Michael Jecks - A Friar's bloodfeud

Simon looked at the cups. ‘And the two of them are at daggers drawn?’

‘Yes. Lord Hugh de Courtenay is not a natural ally of my Lord Despenser, so I think, and that means that Sir Geoffrey has his master’s agreement to harry and upset all the affairs of Lord de Courtenay’s estates.’

‘And Hugh’s lands were on the de Courtenay estates?’ Simon frowned.

Baldwin nodded. ‘The good Prioress of Belstone let Hugh and Constance have use of it, but she had only rented it from Lord de Courtenay, and didn’t own it.’ He turned to Jankin again. ‘So you believe that Sir Geoffrey could have launched an attack on Sir Odo’s lands? Why? Just to irritate?’

‘I don’t know. I shouldn’t be surprised. If he intended to try to force Sir Odo to give up some of the lands nearer the Despenser estates …?’

Baldwin nodded. ‘I have heard of such tactics before. Sometimes a man who is enormously powerful can decide to take over his neighbour’s meagre belongings. But one attack on a man doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s intent on invasion and theft.’

‘No, but when there have been other attacks, it starts to look suspicious,’ Jankin said. ‘There was one on Sir Odo’s sergeant the same day as the attack on your man, Bailiff. A force of rough men-at-arms turned up there, so I’ve heard, and threatened him until he left his land. A sergeant, forced off his own land! All his animals were rounded up and killed or driven off, while his garden was flattened. He has nothing now, except what he can claim from his master.’

‘And you mentioned Lady Lucy, too,’ Baldwin reminded him gently.

Jankin shook his head and stared at his cup. ‘She’s from Meeth, over west, north of Odo’s manor. A nice little estate there, she has. It was hers with her husband, but now she’s gone missing, like I said. Everyone here believes it’s Sir Geoffrey again.’

‘Why?’ Simon demanded.

‘Look, sir,’ Jankin said, rearranging the cups once more into a triangular pattern. ‘If Sir Geoffrey take us here, at Iddesleigh, then he has a nice stretch of land all the way up from Exbourne, down this way, up to Dolton. It’s a good spread, and it’d give him a bit of a power base down here in Devon.’

‘Why would he need it?’ Baldwin asked, but then he guessed at the truth before Jankin could speak. ‘To pressurise Lord Hugh!’

‘I think so, yes. If he can take a few parcels of land, make his own controls increase, then he can start to threaten Lord de Courtenay. There are so many murmurings, masters,’ Jankin added, leaning forward, his voice dropping. ‘We may be out of the way here, but we hear mutters and rumours nevertheless. Everyone is talking about the Despensers and how cruel they are.’

‘It is one thing to threaten a sergeant from his land, another to talk of capturing a lady and holding her, surely,’ Simon said.

Baldwin was aware of feeling cool, and he glanced at the fire, thinking it must have died, but it was burning brightly. He felt a sudden anxiety. If there should be war again, it would be a harsh affair. There were too many bad memories already, and a civil war would mean families split against themselves, brothers fighting each other, perhaps even sons fighting their fathers. If it came to war, it would be the worst he had seen. ‘It has been done, Simon,’ he said heavily.

‘By whom?’

‘The Despenser.’ Baldwin’s head tilted and he toyed with his cup, then refilled it and drank it off in one gulp. The strong ale hit his stomach like burning oil. It only served to increase his discomfort. ‘They took a lady and tortured her only a short while ago. A knight’s widow. Stephen Baret was killed at Boroughbridge, I have heard, while fighting against the Despensers’ men. A little later his wife, Madam Baret, was taken by Despenser and tortured to make her sign away her lands to him. I have heard this, and that the young woman was so badly maltreated that she lost her mind completely. She is a lunatic now.’

‘Sweet Jesus!’ Simon breathed.

Jankin nodded. ‘That’s what I’d heard too. When I heard that Lady Lucy was gone, I wondered whether it could be the same. And then I thought about her lands,’ he added, and moved the great earthenware jug until it formed a square, resting above the Sir Odo cup and left of the Iddesleigh one. ‘Because she has more than these other three estates all put together, you see. If a man wanted to carve out a nice part of Devon for himself, he could do worse than take over her land with the others. Especially if he owned Iddesleigh too, because then he could just swallow up the whole of the Fishleigh manor entire. And he’d have a goodly portion of land to set against even a man like Lord Hugh de Courtenay.’

When John rose and left the room to fetch some water, Hugh was glad to see him go.

Shepherd, farmer, moorman and more recently servant, Hugh had lived with the companionship of others, but he was essentially self-reliant. He had friends, and he valued them, but right now he knew that they were all far away. His master was many miles to the south; his friend Edgar, the servant of Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, was miles east at the manor near Cadbury. He might be on his way, but he had responsibilities; Hugh was alone here.

Men had taken it into their heads to attack him, and had killed the only woman who had ever looked at him. He wouldn’t weep. He couldn’t. But the sight of her was in his mind, her smell seemed to be in his nose, and if he closed his eyes he could almost feel her body. Everything that he was, everything that he loved and wanted, had been taken from him. Perhaps by rogue felons, just a wandering gang of outlaws who had spotted his house and seen an easy target for their malice. They approached it, raped his woman, killed her, and thought that they’d killed him too.

Except he knew that was ballocks. It made no sense. If there was a gang of outlaws in the area, he’d have heard. You couldn’t hide a murderous group of men so easily, not in a place like this. And Hugh knew that the men of Monkleigh were keen on taking hold of Iddesleigh. It had been a subject of conversation for a long while. Everybody in Iddesleigh knew it.

And Hugh was an outsider, as Constance was too. He could be attacked without upsetting the lord of the manor of Iddesleigh. He was a safe target.

It was easy to kill Constance and force Hugh from their land. Very easy, he thought, and hurled his axe at a log. It struck and rolled over and over, the blade embedded in the wood.

Perkin was out at the bog and digging when Adcock arrived, and he groaned inwardly to see the new sergeant. He looked over at the other men working with him. Beorn was quick to see the point of his gaze, shot a glance over his shoulder, and set to with more enthusiasm than before, although one lad seemed only to find amusement in Adcock’s appearance. He stood and peered at him. ‘That the new sergeant, Perkin? Dun’t look much.’

‘Just dig, ’Tin.. He’s here to see whether we’re working, and you setting your arm on your shovel and looking at the view ain’t likely to impress him much, is it?’

‘I just wondered what he was like.’

Perkin grunted. If Martin wanted to get into trouble, that was his lookout, not Perkin’s. Perkin had no authority to order him about.

He didn’t want to be here at the bog, and he wasn’t happy about his position in the manor. Ever since finding Ailward’s body, he had been more and more unsettled. Men had disputes, yes, and once in a while someone might be struck down, but it was rarely anything so disgraceful as a murderous attack. Far more common that a man would get roaring drunk and try to swing a fist, only to have his head clubbed by a comrade who was keen to keep the peace.