Mel Starr - Unhallowed Ground

“Are you competent to complete the work Peter has begun,” I asked him plainly, “or must I seek another?”

“Uh, aye,” he stammered. “But what has become of Peter?”

“He has fled the town.”

“But why so?”

“I am uncertain,” I lied. May the Lord Christ absolve me of this sin. “Go this day to Alvescot and tell Gerard the verderer what you need in the way of roof-tree and rafters to complete my house. Then carry on as before. I will pay you what you are due. The tiler promised soon to bring another load of tiles and I wish the rafters ready when he comes.”

The apprentice nodded and immediately set off afoot for Alvescot. No matter, he may ride back on Gerard’s cart with the timber and rafters.

From Galen House I walked to Father Simon’s vicarage and announced my presence with vigorous thumping upon the door. The clerk soon appeared, recognized by my scowl that some grave matter troubled me, and hastened to announce my presence to the vicar.

“Good morn, Master Hugh,” Father Simon greeted me pleasantly, although I suspect he guessed that my reappearance at his door brought little good. “How may I serve you?”

“You may send servants and clerks to Cow-Leys Corner to unearth Thomas atte Bridge, then bring his corpse to the churchyard and bury the fellow properly.”

“What? I cannot. A suicide…”

“Thomas atte Bridge did not take his own life, as you well know.”

The vicar was silent for a moment. “How would I know this?” he finally demanded.

“Because you heard Peter Carpenter confess to the felony.”

“But… but…” he stammered, “how can you know this? Did the carpenter confess to you?”

“Aye, in a manner. He has fled the town.”

“Fled?”

“Gone in the night. He knew yesterday of my suspicion, and in the night has stolen away. You knew Thomas was no suicide, yet you allowed him to remain in unhallowed ground.”

The priest was silent for a moment. “How could I do otherwise?” he said softly. “To say I knew murder was done would be to betray Peter’s confession. No matter what course I took, I was in the wrong. And you say you thought him guilty of murder yesterday, but permitted him to escape in the night?”

“I had suspicion only. His flight has provided the proof.”

“Will you seek him and carry him to the sheriff at Oxford?”

“Did you set a penance for him?”

“Aye, as for all who sin.”

“Was this penance harsh?”

“It was, and is, and will remain so.”

“He has not yet fulfilled it?”

“Nay, nor will he for many years.”

“Or perhaps never, should I seek and find him and deliver him to Sir Roger.”

“Blessed are the merciful,” the priest said, “for they shall obtain mercy. He was much provoked.”

“Is it for me to grant mercy, or the King’s Eyre?”

“Mercy is a duty thrust upon us all,” Father Simon replied, “else we would deserve none from the Lord Christ.”

“Aye, but for murder?”

“You must answer as you will. You are Lord Gilbert’s bailiff, not me.”

“Regarding Thomas atte Bridge,” I changed the subject. “Send servants and clerks to Cow-Leys Corner and empty the grave. Bring atte Bridge to the churchyard and bury the man as is his due. Tell Maud of this so she may attend. The man was a knave but does not deserve to rest beneath the vines and bracken at Cow-Leys Corner.”

I had no authority over the vicars of St Beornwald’s Church, but Father Simon did as I required of him. After dinner I stood with Kate on the castle parapet aside the gatehouse and watched five black-garbed men, two with spades and two with a litter between them, as they walked toward Cow-Leys Corner. An hour later they returned, the litter sagging with some lumpen object covered with a black shroud.

Shortly after the procession disappeared across Shill Brook I heard the bell of St Beornwald’s Church toll twice. ’Twas many weeks too late for a passing bell, but some formalities must be observed.

“Will you follow the corpse?” Kate asked.

“I did not mourn Thomas atte Bridge dead. I should be false to myself and to all men did I set foot in the churchyard this day.”

“Do you mourn Peter Carpenter?”

“Aye. I mourn the living, but not the dead.”

“You think he will travel far?”

“Nay. He had a heavy load upon his cart and but one horse to pull it. His wife must carry Jane’s babe, and his own small children will not walk far, I think, before they tire. Soon they must seek another nurse for the babe, else it will perish.”

“So you will not need to travel far to find him?”

“If I seek him he should be easily found. The cart will have left tracks upon the road. They could not travel many miles before dawn, the nights being short. As they passed through a village they would be observed, come the day.”

“Then you have but to find the direction they traveled and soon you will catch them up.”

“Aye.”

“Will you do so?”

I could not reply for a moment. I was at war with myself and sure to lose.

“Nay,” I finally replied.

Kate slipped her arm through mine. “What of justice?” she asked.

“What of mercy? God is just, and merciful, and though His justice is sometimes tardy, it is more sure than any man’s. The prophet wrote that men are ‘to do justly, and to love mercy,’ but he offered no advice when the two seem in conflict.”

“What will Lord Gilbert think?”

“He will return from Pembroke in a month, before Lammastide. He will not be pleased for the town to lose a good carpenter, and another tenant will not be readily found. If he is unhappy with the resolution of this business he may replace me.”

Kate’s face bent to a worried frown. “What then?”

“We will have a fine new house, and I will eke out a living repairing men’s bodies when they are incautious.”

Galen House was near complete when Lord Gilbert, Lady Petronilla, Master Richard, and the retinue of valets and grooms accompanying them arrived four days before Lammastide.

Lord Gilbert was much angered to learn of Sir Simon’s destruction of Galen House, and pleased to learn of its reconstruction. He listened intently while I told him of Peter Carpenter’s vengeance against Thomas atte Bridge and my decision to consider the matter closed.

Lord Gilbert was silent for a moment when I had concluded the tale. His lips were drawn tight across his teeth and a frown darkened his features. I feared for my position.

“Peter was a good man,” he finally said. “Lady Petronilla is with child. If the babe is a lass and some rogue deals with her the way atte Bridge did with the carpenter’s maid, I’ll see him hounded to his grave.”

Nobles and commons feel much the same about daughters.

“Kate is also to give birth,” I announced.

“What? I give you joy, Master Hugh! When?”

“All Saint’s Day, or thereabouts.”

“The children shall grow to be playmates,” he laughed. “Lady Petronilla will be delivered near the same time.”

I left Lord Gilbert chuckling in the solar, found Kate, and together we walked to Church View Street where the tiler and his assistant were completing the roof of the new Galen House. While we observed the tilers at work Father Simon appeared from Church Street, saw us, and approached. I greeted the priest and enquired of his day.

“I am well,” he answered, “and have this day heard tidings you will wish to hear. John Kellet is to return to St Andrew’s Chapel,” he said rapidly.

I made no reply, but stood in the street with my jaw sagging in dismay at this announcement. The vicar saw my regret and explained: “The prior at St Nicholas’s Priory wished to be rid of him. He was near to bankrupting the place. ’Tis not a wealthy house. Kellet could not be dissuaded from seeking the poor and bringing them for succor to the priory. The almoner’s purse is gone, due to Kellet’s zeal. The prior appealed to the bishop, and as no curate has yet been found for St Andrew’s Chapel, it was decided to return him.”