Michael Jecks - A Friar's bloodfeud

Then he opened his tired eyes again as Hugh burst into sobs of grief. No, he must stay here a little longer, to make sure that this poor injured man was safe. This was no time to go gallivanting across the country to find a sister he hadn’t seen in nearly twenty years.

Nicholas le Poter felt as though his back was on fire. The slightest movement made each scab pull at his flesh; it was like having burning pitch tipped over him.

It could have been worse. In his anger, Sir Geoffrey could have done more if he’d wanted: had his nose clipped, or his ears cut off for offering insult to a man there to parlay. Not that it was much comfort knowing that. The son of a whore had done enough damage as it was. It would soon come to the younger Despenser’s ears that Sir Geoffrey had been meting out unjust punishments to those whom he trusted.

Not that Sir Geoffrey knew that Lord Despenser had put Nick here to watch the steward’s behaviour. Lord Despenser was no fool, and he wasn’t going to trust even an old man who’d spent years in his father’s service like Sir Geoffrey without having someone else there who could keep an eye on things.

At first it’d seemed the place was well run and effective enough. The peasants certainly seemed to have their lands well in hand, and it was easy enough to see that they were completely docile under Sir Geoffrey’s control, but there was a weakness to his authority, so Nick thought. He’d wanted to laugh when he saw how Sir Geoffrey tried to negotiate boundaries with Sir Odo. That was ridiculous! The men who ran the estates for the Despenser need not ask for favours or make offers. They could demand what they wanted.

It was sensible to take the land east of the river from Sir Odo. Odo couldn’t keep it if they demanded it, and scaring the fool of a bailiff from the place was the first stage in grabbing it. Next would be to get the lands farther up, all the way to Iddesleigh and beyond, if possible, so the Despenser territory would be more or less self-supporting in manpower. If they had the Meeth lands as well as Iddesleigh and Monkleigh, they would be able to begin to threaten Lord Hugh de Courtenay.

Of course, if the lands expanded, clearly Lord Despenser would need a man with more brains than this burned-out old fool in charge. Lord Despenser would want someone younger, more ambitious — and ruthless. Someone like Nick.

Nick grimaced and shifted himself uncomfortably. His back felt dreadful. Still, he hoped that he would soon be in a position to offer Lord Despenser additional territory and influence, and when he did, Sir Geoffrey would be out of his post, and Nick would have it. He’d make certain of that.

But there was something strange about all this. Nick had heard something about the old lands when he was last talking to Ailward, on the day Ailward died. It was something he’d been trying to find out about, because it could explain the negotiations which Sir Geoffrey kept holding with Sir Odo — and why Sir Odo still held lands east of the river.

The two of them had stolen the Despensers’ lands.

Simon reached Iddesleigh a few minutes after leaving Adcock, and as soon as he arrived at the inn he flung himself from his horse, shouting for an ostler, and marched up the steps to the great oaken door.

‘Where’s the master here?’ he bellowed as he walked in.

‘He is here, Simon,’ Baldwin said mildly, standing and crossing the floor. ‘And I have to tell you how sorry I was to hear about Hugh.’

Simon could say nothing for a few moments. He took Baldwin’s hand and held his gaze for a moment, and then cleared his throat gruffly, turning away, ‘So was I. It came as a great shock. Why should he expect danger here? In a quiet rural vill like Iddesleigh?’

He had wandered to the table where Jankin still sat. Jankin looked up at him and half shrugged his shoulders. He had seen plenty of distraught men: men who had lost their wives, men who had lost their sons or their daughters. It was one of his jobs as the innkeeper to try to offer some solace where he could, and he did so now.

‘Master, you’ve travelled far. Sit, let me fetch you some ale, and then some food to break your fast. I will tell you all I know about your servant.’

Baldwin briefly told Simon all that he had heard already, and when Jankin had bellowed through the door at the back to his wife for some food, and had returned with an immense jug of ale and another cup for Simon to sit with the travellers, both Simon and Baldwin looked at him.

‘Master Jankin, you have been very frank and helpful. Now I would ask for any more information you can give us. You said that the Despensers’ man had taken the Lady Lucy. What did you mean? Why should he?’

‘The Despensers have a manor just south of us here, Monkleigh,’ Jankin said. He sipped thoughtfully at his ale. ‘Good brew, this one … Wish I could get it right more often … Well, their man is called Sir Geoffrey Servington. He’s a large bully of a man with the manners of an ox. Maybe fifty years old, maybe a little fewer. Strong, harsh, confident.’

‘You describe half the knights in the king’s host,’ Baldwin pointed out.

‘True. Well, he has been here as steward to the Despenser manor for these last seven years, and I dare say he is efficient enough. But he’s like so many men of power, can’t possess it without using it. He bullies where he may, trying to win stores and victuals for free wherever he can.’

‘It is the way of strong men,’ Baldwin agreed. He didn’t approve of such behaviour, but he knew it was hard to stamp out.

‘Except things are getting worse here, since his master has grown so … so …’

Baldwin eyed him cautiously. The innkeeper was uncomfortable. ‘Master keeper, let me put your mind at ease. I am a Keeper of the King’s Peace and my interest is purely to find the murderer of my friend’s servant. I care nothing for the loyalties of individuals, and to be honest, I doubt even Despenser or the king himself cares about the opinions of an innkeeper in the depths of Devon. Anything said here will be kept between us.’

He reached into his tunic’s neck and withdrew his small wooden crucifix. Over the years he had worn it close to his skin every day. It had travelled with him when he first sailed for the Holy Land and the disaster that was Acre; he had borne it in the islands when he had finally made good his pledge and joined the Knights Templar; and he wore it and wept when he saw his friends die in the flames of an intolerable fire, a fire which had been lighted by bigotry and deceit.

‘I, Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, Keeper of the King’s Peace, swear that I shall not divulge your name to any man in connection with what we discuss and I will not give away any information about powerful men to anyone at all, neither your friend nor your enemy. I swear this on the Gospels and by my faith that I shall die and rise to Heaven.’

Simon took hold of it. ‘I also swear this. I, Simon Puttock, Bailiff to the Abbot of Tavistock, will not give away your name or your help to me in finding the murderer of my companion and servant and his family. And I swear also that I shall find his murderer and see him pay for his offences.’

Jankin sat back and eyed them both. ‘I think we ought to have another ale,’ he said, and grinned.

‘Right,’ he continued when they had all emptied their cups. He set the three cups in a triangle. ‘Sir Geoffrey lies here to the east, far down south of us. He is Despenser’s man through and through, but he’s not averse to a little money on the side. Just here, west of him, and reaching northwards up to here, is Sir John Sully’s land. He’s not in the pay of Despenser, he’s a loyal vassal of Lord Hugh de Courtenay. Sir John doesn’t live here, though. He spends most of his time over at his other estates, especially Ash Reigny, where he’s lord of the manor. So all the affairs of his place here are in the hands of Sir Odo de Bordeaux. Sir Odo lives here at the manor house of Fishleigh. His estates are extensive, and cover all this.’ He waved a hand airily.