Michael Jecks - A Friar's bloodfeud

‘Old friend, are you …?’

‘I’ll be fine. Let’s get this over with.’

The men at arms all dropped from their horses and tied them to any available ring, post or sapling, while the crowd of villeins, some children, and a pair of low, skulking dogs, walked over the yard to the door.

By shoving unmercifully, Baldwin was soon at the front of the press of people. He entered the church a short distance behind the short, square figure of Sir Odo, and as he walked in caught sight of Edgar, smiling widely, leaning against the farther wall. The reason for Edgar’s delight was unclear to Baldwin. It looked irreverent, given the present circumstances, and he was tempted to give a signal to register his disgust — but then he was pushed forward until he was at the side of the coroner. ‘Sir Edward.’

‘Yes?’

The man gave him a supercilious look that started at Baldwin’s faded boots and gradually rose over the stained and marked old tunic to his face. In Coroner Edward’s eyes there was amused contempt — until he met Baldwin’s gaze.

There had been times when Baldwin had been interrogating witnesses or felons when all means of persuasion had failed and the men had stood resolutely silent. At times like that Baldwin would lower his head a little and fix his victim with an unblinking stare. He could do it by considering the man’s offences, assessing his worth as a witness, or even, on one notable occasion, by trying to remember what it had been that his wife had told him not to forget to buy that day, but it always succeeded.

Today it served to cow the coroner.

‘I am Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, the Keeper of the King’s Peace. I am here to assist in the capture of the murderers of the family of Hugh of Drewsteignton, Ailward the bailiff of Sir Geoffrey, and Lady Lucy of Meeth.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ Coroner Edward said. He essayed a smile. ‘Perhaps we can talk later? I have a sanctuary-seeking fellow in here to talk to.’

‘You will wish to interrogate the man, of course.’ Baldwin stood aside, but he walked to the altar and stood there in clear view of the coroner. He folded his arms and contemplated the proceedings as Sir Edward surveyed the scruffy and injured man-at-arms.

‘You are Nicholas le Poter?’

‘Yes.’ Nicholas had both hands clutching at the altar cloth. If he were to let go, his sanctuary could be rendered null and void.

‘And you are guilty of the murder of Lady Lucy of Meeth?’

‘No! I’ve killed no one.’

‘Really? Then you would like to surrender yourself to my authority so that we can evaluate your evidence.’

‘I can’t stay in the hall under him,’ Nicholas declared, pointing with his chin at Sir Geoffrey. ‘He’ll kill me the first chance he has!’

‘You have no choice,’ the coroner said softly. He motioned to two men at his side. ‘Take him. He’s asked to have his case …’

Baldwin was about to step forward when he felt a movement behind him. Before the coroner could complete his sentence, Matthew was at Nicholas’s side, a great staff in his hands.

‘This man still claims sanctuary.’

‘He wants to prove his innocence, Father. Let us take him away for you.’

Matthew shook his head. ‘You can offer him the opportunity to abjure the realm, if you wish, and you can come here and speak to him for thirty days, but you will not take a man from the sanctuary offered to him by this most holy house. You will not, sir!’

Sir Edward set his head to one side a little. ‘So be it,’ he sighed after a short reflection. ‘Which will it be, man? Abjure and live, or submit to the court?’

‘I need time to think about it! I want more time!’

‘You can wait until God’s kingdom comes, as far as I’m concerned,’ the coroner said. He bent down to one knee, his elbow on the other, and peered up into Nicholas’s face. ‘Why, he is crying! Is this guilt?’

It was delicious. This strong, hardy man-at-arms was actually weeping! Well, there was little more to do for now. Especially with the Keeper and the priest refusing to allow a sensible resolution to the problem. No, the Coroner was content to let matters ride for a while. All he need do was wait. It would take only one more failing to demonstrate that Sir Geoffrey had lost his grip of the manor, and then Sir Edward would be able to take control, after a few words in the right ears.

Coroner Edward smiled to himself, stood and walked from the church, dismissively thrusting the local villeins from his path as he went.

Outside he studied the land more closely. Always important to know the lie of the neighbouring lands when you ran a good-sized manor like Sir Geoffrey’s.

Baldwin and Matthew stood before Nicholas as the people gradually left the church. Matthew held up his hand and roared quickly before they could all depart that he was about to begin a Mass, and a few men and women from the vill shrugged and turned back, but all the men-at-arms were gone before Matthew could even go to robe himself for the service.

As he was preparing to leave to fetch what he needed, eyeing the crowd with a certain satisfaction, Baldwin muttered, ‘You will have to have someone guard this place, Father. They may come back.’

‘Yes, of course. Um.’ His mind was more on the prayers and service to come than on the felon sitting miserably at the end of his altar, and Baldwin doubted that he would remember Baldwin’s words for the time it took a leaf to fall to the ground.

‘No matter,’ he murmured to himself as he went to join Simon and Edgar. But just before he had reached them, a thought struck him. He turned away and out into the crisp air. Long plumes of steam rose from the horses and men who remained in the churchyard, but the coroner was nowhere to be seen.

‘Where is Coroner Edward?’ he demanded of a peasant pushing a small two-wheeled cart.

‘Him? Back to the hall, I reckon.’

‘What of the inquest?’

‘Oh, he held that before we came out here.’

Baldwin looked at him, at first appalled, then furious. ‘That prickle held the inquest without us? Without me? When I’d told Sir Geoffrey that I wanted to be present? Who was there?’

Perkin drew the corners of his mouth down. ‘Some of the vill’s freemen, and others from the manor itself.’

‘You were there?’

‘Yes. I was there.’

‘I shall want to speak to you.’ Baldwin glanced at his burden. On the cart was a linen-wrapped body. ‘You are here to bury someone?’

‘Our priest,’ Perkin said. ‘He died yesterday. I was bringing him for burial.’

‘Take him on to the church. I shall await you here.’

Humphrey woke with his head a screaming agony. For a long moment he remained with his eyes screwed tightly shut, petrified by the thought of what he might see when he opened them. Visions of Hugh with a sharp knife already smeared with blood — his blood! — sprang into his mind, and he whimpered at the thought of imminent death. ‘Don’t, please don’t …’

‘Don’t what?’ Hugh demanded.

Opening his eyes cautiously, Humphrey saw that Hugh was at the far side of the room. The pain in his head came from his having banged his bruised skull against a rock lying on the ground. He gazed at the rock reproachfully, then pushed himself up and sat with his back to the wall. His head still hurt abominably, and he felt dizzy, but he would recover. ‘What will you do with me?’

Hugh glanced at him. He was like a man who had a single focus to all his thoughts and nothing else could intrude on them for long. ‘What?’

‘Will you kill me?’

‘I don’t know. I can’t have you letting people know where I am, though,’ Hugh said distractedly.