Michael Jecks - A Friar's bloodfeud

Outside the light was fading quickly, he saw, and he found himself wondering how well this place really could be protected against an attack. If a force of men were to ride through the vill and assault the house, they must succeed speedily. It took little time to hurl flaming torches on to a roof and set the whole ablaze, after all. Sir Geoffrey seemed a ruthless enough man. No doubt he would destroy this place with the women inside it in a moment if he thought that they were a threat to him. Just as, maybe, he had killed Hugh.

Hugh had lived on a patch of ground that was not on Sir Geoffrey’s manor, but was contiguous with it. If a man was to try to expand his holdings, stealing a plot like Hugh’s might make sense. Especially since Hugh was without a defender. Others about Iddesleigh were no doubt villeins, peasants who owed labour to their master in return for his protection: but Hugh was a free man. He had no one to defend him.

It seemed curious to him that the women were keen to have Pagan sleep away from their house. It would be more sensible to have their most loyal man sleeping in the hall with them. Yet it wasn’t distrust, surely, because they were happy for him to remain with them during the day. Their fear for their reputation could end with their being captured.

‘One thing,’ he asked on a whim. ‘You mentioned, Madam Malkin, that part of the manor was your dower. Where was that?’

‘It was the land nearer the river north and west of here. My husband’s family owned Monkleigh and the lands east of it, but mine owned the river and the banks for a mile or so. The fishing alone was worth a fortune. We used to harvest the salmon each year. Now we have nothing.’

Baldwin frowned. ‘But surely that is the land which is now disputed by Sir Geoffrey and Sir Odo?’

‘Yes. I think Sir Geoffrey has sold our lands to Sir Odo — and I gave no permission for that!’

At that moment, Sir Geoffrey was feeling very little like a threat to anyone. He sat on his horse and bellowed while the grooms and hounds milled madly in the yard behind the hall. There was an insolence about the villeins today, a sulkiness that was not normal.

‘You! Get the men ready, damn their souls!’ he roared at Adcock. Then he struck with his lash at a hound which had approached too close to his mare’s legs. ‘Get back, you devil!’

Adcock eyed the men unhappily and, catching sight of his master’s expression again, hurriedly limped over to join them. ‘Come on, you heard Sir Geoffrey. He wants us all to help find Nick.’

He felt sick to think of the poor man out there in the wilds and the cold, stumbling onwards through the gathering gloom, knowing that at any moment he might be spotted by Sir Geoffrey’s men. It was a dreadful thought: being hunted like a wild animal, the full complement of Sir Geoffrey’s foul companions riding after him, shrieking and whooping in glee as they saw their quarry, while all the time Nicholas le Poter’s terror increased and he forced himself to run, run, run …

Beorn answered. ‘We don’t want any part of this.’

‘You refuse to join a legal posse? You can be punished for that. You know it, don’t you? Come on, you’re all grown men. All you have to do is show willing.’

‘Willing? And willingly help chase a man to death?’ Perkin said. ‘If he’s guilty, then it’s as likely as not that your master is involved, sergeant.’

Adcock shot a nervous glance over his shoulder. ‘Don’t speak so loud,’ he pleaded. ‘You don’t know what he’s capable of!’ God, but his ballocks still ached so much! He couldn’t bear the thought of another beating.

‘We’ve seen enough, of him and his men,’ Rannulf declared. His legs were apart, and his arms crossed, but he looked ready for a fight. From all Adcock had heard, he usually was.

‘If you don’t go and help him, all that’ll happen is the man will be caught anyway and probably he’ll die. There’s nothing much we can do to stop that. But if you stay here, he’ll make life for all of you hell. You know he can. He’ll impose new fines, take most of your crops, stop your women marrying who they want to … there’s no end to his power. You know that. Make a stand if you want, but think of how it’ll hurt your womenfolk.’

Perkin stepped closer. ‘You know that Sir Geoffrey is saying that le Poter killed Lady Lucy? Why’d he do that?’

‘Just to rape her, I suppose.’

‘Which is why she was tortured? Whereas if it was Sir Geoffrey, he could end up with her lands and manor, couldn’t he? Which do you think is more likely?’

Adcock desperately sought for the words that would allay this man’s suspicions without declaring his own doubts, but none came to him. He saw Perkin give a grim nod.

‘You think the same, don’t you? Why should we go and seek to punish someone for Sir Geoffrey’s crimes, just to help deflect any blame from Sir Geoffrey? He’s no lord of ours.’

‘You won’t come?’ Adcock asked desperately. He hated to think how his master would react if all these men refused.

It was Beorn who snorted long and loud. He hawked and spat out a gobbet of phlegm. ‘Damn Sir Geoffrey, and damn Nicholas le Poter. They’re two of a kind. I suppose if we’re all there, we can decide whether to protect le Poter if we want. We can’t do a thing if we leave him to Sir Geoffrey’s mercy.’

Perkin grunted, and Rannulf scratched at his ear. One or two other men shuffled and refused to meet Adcock’s eye. It was that more than anything that told him they’d go with Sir Geoffrey’s posse. They knew what sort of retribution Sir Geoffrey could demand from those who thwarted his will.

Adcock went back to his little horse and climbed on to it unhappily, sinking down very gently and carefully. He had his dad’s old sword swinging heavily at his hip, and a coil of rope was tied to his saddle, with which, he guessed, they might bind the man while he still breathed, and bring him back to the hall. It left him feeling most uncomfortable.

As the hounds were released, he set off towards the rear of Sir Geoffrey’s party. The sun was low in the sky, but at least up here with so few hills to the west, there was still enough light to see by.

A few of the hounds had gone off to follow the trails of badgers or rabbits, and had to be whipped into line. Sir Geoffrey had given an old bloodstained shirt of Nicholas’s to the master of the hounds, and the man had thrown it to all of them before setting off. Now there was a conviction in their voices as they gave vent to their excitement, and the men were soon clattering down the lane from the hall, over the roadway, and southwards towards the little chapel.

‘He’s gone to claim sanctuary,’ Perkin guessed from Adcock’s side.

Adcock couldn’t disagree. ‘But what’ll Sir Geoffrey do if he’s inside?’

‘He doesn’t care about the niceties, our master. I expect he’ll send us in to haul Nicholas out.’

Adcock shivered. He couldn’t do that. It was not just cruel and unfair to drag a man from sanctuary, it was blasphemy. He couldn’t break the sanctity of the altar just to satisfy Sir Geoffrey’s bidding.

He looked up at Sir Geoffrey’s back. It exuded confidence, and Adcock knew that the steward would break any man who stood in his path. A picture of Nicholas’s back flashed into his mind. The flesh ripped apart, the blood oozing thickly …

Edgar rode along easily. Their path took them east to the main road from Exbourne to Iddesleigh, and he was looking forward to a pot of ale when he reached the inn again. The thought of a good, hot fire was appealing, especially when associated with a bowl of pottage and maybe some rabbit or pork to go with it. He jogged along contentedly enough.