Mel Starr - Unhallowed Ground

“Your belt is new,” I remarked.

“Aye, near so.”

A puzzled frown furrowed his forehead. Few men show interest in another man’s girdle, especially is it made of simple stuff like hempen cord.

“The cord used to drop the bucket in my well was worn. I purchased a length of rope; some I used for the well, and some for my belt,” Father Simon explained.

“Have you the length your belt was cut from?”

The request so startled the priest that he did not think to challenge such a question.

“Aye.”

“May I see it?”

“A length of rope? Surely a bailiff can afford his own belt, and of better stuff than hempen cord.”

“You speak true, but I seek a brief inspection. ’Tis much like the cord found about Thomas atte Bridge’s neck.”

“One hempen cord is much like another, and what remains of my purchase hangs in a shed in the toft.”

“May I see it?”

The priest shrugged and called his servant. When the man appeared he instructed him to seek the shed and return with the hempen cord hung there. The man disappeared through the rear door of the vicarage and a moment later I heard Father Simon’s hens clucking disapproval at the disturbance to their pecking.

The priest and I stood gazing at each other, awaiting the servant’s return. He was not prompt. Father Simon had begun to chew upon his lower lip in frustration and seemed about to turn to the door when it swung open and the servant reappeared. He carried no rope.

“Ain’t there,” the fellow said, and raised his empty hands palms up.

“Bah, ’twas hanging from a tree nail,” the vicar asserted, and set off for the toft.

“I know where it was,” the servant said. “Hung it there myself.”

I followed Father Simon into the toft. His servant shrugged and followed me. The vicar swung open the crude door to his shed, which was but half of his hen coop, and peered into the dim interior. He was evidently unable to trust his eyes, for he thrust his head forward, the better to see, and when this failed, entered the hut.

The priest appeared a moment later, anger darkening his brow. The servant’s face reflected complacent confirmation of his discovery and announcement.

“’Twas there at Hocktide. I cut my new belt a few days after Easter, when the old belt frayed and finally broke where I keep my rosary. Some thief has made off with the remnant.”

A look of understanding washed the frown from Father Simon’s brow. “Was it the cord Thomas atte Bridge used to hang himself?”

“As you say, one hempen cord is much like another, but it may be so. What length was the missing cord?”

Father Simon peered at his servant, brows again furrowed. It was the servant who answered. “Near twenty paces long after I cut a length for the well, I think.”

I did not at the moment think to ask when and from whom the cord was purchased. I should have.

Iwas uneasy for the remainder of that day. Had I learned a thing important to Thomas atte Bridge’s death? Or was Father Simon’s missing rope but a minor theft, or simply misplaced? The latter explanation seemed quite unlikely. Would Father Simon and his servant both forget where a length of hempen cord was coiled?

Days grew long, so after supper Kate and I sat upon a bench in the toft behind Galen House and enjoyed the warmth of the slanting sun as it settled over Lord Gilbert’s forest west of the town. I was silent, considering John Kellet and the missing rope. Kate noted my pensive mood and held her tongue for a time, but eventually curiosity overcame her — Kate does not do battle well against curiosity — and she asked of my thoughts. I told her what I had learned of Kellet, his visit to Father Simon, and the missing cord. When I was done it was Kate’s turn to sink deep into thought.

While I told her of these things the servant’s estimate of the rope’s length returned to me. Kate followed as I left the bench, found the cord which suspended Thomas atte Bridge at Cow-Leys Corner, and uncoiled it upon the street before Galen House. It was near ten paces long. The remnant Kate discovered tossed aside at Cow-Leys Corner would add little to the length. If this was Father Simon’s stolen cord, some eight paces or so, considering what had been cut for his belt, was missing.

The absent cord was found five days later. The day before Rogation Sunday, Father Simon’s servant was gathering eggs and found the remnant of his master’s rope coiled in the shed in its proper place. Where it had been since Hocktide no man could say. Well, some man knew, but that man was hid in the cloud of unknowing.

I learned of this discovery as Kate and I walked in the procession about the boundaries of the parish. Father Thomas, Father Simon, and Father Ralph led the marchers. I was a few paces behind the vicars when Father Simon’s servant sought me out and told of his discovery. I confess my mind wandered from the prayers beseeching the Lord Christ for a bountiful harvest.

Kate and I had brought with us this day a pouch of coins, as did other more prosperous inhabitants of the town. These were distributed to the needy as we walked the parish boundary. Maud atte Bridge and her children were among those who stood beside the path with arms outstretched and palms raised.

When mass was done I sought Father Simon and while Kate returned to Galen House to prepare our dinner, I asked him about the new-found cord.

“Aye, as you were told, Robert found it coiled upon the tree nail when he gathered eggs yesterday morn.”

“It was not there when he sought eggs Friday?”

“He thinks not.”

“It would be well if this matter could be discussed with Father Thomas and Father Ralph,” I said.

“A bit of stolen rope, now returned?”

“If you stretch it out in your toft you will find it shorter by half than when you hung it upon the tree nail at Hocktide.”

The vicar squinted at me from under lowered brows. He understood my meaning. “The missing length Thomas atte Bridge used to hang himself at Cow-Leys Corner? But who then returned what was unused, and why would they do so? Did Thomas require assistance to take his own life? Hempen cord is common stuff. Perhaps this is all mere happenstance.”

“Perhaps. But I would like to tell the tale to Father Thomas and Father Ralph. They may have insight we have missed.”

Father Simon agreed, somewhat reluctantly, and directed me to seek his vicarage at the ninth hour. He would send Robert to summon the other Bampton vicars.

Kate had prepared a Lombard stew for our dinner. This dish is a favorite of mine. Of course, I have many favorite dishes. When came the ninth hour I was better suited for a nap in the sun of the toft than disputing stolen rope, but I had a duty and would perform it.

I found the vicars seated before cups of Father Simon’s wine at his table. The three priests eyed the cord I had brought with me as if they expected it to strike out at them like a snake.

“I have explained your wish to speak,” Father Simon began, then fell silent. How much he had explained I knew not, so I began by telling of my unease regarding Thomas atte Bridge’s death. I recounted the evidence, and, when I fell silent Father Thomas spoke:

“What is it you seek of us?”

“All know that Thomas atte Bridge was a disagreeable fellow,” I said. “I can name many he has harmed who might have wished to do him ill.”

“Murder him?” Father Thomas asked.

“Even that.”

“Which of these injured folk do you suspect of having a hand in atte Bridge’s death… was he not a suicide?”

“I have a theory,” I confessed.

“We would hear of it,” Father Thomas encouraged.

“John Kellet visited Bampton at St George’s Day, quietly, and departed for Exeter the morn of the day Thomas atte Bridge was found at Cow-Leys Corner. He stayed with Father Simon two nights, and might have discovered the cord hanging in the shed.”