Michael Jecks - A Friar's bloodfeud

‘Even when his crimes are known and discussed widely, the local people dare do nothing against him,’ Simon growled.

‘That may well be true,’ Baldwin said.

‘Perhaps there was a small house nearby?’ Simon muttered. ‘He owns half this vill.’

They were approaching the little cluster of buildings that Humphrey had indicated included the home of the dead man Ailward, and Baldwin glanced about him with interest. He was aware of Edgar moving forward to trot at his side, as always aware of potential threats before Baldwin had noticed them. Realising Edgar had seen something, Baldwin peered more closely and saw the figures in among the trees. They looked like men who were hiding from the little force, but scared people could try to defend themselves. It only took one arrow, as Baldwin knew too well, to end a life. His own had nearly been cut short by one late last year.

‘Come,’ he said. ‘Let’s find Master Ailward’s widow.’

It took him some time to come to. The water on his face brought him round again, but only to a slow, painful wakening, and then suddenly he felt the stabbing at his back, and Nicholas le Poter gave a low groan and threw himself over on to all fours, choking and coughing.

‘I had to wake you up! Nick, you have to go!’ Adcock whispered.

‘I can’t move! My back is too bad.’

‘You have to. You can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous. You heard what he said. If you stay here, you’ll be killed.’

Gradually Nicholas felt his strength returning. He couldn’t move quickly, not with his back the way it was, but he could at least clamber to his feet. Pushing with his fists, he forced himself upwards, and grabbed Adcock’s arm, pulling himself up to the sergeant’s shoulder.

‘You heard him?’

‘I couldn’t miss his words,’ Adcock said. ‘Go! He’ll set his hounds on you else.’

‘He wouldn’t dare.’

‘He will have you killed, man! You have to run. I don’t care what he thinks, but all the locals will blame anyone from this hall for her murder, and if you fit the picture, you’ll be executed for it.’

‘I can’t!’

Nicholas shook himself away from Adcock. He didn’t trust the sergeant entirely. The lad was too new to the place. There were others he could turn to …

There was no one. Nicholas curled his lip at the realisation that he was alone here. The men he might have trusted in a battle, the men who were his comrades, would reject him now. They weren’t fools. They’d look to their own interests, and that would mean aligning themselves with Sir Geoffrey.

He was still considering when he heard a shout. Running to the window, he put his hands on the inner edge of the frame and stared out. There, up at the line of the trees, he saw a man from the hall. He was laughing, and as another man shouted to demand what he’d seen, he reached down and picked up a rabbit by the hind legs.

The sight made Nicholas grin, because a slingshot that killed a rabbit was proof of a good aim, but then his amusement faded. The man up there had been a drinking companion for some months, but now he wondered whether, if there was a good price on his head, say a mark or two, that man, Stephen, would think twice about putting his sling into action against Nicholas. There was no need to consider the thought for long. Stephen would put a bullet into his head as quickly and as easily as he had the rabbit’s.

It was a thought which plagued him as he rolled his spare belongings into a parcel and hurried from the hall. As the light faded, and what warmth the sun had brought quickly dissipated, he stood wondering where he could go and what he could do. It was scary, this feeling of confusion. He hadn’t had it before. Usually he knew exactly what to do and when. Only hours before he had been a powerful man, sure of his place in the world … and now? Now he was nothing more than a wandering vagabond, at best. At worst, he was a target at which any man might loose an arrow. He was entirely alone. There was no bed, no home, no fire nor friend. He had nothing, absolutely nothing. All was lost. And the worst of it was, he hadn’t done anything.

Not that it would help him. Many a man hadn’t done anything, yet still ended on the gallows tree. As would he, if he remained in this area. There must be a place somewhere for him to go.

Then he remembered Sir Geoffrey’s expression as he ordered Nicholas to be held so that he might flay the flesh from his back; his expression this afternoon as he said he would hunt Nicholas down. There was no possibility of mercy from Sir Geoffrey.

And then he felt a bolt of revelation. It was Sir Geoffrey who had done it! Sir Geoffrey had taken the woman and tortured her and killed her. No one else in the hall would dare to do that. Only the master. And now he was blaming Nicholas for the crime he himself had committed!

Well, Nicholas wouldn’t wait to be chased. He wouldn’t be another man’s quarry. No, there was one place where he would be safe — he’d go there now. And from there he’d declare his innocence and Sir Geoffrey’s guilt to the whole world.

Perhaps this was how he could take over the vill. If Sir Geoffrey was shown to be a molester and murderer of women, it might assist Nick’s own ambition.

‘Speak to me about it,’ Friar John said gently.

He had helped Hugh back inside their rough shelter, and now Hugh sat cross-legged on the floor, his back to a wall. The fire which John had lit glimmered and reflected from Hugh’s face, and changed his appearance from moment to moment: sometimes he looked like an avenging angel, or devil, while at others he was more like a man composed of complete despair. John wasn’t sure which emotion would set the seal on Hugh’s life, but he felt certain that one or other of them would become Hugh’s driving passion. Revenge or desolation and hopelessness. There was no middle way for him.

‘I can’t think why she’d have not called to me,’ Hugh said. ‘She’d have known I’d have got to her, and I could have maybe saved her.’

‘Friend, perhaps she was sure that you could achieve nothing. It was her greatest gift to you, setting her own life as nothing.’

‘She couldn’t have,’ Hugh said. ‘Not thinking they’d kill her boy. She must have realised that little Hugh would die too, and she’d never have left him to suffer without doing something.’

John closed his eyes and considered. ‘My friend, some people find extraordinary strength in the most dire circumstances. Perhaps she knew that her boy was already dead, and she knew she must also die, but sought to protect you? Or even maybe she thought her son was safe? She thought she might save both of you.’

Hugh tried to recall exactly what had happened that night. The memory was so indistinct . He clenched a fist with frustration, desperate to call to mind a tunic, a face, a shock of hair … he had seen so little, though. There was scarcely anything before he was knocked to the ground. ‘Who could do that to her?’

‘It is not her alone, I fear,’ John said hesitantly. ‘There is another, a Lady Lucy from Meeth, who was also captured. I heard today that she too is dead.’

‘I know of her,’ Hugh admitted. ‘Heard that she’d gone missing. Nothing more than that.’

The friar shook his head slowly. It seemed dreadful to think that his own Lucy could be dead and unremarked in a place like this. ‘Is there anyone in the vill, or in a neighbouring parish, who had a grudge against you or your lady?’

‘None!’ Hugh said emphatically. He was monosyllabic at the best of times, but now the use of words was a torture to him. He had the same thoughts running through his mind: she had saved him; she had died without calling for his help. He began pounding his fist into the ground, heedless of the pain.