Michael Jecks - A Friar's bloodfeud

‘How long?’

Walter looked at him, shrugged and lay down on the ground. He grunted to himself, resting his head on a pillow of rolled-up scraps of cloth, pulled up a blanket, and finally set his old felt hat over his eyes. ‘I’d get that bitch well as soon as you can. Won’t be all that long. Sir Geoffrey isn’t a patient man.’

Soon he was snoring, but not Robert. He could see again the bitter, scornful faces as they trampled his lands, setting their mounts plunging all over his vegetables, tossing torches into his thatch, enjoying the bullying of a man weaker than they were.

It made him furious — and petrified to think that soon they might be back.

On the way to Iddesleigh, Baldwin had to stop to ask for guidance several times. This was not a part of Devon with which he was particularly well acquainted, and although he was fairly sure of the direction, his concern for Hugh, as well as his fear for his wife on the journey, was getting in the way of his planning a decent route.

‘How much further is it, Sir Knight? My arse is worn thin with all this plodding along!’

There were many times when he felt he could — or indeed should — have taken a dagger to the foul wench’s throat, but he restrained himself with difficulty, and forced himself to speak with patient calmness. ‘Emma, I can do nothing to bring us there any more speedily.’

‘If you ask me, this is the worst sort of dullness. If the man’s dead, so be it. There are people up there to look into it if it truly was a murder,’ she said. ‘The messenger probably got the wrong idea about it all. He wasn’t the brightest coin in the purse.’

‘Wat is considerably more intelligent than …’ Baldwin stopped before the comparison was out. It could only lead to another argument and more embarrassment for Jeanne. In God’s name, he must make her see how disruptive Emma was. She had to go, somehow. ‘Than most,’ he finished bitterly.

‘So you say. And what of this Hugh himself? Wasn’t he the silent fool who used to glare at everyone and everything? A miserable churl if ever I saw one. And only a peasant, when all’s said and done. What on earth is the point of coming all this way just to see his body?’

Baldwin turned and said with poisonous sweetness, ‘Emma, he was a friend’s man, and I esteemed him. That, for me, is enough to spend a little time and some discomfort in seeking his murderer. You were not commanded to join us. If you wish, you may return at once to Liddinstone. I will not stop you.’

‘Me? Go back all alone? I could be set upon, and then where would I be?’

Baldwin sighed and faced the road ahead once more.

It had not been his idea to bring the foul bint. She had insisted on joining them as soon as she heard that Jeanne would be leaving with her husband. There was nothing that could give her greater pleasure, Baldwin felt, than ruining someone else’s day.

Well, she would not affect his. It was already ruined.

Wat had not been able to give him much in the way of details. All Baldwin knew was that there had been an attack on Hugh’s house, and he had been knocked down. From the sound of things, Wat thought that the homestead had been destroyed, and Hugh’s family killed, but that seemed unproven so far. They would have to wait until they reached the place before they found out any more.

Iddesleigh. When Hugh had told Simon that he was to live up there, Simon had been glad for his man. It seemed that Iddesleigh was known mainly for its excellent inn, and that the ales and accommodation there were superior to any others on this road. Baldwin felt sure that he had ridden through the place once: he had a vague memory that it lay between Hatherleigh and Winkleigh, that there was a long road that led from Monk Oakhampton, fairly flat and straight, through trees. For the rest, he was sure that the people there had been quite respectful and friendly. He hadn’t been there for a murder, he recalled; it was some other little affair farther up at Dolton, but he had stopped at Iddesleigh to rest on his way home. Better, always, to leave a vill where a man had been arrested and tried, and partake of hospitality elsewhere. Men who had seen their comrades, neighbours or brothers attached for the next court were sometimes liable to be poor companions for a meal. Better to seek the next vill, which would almost inevitably have a healthy disrespect for the folk who lived in the barbaric, heathen place all of two miles away.

Yes, he remembered Iddesleigh.

They had set off as soon as they could after Wat had left, but when a man had a wife and child to consider, travelling took longer. Jeanne had carried Richalda in a sling for much of the journey, but it had meant that they must go more slowly than Baldwin would have liked. He daren’t hurry with his daughter resting on the horse in front of Jeanne. For now she was snoozing, her pretty head nodding with the horse’s movement. Even as he glanced at her, he felt a wave of pride filtering away his anger at Emma. Richalda was so beautiful, so precious …

‘So how far is it, Sir Knight? My mistress is tired already. We should be seeking an inn for her to rest if it’s not nearby,’ Emma said.

‘Emma! I am perfectly all right. I can manage,’ Jeanne declared.

‘Certainly you are. It’s not an illness!’

‘Emma!’

Baldwin felt a sliver of ice penetrate his vitals. Still staring ahead, his eyes widened, and he almost turned and faced his wife, but restrained himself at the last possible moment when he considered the look of triumph that would inevitably appear on Emma’s face, were she to realise that he had not any idea that his wife was pregnant again. He swallowed, and spoke. ‘It is not far. In fact,’ he said, peering up ahead, ‘I think that this must be Monk Oakhampton.’

‘We aren’t going to Monk Oakhampton,’ Emma said with slow, poisonous serenity. ‘We are going to Iddesleigh, you said.’

‘And Iddesleigh is but a mile or two beyond this,’ Baldwin said shortly.

The road was as he had recalled it. A series of bends gave the impression of a great distance, but in reality it was a fairly straight path, so far as a Devon roadway could be. Soon the land opened out on their left, and fields appeared, their regular lines delineated by twigs thrust into the ground so that each peasant would know where his strip began and ended. The place looked well farmed, and the soil had been worked efficiently from what Baldwin could see. It was freshly turned, and, from the odour, manure had recently been spread. Hopefully there would be a good harvest again, he prayed.

The vill, when they clattered in, was a small huddle of houses. There was a group on the road itself, which curved left in front of them, and then right, northwards again. Encircling the houses was a second lane, which led up the hillside, and fronting this was a large longhouse, which was now used half as the farmer’s storeroom and byre, but also as an inn. Next to it, on the left as Baldwin looked at the place, was the church, which lay in the right-hand bend in the road. He wondered whether Hugh’s body was already in there.

Stopping at the inn, he tied his horse to the rail provided, then reached out his hand to his wife. She took it, and had the grace to look down when she saw the expression in his eyes. He was not cross — good God, how could he be angry with her for falling pregnant? — but he was annoyed that her maid was aware of this marvellous news while he remained ignorant.

‘I hope they have some food in there. I’m fairly starved!’ Emma said, rubbing her hands together as she sailed past them and in through the wide, low doorway.

‘When did you know?’ he asked as soon as they were alone, taking their daughter from her. Richalda mumbled sleepily, then set her head on his shoulder.