Field of Blood

spear.
    'What's the problem, Brother?'
    'Let's pretend I'm a murderer.' Athelstan smiled. 'Or we are both murderers. We have corpses to dispose of. So, when do we bury them?'
    'Why, Brother,' the surprised bailiff replied, 'at the dead of night.'
    'Now we can't be seen,' Athelstan said, 'from the bottom of the meadow.'
    'Ah, you mean where that strange group live? Yes, you're right, Brother, the swell of the hill hides all view.'
    'And if we dig this side of the oak tree?' Athelstan asked. 'We are hidden from any view of people in the tavern. Correct?'
    'Agreed.' The fellow, now enjoying himself, was preening at being patronised by this friend of the powerful lord coroner.
    'So, how would you bring the corpses here?' Athelstan continued. 'If they're taken from the tavern, chambermaids, servants might see us.'
    'Ah yes, Brother, but, at the dead of night, everyone's asleep. And look.' He walked away, gesturing with his hand. 'We can see the tavern, its roofs and gables but, have you noticed, the trees hide the view from most of the windows?'
    'Sharp-eyed.' Athelstan smiled, dug into his purse and gave the man a coin. The bailiff almost danced with embarrassed pride.
    'So, it's possible the corpses were brought from the tavern at night, loaded on to a handcart, or barrow, its axles newly oiled, the wheels covered in straw?'
    'Yes, that's what we do in the city, when we take a cart out at the dead of night. Otherwise, it's a complaint to the mayor.'
    'But let's suppose that they didn't come from the tavern. It's too dangerous to bring them from the river because, as you say, those strange people are there, waiting for St Michael.' The bailiff looked mystified. 'Come on, Sharp Eyes,' Athelstan joked. 'Where else could the murderers have come from?'
    'From the east.' The bailiff pointed to the hedge at the far end of the field. 'That leads to common land and the great city ditch. While to the west, what is there now?' He scratched his head. 'Yes, there's another field which stretches down to a hedgerow and, beyond that, Brother, lie the alleyways of Petty Wales.'
    Athelstan dug with his sandalled foot at the earth beneath the oak tree.
    'Wouldn't this be hard to dig?' he asked.
    'Not really, Brother. My father was a peasant owning land in Woodford. As long as you avoid the roots, the ground under the branches of a tree like this is always softer. The leaves shade it from being baked by the sun while, when it rains, the branches collect the water and drench the ground beneath.'
    'Of course.' Athelstan recalled his father's small farm. How he and his brother Francis would dig around the small pear trees in the orchard to strengthen the roots. 'But wouldn't someone notice?' Athelstan asked. 'Let's say we brought two corpses here at the dead of night, sometime in midsummer, so it must be well after midnight.'
    'Don't forget, Brother, it was a very wet summer. The ground was truly soaked and the sod easy to break.'
    'How deep was the pit in which they were found?'
    'The two corpses?' The bailiff lowered his mattock and dug it into the ground. 'No more than half a yard.'
    'And the two were thrown together?'
    'Yes, lovers in life, lovers in death, if the gossips are to be believed.'
    'So, we put the corpses in,' Athclstan continued. 'But, surely, next morning someone is going to notice.'
    'Not really, Brother. First, if we were burying…' The bailiff grinned. 'My lord coroner, God forbid!'
    'God forbid!' Athelstan echoed.
    'I'd remove the top layer followed by the rest of the soil, put his magnificent corpse in, cover it up, place the sods on top and stamp down. Then I'd go into the field.' He pointed to the long grass. 'I'd cut some of that and sprinkle it over the grave.'
    'True, true,' Athelstan murmured. 'And this is a lonely place. Unless you made careful scrutiny.'
    'While in full summer, Brother, the grass soon grows again…'
    'And the secret's kept,' Athelstan finished the sentence for him.
    He thanked the bailiff and walked across the field. The sheep scattered at his approach, bleating at this further disturbance to their grazing. Athelstan examined the thick privet hedge which divided the field from the common land which stretched down to the city ditch. In most places it was thick and prickly, in others there were gaps, probably forced over the years by travellers, lovers or people seeking a short cut between Petty Wales and the fortress. The same was true of the hedge on the other side. Athelstan heard shouts and