Michael Jecks - A Friar's bloodfeud

As he peered about him in the gloom, Sir Geoffrey saw that one of the beds still had a figure lying upon it. He strode to it and stared down at the snoring shape.

Lying on his belly, his back bared, Nicholas le Poter was breathing stertorously through his wide mouth. The reason for his snoring was plain enough. At the side of his bed a large jug of ale had toppled over, the remaining drink spreading over the rushes on the floor. Sir Geoffrey looked down at it, then back at the sleeping man.

Le Poter was useless to Sir Geoffrey. He had come with good recommendations from another knight in Despenser’s service, but all he had done so far was foment trouble. There was no doubt in Sir Geoffrey’s mind that this man wanted his position, but he wasn’t ready to give it up yet. He had wanted to remove le Poter for some time because of the fool’s machinations, and now he felt as though he had little option. The murder of the Meeth widow, and the fact that her body had been found here on the demesne, meant that Sir Geoffrey’s position was badly undermined. And it was Nick le Poter who’d suggested that the mire be drained. That, to him, meant that le Poter might well have killed her and dumped her body there to throw suspicion on Sir Geoffrey and ruin his reputation. If Sir Geoffrey could be removed from the manor, who knows? Perhaps Nick le Poter could take over his job.

He kicked the mattress. Hard. There was a squeak of protest from the bed itself, but the carpenter had known his job, and it survived, although it moved several inches over the packed earth of the floor, nudging into the wall.

‘Wake up, you dog’s shit !’

‘Wha …?’

‘I said, wake up! You’ve no reason to be asleep, have you?’

‘What’s the matter? You feel you left too much skin on my back?’

‘Yes, I do,’ Sir Geoffrey snarled. ‘And I have a need for more than just your flesh, man! Do you know what happened today?’

‘So the men found a little body in the bog. What of it?’

‘I don’t think I like your voice, le Poter. I think you seem to know all about this woman’s death.’

‘What I don’t know, I can guess,’ le Poter spat. He raised himself on all fours and made as though to clamber from the bed and on to his feet.

Sir Geoffrey didn’t hesitate. He swung his boot and caught le Poter in the belly. The breath left the man’s body in a single gasp, and le Poter arched, and then crumpled. He collapsed on his side among the rushes, and stalks pricked at his scabs like fine daggers. He moved to escape the agony, but only succeeded in driving some straws deeper into his tormented flesh. He moaned with the pain, unable even to gather breath enough to scream.

‘You know nothing ! You are insignificant, Poter. If I wanted, I could kill you here and now.’

‘It doesn’t matter — the Lord Despenser will soon learn what you’ve been doing!’

Sir Geoffrey hesitated. ‘What?’

‘Stealing a part of his manor, sharing the profits with Sir Odo. That’s what you’ve done, isn’t it? Creating a nest which you and he are feathering!’

‘I don’t know what you’re …’

‘Then you’re more thick than I thought, old man !’ Nick spat. ‘That land where Robert Crokers is bailiff, that was all part of Ailward’s manor when you came here. You didn’t know that? Sweet Jesus, and I thought you were clever, once!’

A boot thumped into his flank once more, and he hiccuped with the pain. Straw stabbed his back and he tried to scream, but before he could the boot returned and caught his belly. The breath exploded from him like water from a fountain, and he choked, gasping for air.

Then he felt the nick as a sharp blade drew blood from his throat. A little rasp and then, oh, such a smooth cut, just like a razor sticking in a cheek. He could feel the marvellous edge slip into his flesh, and he suddenly stiffened, convinced that his master was about to slit his throat for him. He could hear Sir Geoffrey’s rough breathing like a lover’s lustful panting, could feel the warmth where the breath brushed his cheek.

‘That’s enough for me! You don’t belong here, le Poter. I think you should go away, and quickly. You won’t get far, though, because the hue and cry will soon find you. I’ll see to that. You run off, fellow, and see how far you can get. I’ll have the men after you as soon as they’re back from their work, and I don’t think they’ll be happy to think that you could have done that to her and brought disgrace on all of us. No, they won’t like that one bit. If I were you, I’d hurry to get away.’

Abruptly the knife was whipped away, and suddenly he was released. He fell back on to the rushes, the stems a fresh torture, and could do nothing for a long while but sob.

‘This is all a waste of time!’ Simon muttered viciously. ‘What’s the point? We know who was responsible ultimately, and that’s Despenser.’

‘Who would be as guilty as the murderer here,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘However, we don’t know who it was who gave the order to murder Hugh that night, just as we don’t know who it was who actually rode out to his house.’

‘We know that bastard knight has the men to do all he wants, and that he craved the land for his master,’ Simon said. ‘He invaded Hugh’s farm to scare all the other locals into supporting him. He doesn’t care about the folks under his command, he just enjoys power. And perhaps some other things, too. Did you mark his manner when we were in his solar?’

‘He was restrained,’ Baldwin said.

‘Restrained, my arse! He was angry that we’d entered his hall, but he was humble in the face of the girl’s body,’ Simon spat. ‘That child was beautiful in life, I’d guess, and this is a quiet, dull, empty sort of place. Not like Exeter where a man can find a woman any time of the day. No, a fellow like Sir Geoffrey would learn to desire a woman, then grow more and more frustrated if she didn’t reciprocate his feelings. And how could a youngster like her reciprocate his feelings? She was little more than a child.’

Baldwin shot Simon a look. ‘You feel strongly about that young woman.’

‘Why in God’s name shouldn’t I? How could a man gaze on her pretty face and not wonder what she would look like in life, how she might smile at a sally, how she might sigh and lie back at the sight of her lover, or how she would scream to see the weapons of torture brought nearer and nearer …’

‘Simon, she was a widow, and now she is dead. It is our duty to learn who murdered her. No more than that.’

‘A lot more than that, Baldwin. She is dead, and the same man killed her who killed Hugh and Constance and the boy!’ Simon shouted. He flung an arm back up the track towards Sir Geoffrey’s hall. ‘That so-called chivalrous knight in there did for her. You heard the priest — Humphrey said that all in the area know Geoffrey is guilty. He led the attack on the man at the other farm …’

‘Robert Crokers,’ Baldwin muttered.

‘Yes, and then he took his men up to Hugh’s place, and did … that.’

‘What of the woman?’

‘Probably took her some while before.’

‘But where would he have kept her while he subjected her to torture? There would have to be a place somewhere near here where he felt he could do that to her with impunity.’

‘In the hall itself, I expect,’ Simon grunted. His anger had drained from him, leaving him morose and dejected. If Hugh’s killer was a knight like Sir Geoffrey, then there was little chance that Simon could ever bring him to justice. Yet Simon burned with the desire for revenge. He would avenge his servant … his friend.

‘His hall?’ Baldwin said. He glanced about him as though seeing nothing. ‘In his hall with all his servants? I doubt whether his men-at-arms would care too much, from what I have seen of them, but I doubt whether it would be possible for him to conceal the torture of a young woman. No, if he had brought her here, I think that many of his servants, all those who had been born in this area and knew her and her family, would have reported his crimes to others. It would be impossible for him to keep such an act secret.’