Blood Runs Thicker Sarah Hawkswood (great novels .TXT) 📖

slightly bored, but his eyes were watchful. ‘If you need speech with me, let us have it, but not with him close by.’ He pointed at Baldwin, now grinding his teeth.

‘This is my manor, my hall and—’

‘For the love of Heaven, be silent.’ Bradecote had had enough. ‘Come to the church, my lord Parler, and we will speak there. You,’ he addressed Baldwin de Lench, ‘will not follow.’

Baldwin de Lench opened his mouth, and then shut it again. The undersheriff led the way towards the little church, and all he could do was clench his fists and feel the nails dig into his flesh.

Bradecote strode purposefully towards the church, consciously controlling the irritation that had built in him. It would not help matters. In its cool silence he turned to face Raoul Parler.

‘So, you have returned to lady and manor, and can now give an account of yourself.’

‘You demanded that I come, so I have done so, but I am wasting both your time and mine own.’ Parler sounded bored.

‘I am the undersheriff of the shire with a killer to discover. I have the right.’ Bradecote remained assertive. ‘Tell me why, despite the pleading of your lady, and without telling her where you were going in haste, you abandoned Flavel in the forenoon three days past.’

‘I have a woman in Worcester.’ Raoul shrugged. He sounded sullen.

Bradecote raised an eyebrow.

‘I keep her. Is it so uncommon a thing to have a leman? Besides, my wife seems always to be with child, and a man has needs.’ He sounded as if he blamed her for being so fecund and frequently pregnant. Bradecote, who had accepted prolonged abstinence as the duty of the husband when his first wife was increasing, gave up a silent thanksgiving that his union with Christina was one of love not duty, and also that other than during the weeks of sickness she still, to his surprise, seemed to welcome his attentions. It was an added blessing in the marriage.

‘And you went off, suddenly, at harvest time, to visit her, leaving your wife in worry? Are your loins so very insistent, Parler?’ Bradecote did not conceal his disgust.

‘No interest of the Law if they are, but no. It was not that. She sent word with a carter on his way to Bidford that her landlord was pressing her to pay more at Michaelmas and threatening her with … dire unpleasantness.’

‘Would the landlord’s name be Mercet?’ asked Catchpoll.

‘Yes. Nasty bastard. I went to confront him. He mewled and made excuses, but I told him if he raised her rent then I would complain to William de Beauchamp and have all his taxes doubled.’

‘I would have loved to see that,’ murmured Catchpoll, with a sigh.

‘He backed off then, of course, and I told him also if anything happened to my woman I would cut off his pintle.’

The serjeant actually beamed at Raoul Parler. He could sympathise with that desire to do Mercet violence, and often regretted the law held him back.

Bradecote could also understand wishing violence upon Robert Mercet, but still disliked Parler’s dereliction of duty to his manor and family.

‘So you visited Mercet. That could be done in a day with ease. You were away for three full days. Keeping your whore safe, or keeping your lust assuaged? By the Rood, Parler, have you so little care to what is yours by right and duty, your wife and your land?’

‘You tell me my duty and preach like a priest.’ Parler’s lip curled in disdain. ‘I have an excellent steward, whom I trust, and as for my wife … she does her duty well enough.’ He shrugged. ‘Too well.’

Bradecote opened his mouth to speak but decided against it. What could be said to a man who blamed his wife for producing children that he got upon her with such regularity that it was perfectly clear that it was literally wearing her to death? What was amazing was the devotion of that lady to her lord in such a case, so strong that she had fainted at the thought that harm had come to him. He was unworthy of such regard.

‘You were at odds with Osbern de Lench, as we have heard proof from his heir.’

‘Half the hundred was at odds with him, and the other half did not know him, so were unaware of their good fortune.’

‘Your lady said that your hatred of each other came to a head at Lincoln, at the time of the battle. Why was that?’

‘She would have been better to keep my affairs private.’ Parler did not look pleased.

‘Why were you such enemies?’ Bradecote would not let the question be ignored.

‘He wanted my eldest daughter for his whelp. He came to me, full of the “advantages” of the match. I saw none. Lench is just …’ Parler spread out his hands, ‘this, and I had already a far better marriage planned for the girl. Besides, I had doubts the church would sanction it. Some of the rules on blood are not obvious.’

‘Why?’ Bradecote was genuinely puzzled, and his brows drew together.

‘My first wife was his younger sister. I had had enough of the family. She proved sharp of tongue, unwilling and as good as barren. When she did eventually fulfil her duty, she died in childbed and took the babe, a son too, with her. I could almost say that was spite. I wasted four years with her.’

The undersheriff stood very, very still, so tense that Catchpoll thought he might reverberate like a bowstring. Hugh Bradecote disliked Baldwin de Lench, but this man appalled him in his callousness. Yes, a wife was expected to produce an heir, but he had seen what the cost could be. He had come to the stage where the memories of Ela were no longer as bright as the blood as her life faded, though he conscientiously prayed for her soul. He had not loved her, but he had cared about her, his wife. This man blamed his first wife for