be so. He had no cause to say it, of course, but it was a nice thing to say. Then Baldwin was there, shouting, so loud and angry, and then my flesh stung as the end of the lash caught me.’
‘So he had it in his hand when he entered.’
‘Yes, I suppose he did, though why … Fulk pulled back, charged at him, Baldwin sidestepped and hit him with the butt of it and as he fell …’ the woman closed her eyes at the remembered horror, ‘he looped it about his neck and strangled him with it. I tried to stop him, but he pushed me away and I fell, and then he came and stood nigh on over me, and it began. All I could feel was the sting and the wet blood and hear screams, my own screams, and Baldwin shouting about “this time it is right”. I think after a little while I was not aware, for I remember Hamo being there, and I do not know how or when he came, but he was blaming me, and then there was nothing, a blackness, nothing until I was outside and bound and Baldwin was going to …’ She sobbed.
Bradecote set all she had said in order. He had mentally assumed that Fulk had been rendered unconscious trying to protect her, though it seemed she had risked as much to protect him. What was patently clear was that Baldwin had not been taken by surprise as much as he had implied. Had he suspected, and followed the steward into the hall? If so, how come this suspicion blossomed today of all days?
‘He will touch neither the steward nor you, lady, but I think the steward was right. Your life will be better elsewhere. Rest your body and spirit, and face tomorrow when it comes.’ He sounded solemn.
‘I wish it might not come at all,’ she murmured, and pressed the kerchief to her lips, stifling a sob that rose within her.
There was nothing that Bradecote could say in answer, and so he turned and left, closing the solar door behind him.
Both his subordinates awaited him in the hall, Catchpoll still upon the stool, and gazing into space. Walkelin looked a little uncomfortable, since disturbing his serjeant’s cogitations would bring harsh words, and yet standing, pretending to be thinking as deeply, felt silly.
‘How does the lady?’ he asked, glad to speak.
‘She’ll mend, though I think it is her spirit that is more broken than her skin. What news of eating?’
‘My lord, the cook says as there is some good, thick pottage and a spitted woodcock. It will be brought shortly. She says as the pottage did catch, on account of everyone going to see what was happening, but only at the very bottom, and she will see as you do not get that bit. It can be served as soon as you say.’
‘Thank you, that will be soon, and I want you to eat with the steward. We speak now, but best you get to your guarding as soon as may be.’
‘He can have the burnt bits,’ suggested Walkelin, hopefully, and the undersheriff nodded, not fully attending.
‘What the lady said that is interesting was that when she and the steward were discovered by the lord Baldwin, he had the whip already in his hand.’
‘I had been a-wondering about that, my lord,’ mumbled Catchpoll.
‘But if he had an idea of what had been between them before, would he not have acted as we saw he did? Why wait?’ Walkelin looked confused.
‘Because, young Walkelin, today is when he found out, and if your mind was clear, not half asleep and full of woodcock, then you would not ask foolish questions,’ chided Catchpoll. ‘So either steward and lady have been more open than ever they were when the lord Osbern was living, and since we warned Fulk, mark you, or else the lord Baldwin has been told by someone. That might possibly have been by intent, but more probably by a slip of the tongue that gave him the
