Michael Jecks - A Friar's bloodfeud

Jeanne smiled sadly. ‘Please tell the good prioress that Constance is dead. But be in no doubt, the prioress knew of her and released Constance herself. She had been made to swear her oath before she was old enough. And when she fell in love, her prioress was kind enough to remind her that her vows were not valid. It was the prioress who gave her this land, and when Hugh joined her she was no nun.’

Matthew searched her face with a narrow-eyed intensity, but at last he drew a huge sigh of relief and gave a small smile. ‘That, my lady, is a great weight from my mind. I dislike the idea of punishing the dead, and in all honesty I didn’t think that the child could have been so sinful as to have renounced life in a priory. She seemed too good and kind to me. I had feared when I overheard your maid that I had married a woman who was already betrothed to Christ, and the idea terrified me. If you are sure that …’

‘Write to the prioress. She will be pleased to confirm that I am right.’

‘That, then, is one problem out of the way.’

She glanced at his face. ‘You still seem perturbed, Father. Is there anything I can help you with?’

‘No, I think not.’

‘Are you worried that you might have to explain to the men of the vill about her?’

‘I shall have to explain to them that she was no nun. That will please many of them.’

‘But something is yet worrying you?’

He smiled wearily. ‘There is always something to worry a man when he has several hundred souls to protect. But yes, if you will have it, there is one thing: I am perturbed that poor Constance could have been killed because a man desired her.’

‘And who could that have been?’

‘There are many men in the vill, but I do not think it was a man from here.’

‘You think that they are all uniquely good?’ Jeanne asked with a raised eyebrow.

He grinned at that. ‘No. I have my share of cowards, bullies and evil ones. But I find it hard to believe that any of them would dare to risk Hugh’s revenge, and still fewer would dare to risk their souls by murdering both of them and their child.’

Jeanne saw no reason to advise him that the child was not Hugh’s. It would unnecessarily complicate matters. ‘So who?’

‘There is one man …’

He stopped and stared at the ground at his feet, uncomfortable. Then he looked up again and met her gaze resolutely. ‘I was worried about a runaway here because I feared that this woman could be the second in the vicinity.’

‘There is another?’ Jeanne gaped.

‘I believe so. The coadjutor at the chapel at Monkleigh.’

‘I don’t understand — you mean that he is about to run away?’

He showed his teeth again. ‘No. I mean that he already has. I think he was a friar, and now he’s arrived to take advantage of a rather foolish old man, Isaac the priest.’

‘What has alerted your suspicions?’

He shrugged. ‘Little things at first. When he arrived, his hands were clean and not horny. They had never seen hard labour. He was clearly a man who had spent his time in a cloister or scriptorium rather than a field. Yet he told me that he had run his own parish church with his own glebe. That was plainly untrue, for he knew nothing of farming. The vill’s men had to help him with everything. I was concerned when I heard that and other rumours, concerned enough to contact a friend at Exeter. He deals with diocesan matters, and I asked him what he could tell me about this Humphrey.’

‘What did he tell you?’

‘That as far as he knew there was no coadjutor sent to help Isaac. No one at Exeter had any knowledge of a younger priest being sent here to help, but of course the bishop could have acted alone in this.’

‘So he might be a felon?’ Jeanne said.

‘Perhaps, but if he is, he is a felon with an unusually good grasp of Latin and the Church’s rites. I thought to test him, so when I was passing I dropped in to witness a service he was conducting, and he was word-perfect so far as I could tell … it is some years since I was taught myself, and it is possible that a little of my own service is not so correct as I could wish, but I comfort myself with the thought that I do try hard to be a good priest. I think that is all most of us can aspire to: being good enough. If I can direct some of my parishioners away from the paths of folly or evil, I have done my job.

‘But so far as I can tell, Humphrey is a trained churchman, although he is not the vill’s coadjutor as people had thought. Which leaves me with the interesting question of who he is and why he is there.’

‘Have you arrived at an answer?’

‘I am afraid not. I can only assume that he left his abbey, priory or church under a cloud of some sort; but what does that matter? If he is a good priest to the men of his parish, surely that is sufficient?’

‘Perhaps. What does your heart tell you?’

He looked up at the sky. ‘In God’s name, I do not know. He seems a sound parish priest, but he may have a good reason for showing that face. What if he is concealing another aspect in order to gain an advantage? I am very concerned that there might be some ulterior motive here. That is why I was going to write to the bishop to ask him whether he sent this man. But Isaac stopped me. He said Humphrey was his concern, not mine.

‘And in the meantime?’

‘In the meantime I am trying to watch him. And I do so. But while the two vills are at daggers drawn, it is hard.’

Sir Geoffrey was in a cold rage as he walked along the hall and out to the rear. The second building was constructed at right angles to the main part of the house, a long, low block with narrow windows set high in the walls and one doorway in the middle.

It was the way he’d demanded it. When he’d first come here at Earl Hugh Despenser’s request, the accommodation had been simple and old fashioned. All the servants and men-at-arms lived in the main hall with him. He had the solar and all the privacy that implied, but meals would be taken in the hall, just as with any other old lord.

Not Sir Geoffrey, though.

One of the first lessons he had learned in his journeys was that money was becoming more important than a man’s oath of service. In the past a man would kneel before his lord and put his hands together. His lord would put his own hands about the vassal’s, and the two would swear their vows; one to serve and honour, the other to reward with food, drink and clothing, as well as as much booty and money as he needed.

But in the last few years that whole structure of service owed and repaid had begun to fall apart. Sir Geoffrey had seen it first some little while ago when he started to see the mercenary gangs forming. Then it hadn’t seemed a threat, and yet Sir Geoffrey had wondered about them — he wasn’t sure how he’d react if someone offered him a large treasure of money instead of an honourable life of service to his lord. No, he wasn’t at all sure.

So when he was sent here as steward to this little manor, with the clear instruction that he should build it up to help form a barrier against Lord de Courtenay’s ambitions, he had insisted that there must be a separate building to house the mercenaries. The men weren’t there for the benefit of Sir Geoffrey or Lord Despenser, they were there solely for their own profit, and couldn’t be trusted.

Most of the men were out of the place at this hour. He knew that. There was only one man who would still be there, and that was the man he had thrashed. Sir Geoffrey threw the door wide and stormed in. To the left was the main stable area, but on the right was the accommodation for the servants and men-at-arms who had been hired by Sir Geoffrey.

It was a noisome room, this. The odour of piss and sour ale filled the place, along with the reek of filthy clothing. Small beds had been set out on either side against the walls. These were not mere palliasses spread over the floor, but well-built cots with rope springs and thick mattresses. No expense had been spared when the carpenter had come here, because the men had insisted that they should have decent beds and bedding. Just one more sign of the greed of their kind, Sir Geoffrey thought.