Michael Jecks - A Friar's bloodfeud

‘He probably knows all the short cuts,’ Simon said. Then a thought struck him. ‘That may be how the men who attacked Hugh got to him, too, by using some quieter paths that didn’t pass near the road.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘Except the horses did come from Iddesleigh itself. I saw that in their hoofprints. They must have gone to Hugh’s house under cover of the party at the inn, and then come back here quietly and ridden home when all was dark.’

‘An easy ride,’ Edgar agreed. A fast ride in the dark over rough land was never appealing to a horseman. A good, solid roadway like this was safe.

‘Sir Odo’s men are all about the church,’ Simon noted. ‘Even if Sir Geoffrey returns, I don’t think he’ll be able to break in there without raising the vill.’

‘It would be a foolish man who’d try that,’ Baldwin said. But even as he spoke, his eyes went to the church.

Seeing his look, Edgar gave a contented smile. ‘There is one sure and certain protection if you are fearful, Sir Baldwin. Send Madam Jeanne’s maid to guard the man. Not only would you guarantee that Sir Geoffrey would never dare attack, you would also ensure that the man would speak to you of anything you wanted as soon as you returned to see him.’

‘Thank you,’ Baldwin said coldly. ‘If I were to take your advice, our only witness would be dead by morning if he had to gnaw through his own wrists to manage it, so cruel is the punishment you suggest.’

It was already late when Adcock appeared in the chapel’s doorway. As the door opened, all the candles began to dance and smoke. He shot a look around, and pushed the door quietly shut behind him.

This place was proving to be a hell on earth. All Adcock had ever wanted was to be left to arrange for the good management of the land and the animals on it, but instead here he was, installed in a manor which was a hotbed of thieving and banditry. The serfs avoided him, seeing him as a henchman of the Despenser. None of them pretended to be an expert of politics at anything higher than the most local level, but all of them knew of the reputation that the Lord Despenser was earning. They had heard how he extorted and tortured people in order to enrich himself.

Adcock walked painfully to the earthenware stoup at the wall and crossed himself, then slowly made his way up the nave to the altar.

‘What is it, Sergeant? Couldn’t sleep?’

‘Perkin? What are you doing here?’

‘Watching over old Isaac. He deserved a mourner, if only one.’

‘He would have understood. There’s a lot of work on at this time of year.’

Perkin yawned. ‘When is that not true?’

Tentatively Adcock approached the body and Perkin, who squatted near the head. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’

‘Why would you want to? You hardly knew the man.’

‘He was a good man, though. We both know that. He served this vill well in his time, and it seems wrong to me that there is no official party here to watch over him as he lies in his own chapel.’

‘That young priest should be here with him,’ Perkin said bitterly.

‘This will be a terrible shock to him, I expect,’ Adcock said.

‘You think so?’

Shocked by his tone, Adcock looked up sharply. ‘You mean the priest had something to do with this man’s death?’

‘He was old. He had nothing more to live for, I believe. He’d done all he could.’

Adcock grimaced and shifted uneasily. His cods still felt as though they’d been broken. ‘What is happening here? I hoped for a period of quiet to get the land sown so that we could win the best harvest ever — and all I have found is death and despair.’

‘It’s a hard life, and this is a hard vill,’ Perkin said. ‘But you’ll be all right.’

Adcock had a sudden vision of his Hilda, the sun was behind her so he could see her whole form, the smile on her face still brighter than the sun itself … and he knew that he would never dare to bring her here to this manor. Better that they should live apart than that she should come and be leered at by the men under Sir Geoffrey. They were little more than brutes, all of them.

‘Nicholas le Poter was all but killed by Sir Geoffrey,’ he said. ‘Whipped just because he took the piss out of a messenger from Sir Odo.’

Perkin looked at him. ‘He was no friend to us who live here. If Sir Geoffrey took the skin off his back, not many of us would care.’

‘You didn’t see what happened to him,’ Adcock said, thinking again of that terrible kick that had all but emasculated Adcock himself. In reality that was a part of the reason for his being here: to be safe from any further attack from Sir Geoffrey. The other part was despair. He had sealed Nicholas le Poter’s death warrant when he told Sir Geoffrey that le Poter had suggested the draining of the mire, and the knowledge was destroying him.

‘I’ve seen what’s happened to others often enough,’ Perkin grunted.

‘Where is the young priest? He should be here too.’

‘He’s run away.’ Perkin looked at him and sighed. ‘The damned fool. It’s going to cost him his neck.’

Jeanne was already asleep when Baldwin walked into his room. Simon and Edgar were still in the inn’s main hall, drinking without speaking for the most part, although now and again Edgar would murmur a word or two about life at Crediton.

Emma was, thankfully, nowhere to be seen. Baldwin gave a quick frown, wondering where she could have got to. He hadn’t seen her since Sir Odo had left, when he was sure she had been at the bar, talking and joking with a small clique of drinkers. One man had stood glowering at Baldwin — oh yes, David, the man who had led them to the mire where Lady Lucy had been found. He had some reason for disliking Baldwin and Simon, he supposed.

Emma would probably annoy someone else through the night with her snoring or her moaning and complaining. Baldwin could hope so, anyway. Certainly he would sleep all the better without her in the room … urged on by the temptations of the devil, he began to move a chest across the doorway to prevent her entering. Only the sudden change in Jeanne’s breathing stopped him. He realised that he might wake her now by dragging the chest, and if he didn’t, the blasted maid certainly would when she found the door barred against her. She’d be likely to pound on it and wake the entire house. Finally, as he was removing his sword and tunic, Baldwin started to chuckle to himself. In his haste to ban Emma, he hadn’t noticed that the door opened outwards. Pulling the chest before it would achieve nothing.

It was a sign of how tired he was, he told himself as he sank onto the bed as gently as possible so as not to waken Jeanne.

His wound was giving him some grief again. That damned bolt from behind had so nearly killed him, it seemed perverse now to complain about the pain, yet he could not help himself. It was a constant grumbling ache at the best of times. Now, with his whole body exhausted after the ride here and the efforts he had expended since arriving, it was more of a pernicious anguish.

The thought that they were likely never to bring a murderer to book for the crimes committed against Hugh was a sore grief. Yet Baldwin was not sure that there was any possibility of seeing justice brought to bear against the Despenser’s man down here. And he was growing to agree with all those with whom he had spoken that surely it was Sir Geoffrey who had the urge to remove Hugh, who had the opportunity, and who had been about the place that day. As for his allegation that another could have killed Lady Lucy and dropped her body in the mire — Baldwin was in two minds. It was unlikely that a man would have dropped the body in the mire to throw suspicion on Sir Geoffrey unless he knew that the mire was soon to be drained. Who could have known that in advance? Clearly the sergeant of the manor would have known. Perhaps Baldwin should speak to him. Then again, would Sir Geoffrey have allowed the mire to be emptied if he knew that the lady’s body lay within?