Michael Jecks - A Friar's bloodfeud

‘What if they come back, though?’ Robert said. ‘Here I’m an easy target for them.’

Walter sniffed, his sunburned face the colour of old chestnut. His eyes were almost hidden beneath his thick brows, and he shot a look at Robert, then hawked and spat into the fire. ‘They’re not after you personally. Just the land. Anyway, I doubt whether they’ll be back here for a while.’

‘Why? How can you be so sure?’

‘They’ve left a message. They wanted Sir Odo to know they want this land, and they’ll gradually try to increase the pressure on him to give it up and leave all the land this side of the river to them.’

‘So they could return at any time?’ Robert squeaked.

‘No. Now they’ve sent the warning, they’ll start to use the courts. This was just to stop anyone arguing and making the lawyers’ fees too high. That’s all.’

‘But Sir Odo can’t give up the land — it’s not his. What then?’

‘They may come back and threaten war, but you should be safe enough. Why’d they hurt you? You’re nothing to them. No, if they wanted to do some damage, fine, they’d come here and warn you off, then fire the house. Meanwhile they’d be doing all they could to force Sir Odo, and through him Sir John Sully, off this land. If they could, they’d get the rest of the manor too. They like land.’

‘How could an honourable knight behave like that, though?’ Robert demanded. ‘Surely Sir Geoffrey is a true knight?’

Walter gave him a look in which surprise and contempt were equally mixed. ‘Of course he is. And all he’s doing is what a true knight should: following his master’s bidding.’

Robert nodded. He knew nothing of the ways of fighting men. All he really knew was sheep and sheepdogs.

And now he had neither, he reminded himself as the tears threatened to engulf him again.

When she had first met Wat, Jeanne had been unimpressed by the round-faced boy with the shock of unruly hair and the vacant expression. Although, to be fair, perhaps her opinion of him was coloured slightly by the lad’s behaviour on her wedding day, when he drank so much of the strong ale beforehand that as the wedding party left the church door, all guffawed at the fellow who was propped like a sack of swedes at a wagon’s wheel. Even as he tried to squint at the crowd, he started to slip down, and only Simon’s servant, Hugh, saved him from complete collapse.

Now, though, he had grown into a man with enough good looks to tempt any of the maids in the vill to take a tumble with him in a hayrick, were he to ask them. Jeanne could see her dairy maid loitering at the house’s corner, and, seeing how the girl took a deep breath and bent her back slightly as he noticed her, she was sure that it was time to worry about the arrival of an irate parent demanding compensation for the arrival of a fresh bastard in his family. She would have to speak to Baldwin before things got out of hand — but then she noticed that although Wat gave the girl an appreciative leer his expression was serious, even sad, when he looked at his master. There were more important matters on his mind.

Baldwin had not yet cast a glance at Wat, but he too saw the girl, and snapped, ‘Wat, take your eyes off her and stop drooling. What are you doing here?’

‘Sir Baldwin, it was a messenger came to Edgar, thinking to find you. A lad from Iddesleigh. He’d ridden as soon as the news came, so he said.’

‘What news?’

Jeanne could feel her man tense, as though he reckoned that this could be the call to war.

Wat lowered his eyes. ‘There’s been an attack on a smallholding. Hugh’s.’

‘You mean Simon’s servant?’

‘Yes, sir. It sounds like Hugh’s dead, and his woman with him. Men rode in at night and fired the place.’

Baldwin was strangely still. Jeanne could feel the energy rushing through his veins, and she tightened her grip on his arm, as though by so doing she could persuade him to remain with her and not to fly off to Iddesleigh.

‘Was there any message about who was responsible?’ Baldwin asked.

‘No, sir. They didn’t know.’

‘Have they had the coroner?’

‘I don’t know. They should have.’

‘True. So when was this news brought?’

‘Last afternoon. Edgar told me to mount and come here as soon as he heard. I had to stop the night at Crediton and came on at first light,’ Wat said.

‘Good,’ Baldwin said. ‘And what else did Edgar want you to say?’

‘Nothing. Only that he would be packing and leaving for Iddesleigh this morning. He’ll meet you there, Sir Baldwin.’

‘I see.’ He stood deep in thought. ‘Wat, you must ride for Lydford and see whether Simon’s there at his house. I don’t think he will be, but it’ll be a good ride for you from here. If he’s not there, go to Tavistock to the abbot, and tell him what you’ve said here. The good abbot will send a messenger on to Simon at Dartmouth, if he’s there.’

‘Sir.’

‘Wait! First take some rest. You must be exhausted. Have some ale and cheese while a horse is prepared, then take a loaf and some meat to pack in your bag. And Wat!’ Baldwin reached into his small purse and pulled out a penny. ‘Well done for coming here so swiftly.’

While the boy was taken away by the milkmaid to be shown where the pantry was, Baldwin waited for the inevitable argument. When there was no comment, he tentatively cleared his throat. ‘I am sorry, my love, but I have to …’

‘Of course we do.’

He blinked. ‘I think I should go alone.’

‘With your wounds unhealed? That would be most intelligent, husband. If you fall from your horse between here and Iddesleigh, whom will you expect to find you and bring you home?’

‘It is a long road, my sweet.’

‘Many are, my love. Which means we should pack. I shall see to it.’

‘But …’

‘You should eat something too, if we’re to set off as soon as we can,’ Jeanne said firmly, and was gone.

Humphrey was feeling as though his back was soon to break when he stopped his work and stood slowly, rubbing at the muscles above his buttocks.

There was too much to be done, that was the trouble. Old Isaac had many strips of land in the communal fields, and all had to be tilled. For Humphrey, that meant more work. He had to look after the fields as well as taking the services for Isaac. There could be no leisure for a parish priest. He was another local farmer, just like all the others, and like all the others he must work if he wanted to eat.

Today he was in the strip nearest the road. All the villagers had strips in this great field, and all were widely separated. This was the first of the priest’s strips, and his next was way along there, ninety yards or so. Each strip was over an acre, too, so that the amount of land available to each inhabitant of the vill was quite large. Not as fruitful as some places Humphrey had seen, it was true, but it wasn’t as desolate as others, either.

When he looked up, there was a man walking along the roadway, a cheerful-looking friar, with a smiling face, flaming red cheeks, and that appearance of drawnness which so many friars wore.

They were a scavenging breed, the friars. As Humphrey knew only too well, they were detested by many in the Church, and with good reason. Friars would take the money which parishioners should give to their own church; they offered mild penances when they heard confessions, penances that could do little good to the poor soul who had confessed and whose very leniency must devalue the whole structure of the Church’s efforts to prevent sin. In any case, making confession to a wanderer whom a man would never see again was easier, and thus less morally efficacious, than confessing to a priest with whom the penitent tilled the soil, ploughed, drank and ate. There was shame and embarrassment in admitting a sin to a companion, whereas a friar … a man could admit anything to one of them and forget it in moments.