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document before him across the table to me.
    “Geoffrey Thirwall has prepared this deed.” Thirwall is Lord Gilbert’s steward, but resides at Pembroke and rarely visits Bampton. “The document transfers Galen House to you and your heirs freehold. Do not seem so startled, Hugh. ’Tis my wedding gift to you and your bride.”
    This largesse overwhelmed me. I had never thought to own my own property; such a thing is reserved for gentlemen and wealthy burghers. I am neither. I was able to reply with but a stammered, “Much thanks, m’lord.”
    “Here,” he held forth the document. “Keep it in a secure chest, Hugh, so a century from now, when we are food for worms, your great-grandson may prove ownership to some rapacious heir of mine.” He laughed at his wit, but there was surely truth in the warning.
    Lord Gilbert next opened a small chest upon his table and drew from it a small pouch. This he also pushed across the table to me. “Take it,” he commanded.
    “Our bargain, two years past, was that you would serve me as bailiff for bed and board at the castle, and thirty-four shillings each year. You will soon feed yourself, and such a wage will not keep a wife and family. I have decided to increase your salary to fifty shillings each year. Here are sixteen shillings,” he nodded to the pouch, “to meet the shortage for this year. At the new year Geoffrey Thirwall will pay the new amount.”
    I left Lord Gilbert’s presence that day with much joy, and began to move my possessions from the castle to Galen House so as to make ready for Kate.
    Galen House was two stories, built of sturdy timbers, wattle and daub, with a well-thatched roof above. A chimney at the south end vented a fireplace in one room of the ground floor, which I had occupied when I lived there alone. However, once wed I required a more fitting bedchamber for my bride. With the deed stored securely and coins in my purse, I paid to have the chimney rebuilt in brick, with a second hearth in the room above, so that Kate and I might sleep warm in our bed.
    Now I looked ahead at that curl of smoke and knew that Kate was preparing our dinner – although if her appetite was as it had been in the last fortnight, she would likely consume little of it.
    Kate had prepared a Lombardy custard with wheaten bread and cheese. I was pleased to see her take a good portion for herself. Her appetite seemed much improved.
    “How does Lord Gilbert’s forest land?” she asked as we ate.
    I told her of my conversation with Gerard, and Walter’s response when I spoke Thomas atte Bridge’s name.
    “Another man with cause to strike down atte Bridge?” Kate mused.
    “Aye. But for Thomas, his poaching might not have been found out.”
    “Oh, I near forgot,” Kate exclaimed. “While you were about Lord Gilbert’s business I went to purchase loaves from the baker and met Father Thomas upon Church Street. He told me to tell you that John Kellet has completed his penance and is now attached to St Nicholas’s Priory, in Exeter, where he assists the almoner.”
    Kate saw distaste disfigure my face, as if her custard was made of rotten eggs.
    “Is Kellet the priest you told me of, who betrayed the confessional and sent Thomas atte Bridge and his brother to blackmail those who confessed at St Andrew’s Chapel?”
    “Aye, the very man. He put an arrow in Henry’s back when he thought their felony might be discovered. For this sin he lost his place and for penance was sent on pilgrimage to Compostela.”
    “A long journey,” Kate observed.
    “And dangerous. I had wished some calamity might strike him on the road. He will not show his face again in Bampton, I think.”
    “But he has.”
    I looked up from my meal in some surprise, which Kate saw. She continued: “He visited Father Simon.”
    “Ah… Father Simon took him in when he was a lad. Parents both dead.”
    “That is how he became curate at St Andrew’s Chapel?”
    “Aye. And betrayed his