Litany of Lies by Sarah Hawkswood

Author:Sarah Hawkswood
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Allison & Busby
Published: 2024-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Walkelin did not dawdle, for he was eager to return and hear all that his superiors learnt without it being at second hand, but he felt a little guilty leaving the little boy with no chance to keep up, so ameliorated his pace a little. It did give him time to think upon the information they had gleaned that morning, and his conclusions were very similar to both his superiors. Oswald Mealtere looked most likely to be the killer, but to drag him off to await the Justices in Eyre would be to ignore other possibilities. There was also something he thought might solve the issue of the strap end, and a question niggling him which he wished to voice.

When he arrived at the ferry it was, as bad luck would have it, upon the other bank, and Kenelm was handing a woman into it, and a man in a wide-brimmed hat was already seated. Walkelin waited with every appearance of merely casual interest, though he was willing the ferryman’s hand over hand progress to go the faster and he himself stepped forward to aid the woman to climb out. It was then that he saw the man stand up, and his mouth opened.

‘Why, ’tis you, Master Sheriff’s Man.’ The speaker, who smiled, had one arm with the vestige of a hand bearing but two misshapen fingers, and the other arm tapering to nothing below the elbow.

‘It is, and underserjeant I am now.’ Walkelin smiled back and there was pride in his voice. ‘How fare you, Alnoth?’

Alnoth the Handless was impressed that the lord Sheriff’s officer could recall his name, though less surprised that his person stuck in the memory.

‘Well, Underserjeant, very well. See, I still wears the boots I bought.’ He indicated his feet with a stumpy arm. ‘And prayers do I still offer for the lord as wore ’em afore me.’

The woman, who had been pleased that this young man had offered her a hand from the ferry, felt rather ignored, and her thanks were brief. Walkelin barely heard them, for Alnoth was speaking.

‘And you is come to Evesham again and all for Master Walter the Steward as I hears.’ Alnoth shook his head. ‘In charity I ought to pray for ’is soul also, but it sticks in the throat to do so.’

Walkelin was torn. He needed to speak with the ferryman, and privately, but Alnoth was a man like himself, one who observed, and took in information. There might yet be something to be gleaned from his knowledge of how Walter the Steward had acted in Evesham these last few years.

‘Would you await me under the tree yonder, and then we might walk up to the abbey, since I take it you seek lodgings there? I needs to speak with the ferryman first.’

‘Gladly.’ The crippled man went to sit beneath a youthful oak that had been an acorn when The Confessor died.

Walkelin turned to Kenelm the Ferryman.

‘The lord Undersheriff thanks you for sendin’ so quick to tell us what went on in the night.

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