Michael JECKS - The Oath

‘I think Mrs Capon was too set in her ways. As was Arthur, her husband. He wanted for nothing at his own home, and he expected the same attention to be lavished on him when he visited another house. But Squire William was not rich. He could ill afford all the luxuries which his father-in-law demanded. Their little jibes grew into arguments and then into hatred. Real, bitter hatred. And the Capons returned to Bristol.

‘Arthur had a banker’s mind. He was always thinking of the cost of everything. He thought he could upset his son-in-law best by removing any money he had already paid in dower. That was why he made the statement.’ Father Paul sighed.

‘Which statement was that?’ Simon asked.

‘He told the man that Petronilla was not their natural child.’

Sir Charles winced. ‘Ouch! Was it true?’

‘They swore it. She had been fostered from a whore, so they stated.’

‘What happened?’ Simon asked.

‘As you would expect, Squire William was enraged. They threatened to pursue him through the courts for their money, because there was no need for them to pay for her, they said, since she was not of their blood. Meanwhile, he declared that since she was not theirs, he would keep her and their money, for if they had made the marriage vows with him in deceit, it was not his fault. He had married her in good faith, taking her dower in good faith. He would not give up the money. And it was then that he began to treat her really badly.

‘You have to understand, I was watching this terrible situation develop. It took three years for matters to come to this pass, a slow but inevitable slide into misery and despair for all concerned. And yet only now did I become so close to her that she allowed me to see her pain. Until then she had held herself composed at all times. Her fortitude was astonishing. I think it was that which compelled me to love her. Anyway, as her confessor, I knew all, of course. All this is common knowledge now, so the secrecy of the confessional is not relevant. But when I saw how she was becoming bruised and injured, although I attempted to remonstrate with the Squire, he would not listen to me. Why should he? All that bastard cared about was money.’

Sir Charles shifted. ‘So, what happened? You ran off with her, eh?’

‘Only after a lot of soul-searching,’ Paul said. He was very calm, and Simon guessed that to be able to unburden himself of the whole story was in its own way a relief. He continued: ‘We ran away, yes. And yes, I was dreaming wildly of a new life with her. A life with rose petals carpeting the ground beneath our feet. We would live in a state of perpetual bliss, and our souls would become inextricably entwined. I was so innocent!

‘At first, we were happy. But she was used to furs and pewter: I could offer only rough fustian and wood. We scraped along somehow for almost six weeks before we were captured and brought back to Bristol.’

He paused and smiled sadly. ‘Six weeks. It could have been a lifetime. My happy Petronilla!’

‘Her father was pleased to have her home?’ Simon asked.

‘It appeared that all was well. As I said, he was a money-man, and I swear he would have been happier to have the dower returned than his daughter. Still, he tolerated her. But then the truth of my love for her became obvious, and Petronilla was sent away to a nunnery. I had already been taken and held in the Bishop of Bath and Wells’s gaol for almost a year, before I was released. That was when I heard I was the father of a little boy.’

‘You are sure the child was yours?’

Paul shrugged. ‘We were alone for almost six weeks. She had her natural blood in the first week after we ran away, but not again until Little Harry was born. He was my child.’

‘And then?’

‘Two and a half weeks ago I heard that they were all dead. Slaughtered in their hall by that wicked fiend, Squire William.’ There were tears in Father Paul’s eyes. ‘So, do you wonder why I would willingly have killed him?’

Simon was watching him closely all the while. There was little doubt in his mind that, physically, the priest was nowhere strong enough to kill anyone, let alone a sturdy country squire.

‘Who else could have wanted him to be killed?’

‘I have no idea. Many, I expect, because he was a violent man. You know what these…’ he glanced at Sir Charles before saying anything more derogatory about knights… ‘rural Squires can be like,’ he amended.

‘Yes, indeed,’ Simon grinned. Then a thought struck him. ‘Do you know whether he was a loyal man to the King?’

‘He was pardoned, wasn’t he? And his men with him. I think that tells you what King Edward thought about his loyalty.’

‘And yet he did not go to the King to support him.’

‘Perhaps he died before he might do so,’ Paul said.

‘The man who found him…’

Paul winced. ‘I still feel the shame of that. I saw the body in there, and saw the first finder with him, and I confess I panicked. I thought this fellow had killed Squire William, so I knocked him on the pate. But then I looked at the body, and realised that the man had been dead some while already, so the fellow I had struck down could not have been the murderer. However, I thought it better to say nothing. I put the poor fellow in a cart and took him home, and there I nursed him back to health. But I denied seeing the dead body, or finding him there, or knocking him down. I did not want Squire William found.’

‘Why?’ Sir Charles demanded.

‘Sir Knight, why do you think? Someone deliberately killed him near to my home in order to implicate me. If I had volunteered that kind of information, I could have been arrested again, sent back to gaol, and left to die unshriven.’

‘Like him?’

‘I feel pity for that. He deserved his chance – but he was long dead before I saw him.’ Father Paul looked away from Simon, down at the ground. ‘Perhaps he could have been brought to repent of his cruelty. I do know this: whatever his crimes, to kill him was wrong – as wrong as it was for him to murder Petronilla.’

And he began to weep. He was still weeping when Simon and Sir Charles left him, seated hunched over, arms around his legs, rocking silently in his grief, and when Simon glanced back and saw him, he had a hideous vision of himself doing the same thing, were someone to kill his beloved family.

It was enough to make his heart crack with dread.

Bristol Castle

‘Sir Laurence! Wait, please!’

The knight turned at once, his heart still pounding painfully. Without the release of actual fighting, he felt weak, as though the explosion of rage that had flooded him had torn all energy from his soul. It was a huge relief to see that the person hailing him was David, his clerk.

‘Yes, old friend?’

‘Redcliffe, you remember? – you asked me to learn what I could. Good God, you look awful. Been back to the garderobes to get a whiff of the stench?’

‘Not now, David.’

‘Very well. The man you asked about was a merchant here in the city until he lost all his money. He was closed down some months ago. There were rumours that he was going to try to start again, but he had no money to begin.’

‘I see.’

‘There was a story I heard…’

‘What?’

‘Some say that he had been used by the King as a messenger, that he was especially trusted. He had been a purveyor of Spanish horses for the King, and used to take messages abroad for His Highness.’

Sir Laurence nodded, but he still felt numb and couldn’t quite grasp the significance of this. ‘What would that matter to Sir Roger, then?’

‘There is one possibility, sir.’ The clerk looked around cautiously before speaking. ‘This man could have been suborned by Sir Roger. If he was truly a man with access to the King, he could, perhaps, have been sent to try to assassinate him…’