Michael Jecks - A Friar's bloodfeud

‘If they are so well known to you, they’ll be known to others too,’ Baldwin said reasonably. ‘Any man could tell me of them. Now you said that they’d have carried Constance off, as they did someone else. Who?’

‘There was a young woman at Meeth,’ Jankin said. He began slowly, his reluctance only gradually overcome by his natural hatred of injustice. ‘Lady Lucy, she was. A pretty little thing.’

‘You say she “was”. Is she dead, then?’

‘She may be. About two weeks ago, just before we had the local ball games, she went missing. She’d been out to Hatherleigh, I believe, to market, but at some point on her return she was taken. Her servant, a man called Peter, was murdered and left by the roadside. The coroner went and saw him ten days ago, but apart from imposing the usual fines on everyone, there was nothing to be done.’

‘Was there no sign of the woman at all?’

‘Nothing. She simply disappeared.’

‘Husband? Father? Who went to seek for her?’

‘She’s a widow, and the manor was her husband’s. Her father is dead, I think, but he lived north somewhere, a long ways off. On the marches, I think. There was no one here to protect her. Only her servants, and, as I say, the man with her was killed.’

‘And what is the opinion of the people here in the vill?’

Jankin looked up at him with a set jaw. He paused, looking deep into Baldwin’s eyes as though gauging whether he could trust this tall, dark-haired man. Then his eyes dropped away to his hands, and he toyed with a splinter of wood.

‘You really want to know what I think, sir?’ he said in a low voice. ‘I think it was the Despensers’ man. He took her.’

Adcock had seen this man in the distance, but never from close to before.

‘I’m Pagan,’ he said when Adcock asked, and spat into the road.

‘Where do you live?’

‘Is that a joke?’

Adcock was startled by the man’s ferocious response. ‘Friend, I know very little about this place still. I know few people and …’

‘Then you should know that I am the steward to Lady Isabel, who was lady of this manor until your master evicted her, stealing her estates, her home and her life. Now she has nothing.’

‘Her husband?’

‘Was killed in the last wars, God remember him, and because he was honourable and stayed true to his lord, your lord saw to it that his widow lost all.’

Adcock looked away. The older man’s eyes were unwavering, and in them there was only bile and hatred. It made Adcock feel worse than insignificant to be treated in this way. ‘Well, I am sorry to hear that. I had no hand in it, though. I’m just the steward here.’

‘Aye. And you know who you replace? Her son. It was her son who died, so don’t think that you’ll win her favour if you tell her you’re the man sent to fill his boots!’

‘Sweet Jesus!’ Adcock murmured to himself as he walked away. ‘Save me from old servants like him! I only wanted to be friendly.’

But wanting to make friends was difficult. The peasants did not trust him. All looked on him as a spy in Sir Geoffrey’s pay, and none would drink with him or talk for long, except about matters that affected the manor. As he continued on his way, when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw the man Pagan in the distance, still staring at him with those narrow, malevolent eyes as though accusing him of stealing another man’s position. It was hardly fair to suspect Adcock of plotting to take his predecessor’s place when Ailward had died days before Adcock had been called here, in God’s name!

He was almost at the bog, swamped with feelings of melancholy, when he saw the rider in the distance.

Whoever it was, the man was riding fast, and Adcock peered with interest at the approaching figure, forgetting his own woes for a moment.

The fellow rode hard, like a man with a terrible mission, but when he saw Adcock standing by the roadside he made for him and reined in hard, making his rounsey skip and slither on the icy surface.

‘Friend, I am seeking Iddesleigh — can you tell me where I may find it?’

‘Of course — keep on this road, and you’ll soon be there. It can only be a mile or two distant. You are looking for a friend?’

‘I am looking for my servant’s killer! Someone has murdered him, so I’ve heard!’ Simon spat. ‘You know of the murder?’

‘You were the master of Ailward?’ Adcock said. ‘I am here in his place, and …’

‘Who? No, I’m here because of Hugh. Hugh Shepherd or Hugh Drewsteignton, he may have been called. Someone has told me that he was killed along with his woman and child.’

Adcock felt a sharp pain in his breast. ‘When was this?’ he gasped.

‘I don’t know! You say the vill is up there?’

‘Yes, just stay on the road and you’ll soon be there.’

‘My thanks. Godspeed!’

Adcock stood staring after him as the man shouted at his mount, spurring it to a gallop again, and with sparks flying from the shoes the beast leaped away like a bullet from a sling.

There was a dreadful sense of conviction in his breast. He remembered the coroner’s visit three days ago, and Sir Geoffrey’s insistence that Adcock should invite the man to lunch at the hall before going on. There had been mention then of deaths at Iddesleigh, but Adcock knew no one up there and had paid little attention as they spoke of a family murdered in the next village. It had meant nothing to him at the time.

But now he had seen the pain that those deaths had caused. A man, his woman and his child, all dead. And who could have committed such a crime?

Adcock knew too well which band of men in this area was most likely to carry out an attack of that kind.

Friar John, too, was fully aware that there were dangerous men in the area.

He sat and poked at his fire, feeling curiously disconsolate. He had come here hoping to find some sort of sanctuary for a little while, and instead here he was, hiding in a rude shelter, a more than half-ruined cottage, with a man who had been near to death for the last few days.

The fellow lay on a thin blanket, his eyes wide and staring. His face was fixed into a glower of such malevolence that several times when John caught a glimpse of it, he had been tempted to cross himself: the man looked so much like a demon. Even now, as the flickering flames caught his features, John had to shudder. There was something in his eyes that spoke of a mind driven to lunacy, and as the light caught them, the reflection almost looked as though the fire was in his soul. It made John think that the poor fellow was already living in a hell of his own, and the idea was fearfully compelling.

He knew little enough about him. When he picked him up from the ruins of the house, the man had been unable to speak. He’d merely sat, his head in his hands, rocking slowly back and forth and moaning to himself. John had pulled him away from the wreckage of the building, uttering kind, soft words to calm him, and then settling him on the ground with a few blankets he’d found hanging from a branch. The woman must have washed them and left them hanging to dry. And all the while the flames began to take hold in the house.

‘Wait there, I’ll fetch help.’

‘No! No! No one else!’

‘Man, you need a room to sleep in and some help. I can’t do much for you. I don’t have the knowledge.’

‘No one. I must keep away, somewhere safe … can’t go to vill. Must stay away …’ His voice trailed away while he stared about him with wide, anxious eyes. ‘They killed her, my Constance! Raped her and killed her! Where’s my boy? Where’s Hugh …’

John shook his head. Inside the doorway he had seen the child tossed into a corner. ‘Let me fetch the watch. There must be someone even in …’