Michael Jecks - A Friar's bloodfeud

Perkin was not of a mind to be spoken to so churlishly, not after his morning. ‘There’s a dead woman at the manor. We want a priest to speak the words over her.’

Sweet Jesus! It had been a long time since Humphrey had spoken the viaticum over the dead. He hesitated and licked his lips. ‘Who is it? I didn’t know there were any women unwell?’

‘There aren’t,’ Perkin said gruffly. ‘It’s Lady Lucy, the woman who disappeared a little while ago at Meeth. She was found this morning. Someone killed her and threw her into our bog.’

‘Good God!’ Humphrey said and crossed himself. He shot a look at the chapel. ‘Um — very well. I shall come, but keep quiet out here. Father Isaac is asleep.’

Perkin shrugged. ‘He’s an old man. He deserves a little rest. We’ll keep silent, don’t worry.’

Humphrey hurried back inside, fetched his purse with the bottle of holy water, glanced at the altar and crossed himself hurriedly, then joined the men outside. By the time they were all walking up the lane towards Monkleigh, his mind was working quickly. ‘If she was on your lands, did no one see her?’

Perkin could hear the false casualness in his voice. ‘It’s none of us, if that’s what you think, Father. I had nothing to do with it, and I don’t think any of my friends in the vill did either. She was …’ He paused, seeking the right words, but could find no subtle phrase to hide the truth. ‘She was tortured before she died. Someone broke her bones and hurt her before he killed her.’

‘Who would do a thing like that!’ Horrified, Humphrey stopped in the lane to stare at him. ‘You have been listening to stories put about for children!’ But no one replied, and Humphrey felt a hollowness in his throat as the import of their silence struck home.

All had heard of the brutality of Sir Geoffrey’s master. The Despensers were ruthless in pursuit of their ambitions. Everyone knew the tales of people run down on the roads when they were recalcitrant; the king’s brother, Thomas of Brotherton, had been coerced into renting lands cheaply to Despenser, and later he had to give them over entirely; even the king’s niece, Elizabeth, Lady Damory, had been forced to surrender the lordship of Usk, despite being Despenser’s sister-in-law. Lady Damory herself had been left with almost nothing of the vast inheritance she should have been able to enjoy.

Humphrey was silent as they walked up the lane towards the field which had been drained, but now it was the silence of dawning horror.

It had seemed such a simple plot at first. He’d arrived at Hatherleigh a penniless outlaw, constantly on the run, and at first he hadn’t noticed the shambling old man behind him. When he turned and spotted the clerical robe he had wanted to bolt. It was only when he saw that the priest was almost blind, and very obviously in pain, that he had slowed and considered his options.

The trouble was, for a renegade like Humphrey, it was very difficult to survive. What openings were there for a man like him — the life of a thief and draw-latch? Spending the whole of his life from here on fearing the steps behind him, wondering whether it would be an officer hoping to catch him? Or should he find a nice quiet location where he could hide for a while, unconsidered, unnoticeable, gathering his resources until he could run again, take a ship abroad, make a new life somewhere else?

But for him it would be difficult to find somewhere to hide. There were no easy places of concealment, and in any case he had no money. Everything he had once possessed was still with the men who had taken it from him.

This priest was clearly ancient. He shuffled along the street like a beggar himself, stumbling into people, peering at them with eyes that were almost blind, apologising for his clumsiness. Humphrey began to follow him, watching him closely, because already a faint glimmering of an idea was forming at the back of his mind.

Isaac soon wandered off the main thoroughfare, and seemed content to wait by a cart in an alley nearby. Humphrey took his post in a darkened doorway. He peered at the old man, wondering how old he was, a speculative frown wrinkling his brow as he sucked his bottom lip. Yes, this man could well be his escape from this miserable existence. He looked at Isaac and saw a bed, food, a fire … Isaac was a refuge of sorts.

A youngish man arrived, short, stout, with mousy hair and a cast in one eye, belching happily. ‘Sorry, Father.’

‘It was a sound to be proud of, my son. The ale house?’

‘Yes. It was good in there. No dancing, though.’

‘Good. Dancing is a terrible thing. It’s the devil’s way of tempting youths and maids into sin, you know.’

‘Yes, Father,’ the man said. He was plainly unbothered by the warning. This was one of the old-fashioned priests, then, opposed to singing and dancing at any time, one of those men who would baulk at the thought of a maid and a man indulging their natural desires. So be it. Humphrey could act his part.

The cart moved off, lumbering slowly, and Humphrey let it go a way before he set off in pursuit … little realising how far he would have to walk. Yet it had been worth it. He trailed along after the cart until it left the town, and then he was fortunate enough to see the carter wave to a watchman at the edge of the market. He hurried to the watchman and said, ‘Excuse me, friend, but that cart, was that the miller?’

‘Him? No, he’s Guy from Monkleigh. There’s a mill there, but he’s not the miller.’

‘And the priest with him? He is also from Monkleigh?’

‘Yes. Poor old sod. He is from the chapel out there, but he’s as blind as a bat; deaf too. Can’t keep that job for long.’

‘Thank you.’

And that was that. A few days later, he walked into the chapel, freshly tonsured, clad in his old garb, and with a happy smiling visage to present to the world. When the old priest appeared in the doorway, Humphrey carefully checked behind him to see that he was alone, and presented his parchment. ‘Here I am, Father.’

While the milky eyes peered at the letters, then rose again to Humphrey’s confident, smiling face, Humphrey could scarcely keep his joy from bubbling over. At last he was safe.

Since that glorious day, some seven months ago, he had been here, and he had performed a useful service. Isaac was incapable of fulfilling his priestly functions, let alone looking after his fields. Everything was left to Humphrey, and it was lucky that he had the training for it. He took the services, married many youngsters, blessed the living, baptised the newborn, and in every way conformed to the locals’ perception of a good priest. He pandered to Isaac’s views on all aspects of life, stopping dancing and music in the little chapel’s yard, loudly condemning those who gambled with dice in the nave during his Mass, and living up to the tiresome old bigot’s expectations in every way he could. The fact of Isaac’s deafness and his blindness were merely bonuses. They made it all but impossible for Isaac to realise what Humphrey was up to.

Yes, for seven months he’d been safe and secure in his life here, and now, suddenly, this had to happen. He was involved in dangerous politics, if his imagination was not leading him astray, and could soon find himself accused of murder if he couldn’t find a way out of it.

The body lay beside the almost empty bog, which now held only a shallow layer of filthy mud, water pooling on it in some places. There was a foul exhalation, as though many animals had died and were rotting there. Humphrey cleared his throat, then swallowed. ‘Have, er, have you summoned the coroner?’

Perkin was still looking down at the woman. ‘Yes. He should be here before long, if he has any sense.’