Michael Jecks - The Prophecy of Death

The cross was soon installed in his shirt, next to his stomach, under his belt. He gave a low whistle, and Pons came running. The two of them walked out to their horses, and mounted, both still watching carefully. Perhaps a mile away, there was a huddle of men and women walking back from the fields, and André smiled, then turned his horse’s head to the west and clapped spurs to the beast’s flanks.

There was no need to worry about buying food now. This venture would make them both a fine profit.

Second Thursday after Easter 13

On the road near Crowborough, Kent

The Bishop grunted when their concerns were raised, but he did at least allow them a few moments of rest while they studied the land and rested their mounts.

Simon was impressed with the single-minded determination of the fellow. The Bishop of Orange was a heavy-set man, with a great round face, and an oddly square shape to his skull, visible when he removed his thick woollen hat. Commonly his eyes had only a distant absentness, unless there was food in the vicinity, in which case they suddenly held an almost feral concentration. Yet all the while, whether bumping along on his palfrey or sitting as his men lighted a fire and began to warm food and drink, he appeared to ignore any hardship, and focussed entirely on the mission.

Not today, though.

‘I will not be delayed by the irrational and foolhardy concerns of a small number of peasants!’

‘We would be foolish to rush blindly into a lair of outlaws,’ Baldwin said.

‘There is no evidence that a single fellow lies in that forest, and if one did, what of it? We have many men amongst us, we do not need to fear being waylaid, do we? In God’s name, man, I say I am determined.’

Baldwin grunted and threw a harassed glance over his shoulder at the trees behind him. ‘The peasants in the farm told us to be wary. There have been many sheep stolen recently.’

‘Probably a neighbour’s dog.’

‘There are strangers who’ve been seen, the fellows said.’

‘There are strangers seen every day in the country. It is not cause to divert our route and delay our embassy. When the horses are rested we shall follow this road.’

It was not the first time that they had held this debate. The past few times they had passed under woods, Baldwin had been anxious, and cautiously cast about him for the threat of ambush, but each time his anxiety had come to naught. His warnings had been overruled by the Bishop — suavely and reassuringly, but definitely. However, this time Baldwin was more concerned.

They had paused at a small farmstead a mile or more back, and there the peasant woman had warned them of more footpads and felons who were hiding deep in amongst the trees. There was no doubt that the men in the woods were dangerous, she said as she poured them ale from an ancient, cracked earthenware jug, and Baldwin tried to soothe her with his gentlest of voices and manners, seeing that she was so anxious.

No one could doubt her sincerity. When they arrived, they saw her whirl in terror to see so many horses. For a moment or two, Baldwin had thought that she was about to flee, but something reassured her. Perhaps it was just the fact that she could see that these were no footpads or drawlatches. Outlaws would have worn shabbier clothing, or clothing that wouldn’t fit at all.

There were many outlaws near here, they learned. From the way that she looked about her, she expected them to appear at any moment. And Baldwin knew that she must be petrified that one of the outlaws might learn that she had entertained a large party. An outlaw might well assume that she had been paid in cash for her hospitality, and would soon come to rob and rape her. She had a husband, she said, and that in a way was still more worrying. All had heard tales of outlaws slowly torturing a man in front of his wife, or a wife being raped before her man, he being bound and impotent to help her, just for a few pennies.

‘Is your man here?’ he asked.

‘Working,’ she said, and although she smiled, her eyes were nervous the whole time. As she spoke, the reason for her fear became clear. ‘He has a coppice in the woods.’

She explained that having a man about the place would not protect her or the homestead. Will Fletcher and his Mabilla were both killed a month or so ago, although Will had tried to defend them both. Old Adam, the tranter who saw to the needs of so many about this way, had been set upon and slaughtered just inside the woods. Then a boy, one of Roger Hogward’s lads, was seen down near the road’s ditch, knocked down, although not killed, by a mercy.

His tale was one of misery. The lad had seen his father slain by a gang of men all armed with bills and long knives. Two had bows, and with them they used him for their practice after tying Hogward to an oak.

‘They ravage the whole area,’ she concluded.

‘Have you raised it with the Keeper of the King’s Peace?’ Baldwin asked kindly.

‘They do nothing for us. The keeper’s a busy man,’ she said curtly. ‘What does he care if a peasant woman and her husband are harassed or killed by these felons?’

He didn’t have an answer for her. He wanted to tell her that if she had complained to him, he would have raised a posse and ridden the outlaws down, for no man ought to be afraid of travelling about on his own business within the King’s realm, but that would only serve to leave her more distraught. In the end, he hurried to drink his cup, and was soon back upon his mount.

‘The woman said the boy was found only a matter of days ago, my Lord Bishop. His father’s body was still bound to the tree where he died,’ Baldwin said.

‘Sir Baldwin, your concern does you credit, but my need will brook no delay. I trust that is clear enough? We have need of speed. To circle about this immense wood will take a great deal of time, time I do not have.’

‘I am charged with others for your safety,’ Baldwin said stiffly. ‘She said that no one from this vicinity would enter those woods willingly until the outlaws have been captured and killed.’

‘Your anxiety is noted.’

Baldwin nodded and marched away before his anger could burst forth.

‘Well?’ Simon asked as he approached.

Baldwin went to his rounsey and cinched the saddle strap tighter. ‘Take my advice and make sure your mount is rested and that your saddle is tight,’ he muttered. ‘And then test your blade in the sheath. The thing may be needed soon.’

It was almost noon when the party prepared to make their way through the woods, and Simon was aware of a growing unease as the men climbed into the saddle again. The only ones who appeared entirely unconcerned were the two more recent guards from Canterbury. The older man, Peter, and the younger, who might have been his son, the one called John.

Simon had been content at first, but now he felt a little nervous at the sight of the two of them. They looked so stolid and resilient, they were Simon’s vision of a pair of outlaws. True, they were moderately clean, but that meant nothing. So far as he was concerned, they were large, bold men, just like any other felon. And they were travelling with the Bishop’s party as though they were entirely trustworthy.

Well, maybe they were. At least they hadn’t slaughtered any innocents trying to reach a city, unlike the Bishop’s original two men. Simon still reckoned that their flight was peculiar. They had been involved in the inquest and declared innocent, so what could the coroner have said to them that would have made them run away so swiftly?

More to the point, why would he have wanted to scare them away? Just so that he could have these two added to the Bishop’s entourage, perhaps? Why would he want to do that, though? Unless he wanted to have the men wander this way, and he could have them help outlaws waylay the Bishop’s party …