Michael Jecks - A Friar's bloodfeud

Behind him, his companion muttered, ‘Those murderous …’

Robert pulled a face. He felt close to tears to see how all the work he had put into this little holding had been destroyed in a few moments. ‘It’s not just them, though, is it, Walter?’

‘No. It never is.’

Sir Odo was at Robert’s right hand, still on his horse, nodding to himself. His face was remarkable for the scars which ranged down the left side, from his temple, over his cheek, and down to the line of his jaw. Many years before, so Robert had heard, Sir Odo had taken a bad fall from a galloping stallion during a hunt, knocked down by a low branch. He had been pulled along, one foot stuck in the stirrup, for many yards along a stony track, and much of the flesh had been torn from that side of his face.

Many thought him a violent, cruel man. Here, where he was the steward of the manor for Sir John de Sully, he was feared and respected in equal measure. Many were terrified of his mere appearance, and children all over the area would be silenced and forced to behave by the threat that, ‘If you don’t do as I say, I’ll ask Sir Odo to visit you!’

To Robert, who worked for him as the manor’s bailiff, Sir Odo was a much more genial and kindly man than his reputation would have implied. It was a shock when Robert first met him, because no one had warned him of Sir Odo’s looks. Ach, Robert knew that plenty of men would think it good sport to leave a man in an embarrassing position like that, springing upon him the fact of his master’s deformity, but Robert had been collected enough when first meeting the steward not to flinch. He simply gave a small bow, then walked to Sir Odo and passed him his papers without speaking.

‘They didn’t warn you?’ Sir Odo grated. His voice was like slabs of stone sliding over each other.

‘No one, Sir Odo, no.’

‘They never do. Think it’s fun to bring men in here who don’t know, and then see how they respond, as though someone might one day burst into insane giggling and bolt. Or maybe they think I could leap at someone for his disrespect.’ He paused, musing.

‘I think there’s never any reflection intended on you, sir. Only on the poor fool who enters your hall.’

‘Perhaps you’re right. I won’t have them flogged, then, for their discourtesy … not to me, anyway.’

His bantering tone of voice had made Robert realise almost immediately that this man was in reality greatly hurt that some should use his old scars as a means of upsetting new members of the household. It was natural, true, that newcomers should be put in their place by the team which had been there longer, but to make sport of their master’s suffering struck him as cruel in the extreme and he decided on the spot that he would never do so himself. Any men he brought here would be forewarned of Sir Odo’s wounds.

‘You are sure it was that cur’s whelp, Sir Geoffrey?’ Sir Odo asked now.

‘Yes. He and his men were without disguise. They all wore the tunics of their master.’

Sir Odo grunted and turned his eye towards the house again. He sat on his horse like a man who had been born in a saddle, Robert thought, but now the man’s head was sunk deep into his shoulders as though he was exhausted by all this talk of their neighbour. ‘He didn’t think to leave a guard, then?’

‘No, Sir Odo. I suppose he knew we’d come in force if we didn’t come immediately,’ Robert said.

‘Of course. And there was no point in coming in the middle of the night. We had to wait for the day … So! This is just more needling. He doesn’t expect us to give it up without a fight, of course, but he intends to keep on prodding and provoking, and maybe later, he will choose to force us.’

‘He couldn’t do that!’ Robert declared hotly. ‘He must know that Sir John Sully has powerful friends.’

Sir Odo glanced at him, and the scarred side of his face seemed to colour a little, as though his angry thoughts were changing his habitual phlegmatic temperament into a fresh, choleric one. ‘That prickle is a trouble-maker of the worst kind. He makes no assessment of the risks of his actions, he just takes on any challenge like a bull. If his master told him to lay about him round here with a heavy hand, that’s what he would do.’

‘You think his master ordered this?’ Robert faltered. He had not realised the depths of the mire into which he was falling.

‘Do you really think that a man as experienced as Sir Geoffrey would dream of attacking a lord’s lands like this without considering the risks? The fact he went ahead shows that he must have been told to, or he had the idea himself and had it sanctioned.’

‘Surely a knight wouldn’t do something like this,’ Robert said and waved a hand about the desolation that was his home. ‘Not even if his master told him to.’

Sir Odo looked at him for a long moment. ‘That man needs to be told whether or not he should lay a turd in the morning, is what I think. He has a desire to please his master at all times, and no matter who or what stands in the way, he will destroy them if it is his master’s choice. And his master is keen to acquire as much as he can.’

‘He is a man with a long reach,’ Robert said soberly.

‘My lords the Earl of Winchester and his son Hugh Despenser are keen to confirm their authority,’ Sir Odo said obliquely.

Robert nodded without noticing the knight’s quick look. It was only later that he remembered the conversation and understood that Sir Odo wouldn’t abuse the Despensers in front of a man he hardly knew. For all he knew, Robert could be a spy for Earl Hugh. ‘So what should we do?’

Sir Odo snorted and yanked his mount’s head about. ‘There’s nothing to do, apart from warn our master and, through him, Lord de Courtenay. And protect these lands. They are our master’s, and no one will steal them from us, not without suffering a great deal of bloodshed!’

Perkin hadn’t felt remotely satisfied with the result of the inquest, but what else could be expected? The whole of the local jury had been called to the manor’s court, and some smart knight from down Bude way had come up and listened to the evidence, eyeing the body without much enthusiasm while holding a bag of sweet herbs under his nose. The fool looked as if he was staring at a dog’s turd, rather than a man who’d been murdered.

Ailward was beginning to smell a bit by then, mind. It wasn’t just the coroner who thought the odour was too strong. There was that slightly musty, sweet sickliness to it that spoke of the time the body had been stored since its discovery. To protect it — well, no one ever knew how long it’d take for a coroner to arrive in the middle of winter, and the vill had the responsibility of protecting the corpse from all animals, wild and domestic, on pain of a large fine — they had built a stone wall round it, putting a roof of turves over to save the body from the elements, and there was a man or a boy constantly there to watch over him, day and night, until this Sir Edward de Launcelles turned up.

He seemed less pathetic than some, Perkin reckoned. Stood up there in front of all the jury without looking too embarrassed. Some of them, they looked too young to be wearing the knight’s belt and golden spurs. This one at least, for all his apparent smarminess and courtly mannerisms, seemed to have had some experience of life. His face wore two scars which looked like fighting wounds, and he’d lost two fingers from his left hand. Perkin knew that men would often lose fingers there when they were fighting with swords. All too often a man would grab an opponent’s blade for an instant while thrusting his own home, and sometimes a finger or two would be severed.

A gust of wind wafted Ailward’s scent over the jury and Perkin saw a number blench and gag. It was a bloody foul odour, right enough. He wondered what the other would smell like now. It was a week since Lady Lucy of Meeth had disappeared, and the poor woman must surely be dead herself. Strange that no one had seen her. Her steward had been found on the same day that she had been taken, his body left slumped at the side of the road, his sword out of the scabbard and in his hand as though he had tried to defend her, but unsuccessfully. She was gone, though. No man had seen her since. Perkin was sure she had been taken and killed. There were many who could have desired her for her body, but many more about here would have wanted her lands. They were good and fruitful, bringing in several pounds in cash a year.