into the cloister doorway with his hands outstretched. The lord Sheriff of Worcester looked highly bewildered. The Abbot of Pershore seemed about to greet him like a long-lost brother.
‘My lord sheriff, you come just when we need you most. Scarce had I offered up a prayer for aid in this calamity, when you and your men appear.’ The abbot took in the number of travel-worn men filling the courtyard beyond the cloister, and added weakly, ‘Indeed, you come with so many.’
The sheriff took off his riding gauntlets, laid them wearily across his pommel, and stared frowning at Abbot William for some moments before answering.
‘Father Abbot, I have no idea what you are talking about. I have come here to ask refreshment and a bed for the night before we take our prisoners from Bredon Hill to Worcester, and to leave a corpse to display here in Pershore as an example to those who might be tempted to break the law. I am weary and hungry and I care little what has occurred here as long as it does not interfere with your hospitality.’ He had heard the Compline bell, and realised glumly that he was too late for whatever tempting delicacies the abbot had set before his more illustrious guests.
‘Murder!’ exclaimed the abbot, dramatically, waving an arm in the direction of the church. ‘Murder within the sanctity of our church itself! You must help us. You must discover who has done this terrible thing.’
The sheriff closed his eyes for a moment, and gave a weary sigh. ‘Father Abbot, this is not within my jurisdiction. The offence has taken place within your precincts, and I have no rights here.’ He wanted none of this, just food for his belly and a bed for his bones.
‘Yes, yes, my lord, but this is so serious an incident that I waive my rights and implore your assistance. The murdered man was clerk to the lord Bishop of Winchester and about his lordship’s business.’ That, hoped the abbot, would get the sheriff’s attention.
It did. The sheriff’s face clouded. He was torn between wanting nothing to do with this and the knowledge that the victim’s identity meant that, assuredly, he should take an interest. ‘I must return to Worcester tomorrow, and my under-sheriff is sick of an ague. I cannot see that …’ He stopped in mid-sentence, and a slow smile of relief mixed with malicious pleasure crossed his features. ‘However, I am prepared to leave Serjeant Catchpoll, who is most experienced with criminals, and my lord Bradecote, who is no man’s fool, to undertake this task.’
Hugh Bradecote’s horse started under an incautious spur, and its rider made a strangled noise in his throat. He had as little wish to remain in Pershore as the sheriff.
‘But my lord, I am not a king’s officer. I most certainly have no powers of jurisdiction.’ He spoke in an urgent undervoice.
The sheriff was having none of it. ‘You have as of now. I am appointing you as my under-sheriff, in a purely temporary capacity. You can keep your men and a couple of my men-at-arms as well.’ The sheriff dropped his voice. ‘Catchpoll knows his business very well, but the witnesses here would appreciate neither his manners nor his methods. Keep ’em sweet and let Catchpoll ferret.’
Bradecote grimaced. He was to be a sop to sensibilities, was he? It grated that the sheriff, who had seen enough over the past week to judge him, should place him as a mere buffer. He rather thought he could do better than that. This was not a task he wanted, but if he was to be given command in name, he wanted to exercise it in fact.
He thought for a moment, and then urged his horse forward and dismounted before the abbot, handing the reins to one of his men. ‘Father Abbot, I am at your service.’ He made obeisance, surprisingly gracefully for a tall man who had been in the saddle all day. ‘May I suggest that we begin after Compline. You must continue with the offices of the day, naturally.’
The abbot opened his mouth to agree and then
‘My lord sheriff, you come just when we need you most. Scarce had I offered up a prayer for aid in this calamity, when you and your men appear.’ The abbot took in the number of travel-worn men filling the courtyard beyond the cloister, and added weakly, ‘Indeed, you come with so many.’
The sheriff took off his riding gauntlets, laid them wearily across his pommel, and stared frowning at Abbot William for some moments before answering.
‘Father Abbot, I have no idea what you are talking about. I have come here to ask refreshment and a bed for the night before we take our prisoners from Bredon Hill to Worcester, and to leave a corpse to display here in Pershore as an example to those who might be tempted to break the law. I am weary and hungry and I care little what has occurred here as long as it does not interfere with your hospitality.’ He had heard the Compline bell, and realised glumly that he was too late for whatever tempting delicacies the abbot had set before his more illustrious guests.
‘Murder!’ exclaimed the abbot, dramatically, waving an arm in the direction of the church. ‘Murder within the sanctity of our church itself! You must help us. You must discover who has done this terrible thing.’
The sheriff closed his eyes for a moment, and gave a weary sigh. ‘Father Abbot, this is not within my jurisdiction. The offence has taken place within your precincts, and I have no rights here.’ He wanted none of this, just food for his belly and a bed for his bones.
‘Yes, yes, my lord, but this is so serious an incident that I waive my rights and implore your assistance. The murdered man was clerk to the lord Bishop of Winchester and about his lordship’s business.’ That, hoped the abbot, would get the sheriff’s attention.
It did. The sheriff’s face clouded. He was torn between wanting nothing to do with this and the knowledge that the victim’s identity meant that, assuredly, he should take an interest. ‘I must return to Worcester tomorrow, and my under-sheriff is sick of an ague. I cannot see that …’ He stopped in mid-sentence, and a slow smile of relief mixed with malicious pleasure crossed his features. ‘However, I am prepared to leave Serjeant Catchpoll, who is most experienced with criminals, and my lord Bradecote, who is no man’s fool, to undertake this task.’
Hugh Bradecote’s horse started under an incautious spur, and its rider made a strangled noise in his throat. He had as little wish to remain in Pershore as the sheriff.
‘But my lord, I am not a king’s officer. I most certainly have no powers of jurisdiction.’ He spoke in an urgent undervoice.
The sheriff was having none of it. ‘You have as of now. I am appointing you as my under-sheriff, in a purely temporary capacity. You can keep your men and a couple of my men-at-arms as well.’ The sheriff dropped his voice. ‘Catchpoll knows his business very well, but the witnesses here would appreciate neither his manners nor his methods. Keep ’em sweet and let Catchpoll ferret.’
Bradecote grimaced. He was to be a sop to sensibilities, was he? It grated that the sheriff, who had seen enough over the past week to judge him, should place him as a mere buffer. He rather thought he could do better than that. This was not a task he wanted, but if he was to be given command in name, he wanted to exercise it in fact.
He thought for a moment, and then urged his horse forward and dismounted before the abbot, handing the reins to one of his men. ‘Father Abbot, I am at your service.’ He made obeisance, surprisingly gracefully for a tall man who had been in the saddle all day. ‘May I suggest that we begin after Compline. You must continue with the offices of the day, naturally.’
The abbot opened his mouth to agree and then
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