Michael Jecks: A Friar's bloodfeud

‘I don’t know anything about that,’ Walter declared quickly. ‘It was nothing to do with me.’

‘What was nothing to do with you?’ Simon demanded.

‘The death of that woman. Or Ailward. I had nothing to do with them.’

‘But you were involved in carrying the woman away, weren’t you?’ Baldwin said. ‘You were seen.’

‘One man’s word is …’

‘Whoever told you only one man saw you?’ Baldwin said with frank, if counterfeit, amazement. ‘I’ve spoken to three this night already.’

‘It was Ailward’s fault. I know nothing about it. He took me to her body, and then had me help him carry it away, that’s all I know.’

‘Where was she?’

‘Bound to a post.’

‘ Where? ’

He sighed. ‘In Pagan’s forge. Someone had stabbed her to death with a red-hot poker. Left it in her. Poor thing.’

‘And you told no one of this discovery, but instead took her away?’ Baldwin said mildly.

‘She was only a young woman. I wasn’t going to risk my neck for her,’ Walter said reasonably. ‘What else would you expect me to do?’

Baldwin had a hand on John’s shoulder to restrain him. He left it there, not gripping tightly, but not allowing John to forget it was there. ‘I would expect you to tell the local officers. Where did you take the body?’

‘We took her over to the mire … but that damned camp ball game came towards us! We thought that was one day we’d be safe moving her, because the players don’t usually attack up towards the edge there. But Perkin and Beorn came straight at us, and I had to do something. As Sir Odo’s man I was their natural opponent anyway, so I clobbered Perkin and took the ball from him, throwing it as far as I could down the slope. I suppose it was him who saw her?’

‘You can suppose what you like!’ Baldwin said with more force. ‘What then?’

‘We took her to the mire. Ailward set stones on her, and we carried her into the middle and set her down.’

‘Why?’

‘Eh?’

‘Why put her there in the middle of another man’s land?’

‘Ailward wanted to put the guilt firmly where it was earned. He told me that Sir Geoffrey had been going to Pagan’s forge and torturing the girl up there for days. He killed her, and I didn’t mind putting her there so people could see who’d done it to her.’

‘What if Ailward lied to you?’ Simon demanded roughly. ‘Are you really so stupid?’

Baldwin said, ‘What was going to happen then? If she was hidden, weighted down with rocks, how was she to be discovered?’

Walter eyed Simon warily before answering. ‘He was going to get someone to suggest that the mire could be drained. That would lead to her being found. Seems he did that.’

‘Who was he going to tell?’

‘That arrogant prickle, Nicholas le Poter. He was as keen as Ailward to have his master removed. Both wanted the same thing, like my …’

Baldwin’s eyes hardened. ‘Like your what?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Were you going to say your master?’

‘I don’t know what he’d want. It’s nothing to do with me.’

‘You know full well that he would have liked to have had Sir Geoffrey away from here, don’t you?’

‘I don’t know what …’

‘And he could have wanted Lady Lucy’s lands. He is not married, so he could even have asked her to marry him,’ Simon breathed. ‘He could have tried to win her lands legally, if by force.’

‘Is that what you suspect, Walter?’ Baldwin pressed him. ‘If you know something which you are keeping from us, think again.’

‘I don’t know anything else.’

‘Not even about the attack on the house just up from here?’

Walter frowned. ‘What attack? On the miserable …’ He caught sight of Hugh. ‘Oh!’

‘Yes. He didn’t die,’ Baldwin said quietly. ‘Who did that to him? Who killed his family?’

‘How should I know?’

‘You are sweating, man. What would cause that? Who was it?’

It was at that moment that Humphrey burst in through the door.

‘Sir Baldwin! You have to go at once! They’ll kill each other otherwise!’

Baldwin glanced at Walter. ‘Jankin! I want two men of yours to hold this man here until I return. He is not to be allowed a weapon, and he is not to leave this inn until I get back. Is that clear?’

Sir Odo rode along at a steady pace. He wasn’t bothering with a flaming torch. No, there was little point in it. He’d prefer to have his hands free for a sword and a dagger.

There were risks in taking direct action, but since Sir Geoffrey had already begun to escalate the pressure, Sir Odo had little choice. He had to reassert his authority, and one means of doing so was to avenge his man’s murder. That was what it was, clearly enough.

What was ridiculous was, there was no need for things to have come to such a pass. The two stewards had always managed to iron out any petty little problems that had popped up between them in the past. Sir Odo couldn’t understand why Sir Geoffrey had allowed himself to be bullied into this sudden over-reaction.

Their venture could have proved quite fruitful. Why Sir Geoffrey had to ruin everything just now, Sir Odo couldn’t comprehend. It seemed insane, unless it was something to do with Lady Lucy’s body appearing on his land. Sir Odo didn’t see why that should affect their relationship, though.

They were trotting up the track to Iddesleigh. Sir Odo and this group would ride down from Iddesleigh to Monkleigh, and hopefully surprise Sir Geoffrey’s men there, while a second party was cantering along without torches, taking the road almost due east to distract the Monkleigh men. They would ride to the sergeant’s house — what was left of it. Since Crokers was dead, Sir Odo assumed that Sir Geoffrey’s men would have done as much damage to the place as they could. He didn’t like to think what sort of condition the house would be in by now.

They were past Iddesleigh now, and Sir Odo led them down the Monkleigh road for a few hundreds of yards, and then up the trail that led to Pagan’s house. Sir Odo would lead the men along the top here, and they’d come at Monkleigh’s hall from behind. Sir Geoffrey wouldn’t expect that, with luck. At the trail, Sir Odo passed the order, and all the torches were handed over to the grooms who had accompanied them, with a couple of men-at-arms in charge. These all set off down the main road as Sir Odo led his main force up the shallow incline.

In war, it was always best to surprise the enemy.

Adcock had returned home after the chase of Nicholas le Poter feeling as though his ballocks were ruined. He would never father a child now, he told himself that night as he sat on his bed and gently cupped them, too anxious to actually look at them, for fear of what he might see.

This morning he had slowly, cautiously, lifted his blanket to look at them, filled with trepidation. They still felt double their normal size, and he was confronted with a colourful landscape when he eventually faced them. There were dark purples, but also interesting salmon pinks and yellowish browns, rather like a sunset on a summer’s day. Not that he put it like that at the time — that was the description he gave Hilda much later.

They were still bruised, that much was clear, and as he swung his legs over the side of the bed he was rewarded with an appalling ache that reached from the pit of his stomach to the top of his thighs. It was enough to make the breath stop in his throat, but not quite enough to make him cry out.

After a day’s careful walking about the estate, generally keeping well away from Sir Geoffrey, he felt somewhat better. He completed the work on the small mire, and as dusk fell he was still there, unwilling to return to the hall even for his supper.