The Wicked Winter

Chapter Fifteen

It snowed again that evening, but I was unaware of it until I awoke the following day, having curled up after supper near the remains of the kitchen fire and slept without stirring until cock-crow. This long, deep, dreamless slumber was all that was needed in those far-off days to cure any ills from which I might be suffering; and in spite of a multitude of bruises and the swelling over one eye, I had lost both my headache and the feeling of lassitude which had bedevilled me after my fall. I was able to throw off my bandage and get to my feet with so few twinges of pain that what there were could easily be disregarded.

Simeon lay close to me, supine, one arm outflung among yesterday's rushes, and his black habit had wriggled its way up as far as his knees to reveal a pair of spindly legs. As usual he was snoring, his lower jaw slack as he breathed in the chilly air. Taking care not to disturb him, I repeated the ritual of the previous morning, blowing the fire into life with the bellows and setting water to heat. By the time I had finished shaving, Martha Grindcobb and the girls had descended from the dormitory and were able to inform me that although it had snowed during the early part of the night, it must have ceased some hours ago. The rising sun gave promise of a beautiful day.

While they started to prepare breakfast, I went to the back door to see for myself. It was a morning of heavy frost and everywhere there was brilliance and light, from the sparkle of timed branches and roof-tops to the glitter of the ice-bound earth. The hill which rose behind the house was nothing but a shadow, lost in a veil of amber mist, and the sky was a bright, uninterrupted blue as far as the eye could see. I suspected it would not be long before the weather improved sufficiently to make it necessary for myself and Sir Hugh's other uninvited guests to leave. If we had more frost tonight, the snow would be compact enough by tomorrow to make travelling possible, if taken at a careful pace and with a decent quantity of rags wrapped about the feet.

I returned to the kitchen to find Edith and Ethelwynne yawning cavernously and grumbling about getting late to bed. I gathered from their conversation that they had been summoned by Mistress Talke at an advanced hour the preceding evening, to lay out Gerard Empryngham's corpse.

'How is Mistress Empryngham today?' I inquired. 'Has she recovered from her fright?'

Martha nodded, digging out salted herring from a barrel.

'She's sent word that she'll get up and be down in a minute or two, so you can judge for yourself. We in the dormitory were all a bit jumpy last night and dragged the clothes chest across the door. I don't know how Mistress Lynom and her guest fared. Not that we thought anyone really did try to get in, mind you! Mistress Empryngham just had a bad dream.' The words had hardly left her mouth before Adela herself appeared, intent on returning to her own bedchamber as quickly as possible in order to array herself in widow's weeds.

She scarcely paused to listen to my hopes for her well-being, but vanished into the storeroom and out through the door which led into the triangular courtyard. When she came back, she was dressed from top to toe in funereal black, and it struck me that now she was over the first shock of her husband's death, she was beginning to enjoy her role as his grief-stricken relict.

'You saw him?' Martha Grindcobb asked in hushed and reverent tones, as she threw oats and salt into a pan of hot water.

Adela nodded and bowed her veiled head. 'Gerard looks very peaceful. I must thank Mistress Talke. She has done well.'

Ethelwynne and Edith looked at one another and grimaced.

'Why do we never get any thanks?' the former demanded sulkily when Adela had gone in search of the housekeeper.

'It was us two as did all the work.'

She was advised by the cook to hold her tongue and get on with her chores. 'And Chapman,' Martha added, 'see what you can do to rouse the friar. It's high time he was up. I never knew a man who could sleep so soundly!' I shook Simeon awake and told him the welcome news that our sojourn at Cederwell Manor was probably drawing to an end.

'Although it's freezing at present, the sun is shining, and I think it could warm up enough to begin a slight thaw by midday. I doubt if it will snow again for a while.' He was considerably cheered by this intelligence, and having spat into the rushes and cleared his nose by blowing it vigorously into his sleeve, he went to the back door and glanced outside.

'You're right,' he said, returning to the fire and holding his hands to the blaze. 'There's a change in the wind's direction and the clouds have dispersed. We might even consider going today.' His eyes brightened at the prospect.

'You'd be foolish to make any sudden move,' Martha advised him. 'Wait a further night at least and see what happens. You don't want to be caught miles from anywhere in another snowstorm. You've more sense, I hope, Chapman?'

I nodded emphatically, l had my own reasons for not wishing to quit the manor yet awhile, and I had need of the friar. Over breakfast, therefore, I persuaded him to trespass a little longer on Sir Hugh's hospitality.

'Your appetite is so small that you can hardly be a drain on his resources, and so quiet about the place that he can barely be aware of your presence.'

'That is of no consideration to me,' Simeon replied austerely. 'My duty lies among sinners and the fallen, urging them to repentance of their wicked ways.'

'But they won't receive your message,' I pointed out, 'if you freeze to death by the wayside.'

This argument seemed to strike him more forcibly than the rest, and I finally secured his promise to remain at Cederwell for another twenty-four hours, when we might reasonably expect to see whether or not the thaw was set to last.

'I want you to come with me to explore the scrubland path,' I said, lowering my voice and hoping that no one else could hear me above the clatter of pots and pans. 'We saw movement in that direction yesterday, amongst the undergrowth. There may be something there to find.' Brother Simeon was scathing. 'If anyone was there, he'll be long gone. My own belief is that it was falling snow or branches moving in the wind.'

'Perhaps. But I should like to satisfy myself on that head.'

'Oh, very well,' he agreed crossly. 'But I think it a fool's errand. We shall find nothing, only get chilled to the marrow in the process. We'd best make a good breakfast in order to warm ourselves.'

Martha, catching just the last few words, cackled with mirth.

'You've no call, Brother, to fear that Roger won't stuff his belly with everything that's going.' She addressed me.

'Salted herring again and porridge this morning, lad, and I'll give you some of my oatcakes to fill up the corners.' She was as good as her word, and in addition she heated some ale, ready mulled by the time the grooms arrived from the stables. I thought that Hamon and Jasper seemed out of spirits, restless and anxious to get home. No doubt they were feeling all the petty vexations of confinement in a house with which they were unfamiliar; the boredom of having nothing to do except groom and feed their own three horses. Moreover, the tragic circumstance of two deaths within two days was bound to engulf everyone in a sea of gloom. But, even so, Hamon appeared far more sullen and taciturn than his companion, and during the meal kept rising from his stool and going to stare through the open kitchen window, assessing conditions out of doors.

I watched him thoughtfully, a man accused by Sir Hugh of murdering his wife on the orders of Mistress Lynom, and by the dame of having witnessed the knight stooping over Lady Cederwell s body hours before her death was discovered by Brother Simeon and myself. My thoughts then strayed to two russet-coloured cloaks, one the property of Fulk Disney, the other belonging to the dead woman. In my mind's eye, I could clearly see the latter draped across Phillipa Talke's arm.

Breakfast had been served late that morning, with added delay in clearing the dirty dishes from the great hall, Father Godyer's bedchamber and the steward's room. By the time we had all finished, the sun was rising in the winter sky, and Martha was agitatedly protesting that it was but an hour or so to dinner. Not only would the food probably not be ready, but no one would be hungry enough to eat it if it were, making a mockery of all her labour.

'And the water barrel needs filling again and there's more wood to be fetched,' she wailed, causing the precipitate departure of the Capsgraves, together with Jasper and Hamon, before they could be pressed into service.

I therefore had no choice but to offer, much to the friar's undisguised relief. He was able to settle down again by the fire for another half-hour, before we ventured forth.

'It will be warmer later,' he told me.

Taking the big leather pail, I passed through the storeroom into the little triangular courtyard beyond. Once there, I could not prevent my eyes straying towards the closed door of the Emprynghams' bedchamber where lay Gerard's body, now decently washed and clothed, all signs of his violent end removed, his contorted features smoothed into a false mask of serenity, and doubtless a crucifix placed between his clasped hands. For a moment or two I stood there, giving my imagination full rein…

I heard the bolts of the storeroom door being stealthily withdrawn and saw the emergence of a dark, cloaked figure: a figure which first carefully removed the cover from the well before going to rap on the Emprynghams' door. After a while, this insistent knocking was answered by a sleepy Gerard, clad only in his nightshirt…

Here, the succession of pictures in my mind's eye faltered.

What had happened next? How had Gerard been persuaded outside, unshod and without even a bedrobe around him as protection against the inclement weather? For this was absolutely necessary if his death was to look like a sleepwalking accident. I eyed the distance from the well to the doorway; two yards perhaps, but not much further. I therefore saw my cloaked figure step to one side as the door was opened, melting into the darkness. Still only half awake, Gerard took a step forward into the snow to find out who or what had roused him. At once, determination lending strength, my murderer was behind him, hands on Gerard's back, propelling the victim forward and tipping him, head first, down the well. Then, with a firm grasp on those two bare ankles, all my phantom had to do was hang on securely until the struggles ceased. It would not have taken very long, on that bitter night, for ice to form on top of the water, holding the body fast…

The longer I considered this version of events, the more I was convinced that it, or something very like it, must be what had really happened. I returned to the kitchen with my brimming pail, well satisfied with my cogitations. After two more trips for yet more water, I was dispatched to the woodpile in the stable, where I was greeted shamefacedly by three of the grooms and with a morose indifference by Hamon.

On this occasion I made no effort at conversation, simply filling the basket with as many logs and branches as I could carry before leaving them to their consciences and games of hazard.

Back in the open air again, although my toes and fingers ached with cold, the sun was warm against my face, and I noted that snow was beginning to drop from trees and bushes.

Unless there was a dramatic reversal in the weather conditions overnight, my days at Cederwell Manor were undoubtedly numbered, and there could be no excuse to linger after tomorrow. I realised suddenly that I was unsure as to which day of the week it was, and had to think hard before working out that, as I had arrived here on Tuesday afternoon, it must now be Thursday, Thor's Day, as Ulnoth would have called it; Thor, the sender of lightning, the son of Woden, whose realm was Thrudvang and whose wife was Sif… Guiltily, I pulled my errant thoughts up short and made the sign of the cross.

As I approached the back door, I heard voices coming from the direction of the main gate, and a moment or so later a man appeared round the comer of the house; a short man, with bushy red eyebrows, skin as brown and wrinkled as an old leather shoe, and a wide, thin mouth which split into a friendly grin as soon as he saw me. His cloak and boots were both well patched, and there was a great rent in one leg of his hose.

'Peace to this house,' he greeted me, at the same time opening his cloak to reveal the tools of his trade suspended from his belt. 'Does your goodwife have any pots and pans that need mending?'

I laughed. 'I'm a widower, friend, and nothing more than a poor chapman taking shelter here until the weather improves.' I jerked my head. 'But come inside and I'll ask the cook.' I led the way into the kitchen and said to Martha, 'Here's a tinker wants to know if he can be of service.' And I emptied my basket of logs into the larger one standing in the comer.

Martha looked up from her pastry-making and regarded the man with astonishment.

'As it happens I do have a couple of pans which have parted company from their handles, but I didn't expect to get them mended for another week or two, at least.' She frowned. 'Are the roads passable already? Ethelwynne, give the tinker a cup of ale.'

The dark little eyes beneath the craggy brows sparkled with anticipation, and the stranger came closer to the fire in order to warm his cold fingers.

'That's very kind, Mistress, and much appreciated. In answer to your question, although it's beginning to thaw, walking's still a very treacherous business. I shouldn't have risked it but for the fact that my host of the past two days has disappeared. Went out yesterday morning, and I haven't seen hide nor hair of him since. I was hoping I might have come across him; that he's managed to find shelter somewhere.

But if he spent the night in the open, I haven't much expectation of discovering him alive.'

An unpleasant thought surfaced. 'Where have you been staying?' I asked, praying that the tinker would say in one of the manor dwellings to the west, but he did not reply, no one else being in the mood to take much notice of his story.

He cupped his hands around the mazer of ale which Ethelwynne handed to him, and drank noisily. When he had finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

'That was good. Do I smell hot pasties?'

Martha nodded resignedly. She was getting used to extra mouths to feed.

'But you'd best take it with you into the storeroom while you mend the pots,' she advised. 'We don't often see Sir Hugh in the kitchen, but just in case… We already have more visitors than he approves of, on account of the snow.'

'I was sent for,' Simeon chimed in peevishly, evidently annoyed at being lumped together with uninvited guests such as myself.

'No offence meant, Brother!' Martha was nettled by his reproach. 'Edith! When you've found the pans which need repairing, take the tinker next door. And here! Give him this pastry coffin.'

I waited a few moments until Edith returned to the kitchen, then followed the tinker into the storeroom. He had not yet started work, but was seated on a barrel, eating.

'You didn't answer my question,' I accused him.

The man, who had his back to the door, jumped, swallowed a crumb of pastry the wrong way and choked. When he finally recovered his breath, he spluttered, 'Hell's teeth! You startled me, friend. What was it you wanted to know?' I apologised and repeated my question. The tinker crammed the last of the pasty into his mouth.

'A boulder house, built into the side of the hill,' he answered thickly. 'About a mile or so east of here. Belongs to a hermit.'

'Ulnoth!' I exclaimed, my worst fears realised. I seized my companion's arm. 'You say he went out yesterday, before noon, and hasn't returned?'

'That's right. So his name's Ulnoth, is it? That's more than I could vouch for. He gave me food and drink, such as it was, but never a word of conversation. A strange, nervous little man, afraid of his own shadow.' The tinker got to his feet and began to unhook the tools of his trade from his belt, laying them neatly one by one on top of the barrel.

'How did you come to be there?'

'At the boulder house? I was caught in the snowstorm of Tuesday night, as I gather you were.' He grimaced expressively. 'Only you were luckier. You found a warmer, softer billet than I did.'

I smiled. 'I spent four nights with Ulnoth after twisting my ankle. I was comfortable enough, and after his own fashion, he made me welcome.'

The tinker picked up one of the pans and examined it, before stooping once again to retrieve the handle.

'A couple of rivets will see this right, I fancy.' He turned Io me. 'You were more fortunate than I was, then. Oh, he fed me, and not badly, either, but he couldn't, or wouldn't, talk. I told you, my feeling is that he was afraid, but of who or what I've no idea.'

I chewed my bottom lip thoughtfully. So much had occurred since my arrival at Cederwell Manor, that much of what had happened previously had been driven from my mind. But I recollected now that Ulnoth had told me he was frightened during that brief, second visit I had paid him on Tuesday, after leaving Lynom Hall. I remembered, too, how he had moaned and rocked himself, muttering all the while, 'Death. Death. Death.' Plainly some event had taken place between my quitting the boulder house earlier in the day, and my return to it a few hours later. It was also obvious that the tinker had no better idea than I what that event could be.

I watched him in silence for a moment or two, as he skilfully proceeded with his work. He had by now removed his cloak and hood to reveal a small, neat head covered with springing curls as fiery as his eyebrows. Becoming aware of my scrutiny, he glanced up and grinned.

'It's comforting to know there's yet another fool wandering about the countryside in the depths of winter. Not,' he added 'that I'd have ventured so far afield if I'd known we were in for weather such as this. My woman told me I was a dolt to go, but times are hard and work was slack in Bath. It's a little town. I don't know if you're acquainted with it. Whereabouts are you from?'

'Wells is my home, but I've a child in Bristol. She lives with my late wife's mother.'

The tinker nodded sympathetically. 'I've four daughters,' he sighed. 'Sometimes you get tired of being ordered about by women. Now and then you need your own thoughts and company.'

I laughed. 'True enough. And you want to be on the move. Being mewed up indoors for too long makes your legs begin to twitch.'

'It does that. But my goodwife was right on this occasion. I walked for miles without meeting another soul and then the weather began to turn. Luckily I was close to the Priory at Woodspring, where there was room to spare in the guest hall. The monks said they'd only had one other visitor in weeks.'

'That would have been Brother Simeon,' I nodded, adding in explanation, 'The friar who's presently warming himself in the kitchen.'

The tinker grunted, but displayed no real interest. It seemed the monks had said very little about Simeon or his visit, and I smiled to myself as I thought how affronted he would be if he knew. His message of eternal damnation unless they mended their ways had probably been forgotten almost as soon as he was out of sight.

There was another silence while my companion began work on the second skillet. Then I asked, 'When did you quit the Priory? The following morning?'

'Ay, on the Tuesday after dinner. It was foolish to leave so late in the day, but I waited until it was properly light.

The monks had told me of a big house, Lynom Hall, where my services might be wanted, but somehow or other I took a wrong track and lost my bearings. With night setting in and the sky threatening snow, I was scared, I can tell you. But just as I was beginning to get really frightened, I came out on to a broad road which eventually brought me to the hermit's lodging. A hundred yards or so before I reached it, I saw another track off to my left, and I wondered if it was the road I should have taken.'

I nodded. 'From that spot it leads south to Woodspring Priory and Lynom Hall. You made a bad mistake there, Tinker.'

'True. But it's taught me a lesson. It's the first and last time I go travelling at this season. What say you, friend?' I agreed, but absent-mindedly. My thoughts were centred on Ulnoth, who had left home yesterday and not returned. I bade the tinker an abrupt farewell and returned to Simeon, who was still toasting his toes by the fire. I bent over him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

'Are you coming?'

'Where?' he demanded irritably, and settled himself more comfortably on his stool. The rich smell of stew now filled the kitchen.

'You promised to explore the scrubland with me.'

'Well, I've changed my mind,' he snapped. 'I've decided I'll not be dragged outdoors looking for a mare's nest. If you want to go and search, you must go alone.'

His face was set in stubborn lines and I saw that he meant what he said. I was sorry for the loss of his company; two pairs of eyes are likely to see more than one. Nevertheless, I was not to be deterred. I picked up my cloak again and put it on for the second time that morning.

'I shall be back in time for dinner,' I informed Martha Grindcobb, but she, resigned by now to my folly, made no answer.