Michael Jecks - A Friar's bloodfeud

‘Nothing,’ Baldwin said. ‘It’s just because she’s hungover, I think. She is leaving here to go and vomit.’

‘Possibly,’ Jeanne said, wiping her breast as Richalda sat up and smiled at Baldwin. ‘What are you going to do now?’

‘We are off to question the man who was with Ailward on the day he died … the man who was carrying the body of Lady Lucy with him,’ Baldwin said, and explained briefly what they had learned. ‘I do not know how this man Walter will respond when I speak to him. He may be entirely blameless, although if he is not guilty of murdering that poor woman, I fail to understand what he was doing up there on the moor with a man from the other manor. He must have known that his master Sir Odo and Sir Geoffrey were at daggers drawn.’

‘You will be careful?’ she asked quickly.

‘Against one man? When I have Simon and Edgar at my side? I have little to fear,’ Baldwin said. He kissed her. ‘Why is Emma taking so long? I don’t want you alone. You should have her with you.’

‘At least she was good enough not to disturb our sleep last night,’ Jeanne pointed out.

‘True enough.’ Baldwin hesitated, wondering again where she might have been, but dismissed the thought as he hurried out to re-join Simon and Edgar. He busied himself making sure that his horse was ready again, and when he glanced up he saw again that curious expression of amusement on his servant’s face.

It troubled him as he tested the girth of his saddle before swinging himself up into the seat. Edgar was not usually given to levity.

It was quick, it was easy.

Surprise was the most important element in a good battle. Don’t give them time to think or plan, just get in and take what you need. Sir Geoffrey led his men along the road from the rear of the house, up from the river, the line that that idiot sergeant would least expect, and by the time the force had come into view and the sergeant and his man-at-arms had realised that these were not men from Sir Odo, it was too late; the Monkleigh men were in among them. One rode up to the door and dropped from his horse to go inside and seek spoils, while others herded the two men from the place, forcing them out of the way.

Walter was petrified, Sir Geoffrey saw. Well, good! He knew what a raiding party like this could be capable of, and he had every right to be fearful. The other man, what was his name, that sergeant? Crokers? He had no spirit at all. He stood with his body downcast, and as the men circled and stamped about the place he simply looked up with a sort of pleading expression. Pleading, indeed. He was caught up in the theft of Lord Despenser’s property, and Sir Geoffrey was here to recover it.

‘You two are not to come back here,’ he commanded from his horse. ‘This land belongs to my Lord Despenser, and if you return as trespassers I will have you captured and gaoled. My gaol can be an unpleasant place. So go! Leave this place and don’t return.’

Walter nodded quickly. He started to move, but only made a few steps when he realised that the sergeant wasn’t with him.

‘This land belongs to Sir John Sully,’ Robert declared, ‘and in his name I deny your right to appropriate it!’

‘Go home, boy! This is not your land, it’s not your fight, and it’s none of your concern. This land was taken from Ailward’s family long ago. It is time to return it to the proper owners.’

‘It is theft!’

‘Don’t try my patience!’ Sir Geoffrey roared. His sword was out, and he spurred his destrier forward. ‘See this? This sword was made for me by my lord. I will not have you nor any other man denying his authority here. Understand?’

Robert looked up sulkily. He opened his mouth, felt the tip of the sword’s blade tickle under his chin and swallowed hurriedly. Then he closed his eyes. ‘This land is owned by Sir John Sully, vassal to Lord Hugh de Courtenay, and this act is theft!’

‘Oh, just get him out of my sight,’ Sir Geoffrey snarled. ‘He makes me want to puke!’

Walter relaxed. He saw that they’d be able to escape now, and he wanted to get back to Fishleigh and safety. ‘Come on, Robert. We’ll soon be back.’

It was at that moment that there was a hideous shriek from the house. A man swore, and there was the sound of growling, a squeal, a series of hacking sounds, and then nothing.

As Walter watched uncomprehendingly, a man appeared in the doorway with a sack in one hand, a bloody corpse in the other. ‘Does he want his dog, too? I saved the puppies,’ he laughed, a high, lunatic giggle, and swung the sack against the house’s wall.

Robert gave an incoherent gasp, and lurched forward. Then he pulled out his dagger and ran at the man — but Robert was no killer. He was too calm and gentle to have learned how to stab, slash and kill.

Sir Geoffrey lifted his sword high over his head and brought it down on Robert’s head.

Nicholas le Poter ached all over. Sitting here at the side of the altar, his backside was sore, his arms had a loose, heavy sensation as though they were slowly being pulled from their sockets, and his neck was a mass of tense, corded muscles that felt as though they were going to snap at any time from the terrible weight of his head. On top of that, his back still seemed to be on fire, and now he had a headache from his dismal thoughts.

He hadn’t dared sleep. Not even here, not while the priest was here to protect him. No, he couldn’t, it was too dangerous. While Sir Geoffrey’s men were after him, he could be cut down or dragged from this place at any time. He had no false illusions about their abilities.

The first thing Matthew had done was take away his dagger. ‘I’ll not have you causing bloodshed in here,’ he had said.

‘What if they come to kill me?’

‘It’s a risk you’ll have to take. But you will not remain here with that knife about you.’

At least with the guards from Sir Odo’s here he was probably safe. They were all rough, powerful men. Plainly Sir Odo had himself thought that he was in danger and wanted to protect him — if only to irritate Sir Geoffrey.

Last night he had nodded for a few moments at a time, but never long enough to become refreshed. He was dog-tired now, like a man who’d been training for too long in one session. Before, when he’d felt like this, he’d been able to take a hot bath, but there was nowhere for him to go if he wanted to be safe. If he was found outside this place, he’d be killed in a moment.

He could abjure: tell the coroner that he would swear to leave the realm by whatever route the coroner dictated, and then head for the sea to find a ship to take him away. All his property was forfeit, of course, but at least he would live. The only alternative was to remain here until his time ran out and the coroner could legally remove him to be held ready for the justices of gaol delivery. And then he’d be hanged. There was little doubt of that.

There were some he could count on, perhaps. Some of the men in Sir Geoffrey’s camp were his mates. They wouldn’t want to see one of their own get topped just because of politics. Sweet Jesus, even if he had killed the girl, there was no need for him to be thrown to the likes of Sir Edward. And most of Sir Geoffrey’s men must realise that Sir Geoffrey was the man who’d done it. Not him; not Nicholas. If Sir Geoffrey could throw him to the wolves, who would be next?

No, there were some who would help him, like Adcock. Adcock had helped him up, had sent him on his way when Sir Geoffrey had told him he was going to be killed. There were others there like Adcock. They had told him that they’d support him if he tried to oust Sir Geoffrey, after all. Their loyalty must be worth something …

With a terrifying vision of the truth, he felt his bones freeze. His teeth chattered together, and his left arm gave a nervous twitch that made the cross shake.