Michael Jecks - A Friar's bloodfeud

‘How are you now?’

He looked up to see that Perkin and Beorn had joined him. They stood behind him, eyeing the new ground where the mire had lain. Some way behind them he saw Pagan. He too was staring at the mire, but with an expression that stilled the blood in Adcock’s veins. It was a look of pure loathing, as though he detested the place with every fibre of his body.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Nothing. We’re going up to our friend Guy’s house. He’s got a few gallons of ale left from his last brewing, and we wondered whether you’d like to come with us?’ Perkin said. ‘I’ve heard it said the ale his wife brews is the best in the parish.’

Adcock looked up at the sky. It was past dusk now, and nearer full night time. There was a pale glow on the horizon to the west, but apart from that the sky was turning from blue to black, and all the stars had begun to glimmer: a silver frost on the dark velvet background. ‘I would like to,’ he said.

Perkin looked like a man who had used up his last words. He nodded and turned away towards the north. Adcock stood slowly and stretched. He felt drained and uncomfortable, but at least now he was apparently accepted by the people among whom he must live. That to him was more important than anything. Even if his life here was to be troubled and full of fears, the fact that he had the support and companionship of the peasants on the manor would be some consolation.

‘Are you all right, Pagan?’ he asked as he passed him.

‘Me? Yes. Not too bad.’

Adcock followed his gaze to the mire. ‘It’s pretty foul.’

‘Yes. That’s where the young woman was found, isn’t it? Lady Lucy?’

‘In the middle. Horrible sight.’

Pagan shook his head. ‘I can imagine,’ he said, turning away and walking to where the other two men stood patiently waiting.

Adcock walked slowly and carefully, and saw Perkin and Beorn exchange a glance. ‘I’m fine. It’s just …’

‘We know what happened. He’s done it to others before now,’ Perkin said. ‘We can walk more slowly.’

‘There’s no need,’ Adcock said gratefully. ‘Once I start moving, the pain abates somewhat.’

‘Good, then let’s be going,’ Beorn said.

Adcock looked at the two men in front of him. ‘Why? What’s the hurry?’ Now he could see them, he saw that they were worried themselves. There was some anxiety in their features that he couldn’t understand. ‘What is it?’

‘We reckon it’d be a good idea to be away from here, that’s all,’ Perkin said.

Adcock stood still. ‘Why?’

It was Beorn who growled deeply, ‘If you want to be caught up in a fight, stay here. If you want to live without more pain, you’d best come with us. We have heard that Sir Odo is going to attack this place tonight.’

‘I should be back at the hall, then! So should you!’ Adcock said.

Perkin walked back to him. ‘Look, if Sir Odo and Sir Geoffrey want to battle things out, that’s fine — but don’t expect any of the demesne’s peasants to join in. We’re going up to Guy’s house, and you can join us if you want. If you want to remain here or at the hall, that’s good too. But you’d be much safer with us.’

Adcock licked lips that were suddenly dry. ‘What will they do?’

‘Sir Odo will attack with a small force and he’ll kill a number of Sir Geoffrey’s men. Then he’ll leave. If you’re there, he’ll probably kill you too. So hurry up and come with us, man!’

Adcock nodded and made an effort to keep up as Perkin and Beorn set the pace up the hillside, away from the house.

‘Are you sure of this?’ he asked at the top when he stopped to catch his breath.

Pagan nodded grimly. ‘Aye. Sir Odo told me.’

It was only a few minutes later that Adcock heard the hooves approaching down the lane.

‘Down!’ Pagan shouted.

Sir Geoffrey was in his hall when the shout came: ‘Torches in the road! A lot of them!’

He ran to the door and pushed a man out of the way, peering in the darkness. The guard stationed there pointed, and Sir Geoffrey swore quietly under his breath, then: ‘Get your weapons!’

The men in the lane looked as though they were moving only very slowly. Either they were walking their horses to keep the noise of the attack down, or they were moving at the speed of men-at-arms without horses. Either way, they would soon be here, as far as he could see. They were only a matter of half a mile away.

Thank God his guards had seen them.

Men had begun to tumble from the doorway into the yard, some buckling on their belts or pulling leather baldrics over their heads, others grabbing at polearms. Soon there was a sizeable gathering outside the door. More men were fetching bows and arrows, but in this light they’d be little use until the enemy was much nearer.

If only he hadn’t left so many men down at the sergeant’s house. It would have been much easier to protect the hall. Still, if he hadn’t taken the place back, there probably wouldn’t have been an attack here either. And whining about ‘if only’ wouldn’t serve to help just now. He could worry about that later.

He barged his way past more men as he went back into the hall. ‘You still there?’

Coroner Edward smiled and lifted a mazer of wine in salute. ‘This is none of my affair.’

‘You think so? Then you’d better start planning how to explain to my Lord Despenser why it was that you rested while his estates were under attack. I shall tell him exactly how you sought to defend his manor, with the greatest of pleasure.’

He hurried to his table, grabbed the jug of wine, and poured a good measure into his mouth. This was the way to fight a battle. At night, with a full belly and plenty of wine. Ideal!

Already he was feeling a distinct optimism. He’d fought and won worse fights than this. Sir Odo didn’t have that many men, and there’d been no time for reinforcements from Sir John Sully to turn up, even if he’d sent for support. No, Sir Geoffrey could beat him off. He nodded to himself, spat in the direction of the languid coroner, and rushed out again.

His men had already started to deploy themselves. They knew their business, and while some shouted for horses, more were stringing ropes between trees on the approach to the hall, at a little above a man’s head height, in the hope that they might unhorse a number of their attackers. Others had set the archers at either side of the main body of men, so that as the horses pounded up the hill they would be at the mercy of the bowmen on either side before running into the shields of the men in front of the house.

Hearing another shout for a horse, Sir Geoffrey went to the stables and yelled at the top of his voice that no one was riding off in cowardice tonight. All horses were to be put back in the stables and no one was to mount.

‘Damn fools imagine I don’t know how they think,’ he grunted to himself as he returned to the front of the house.

The torches were hardly any closer, and he suddenly came to a halt, staring. They must have seen his men, heard the shouting, and yet they hadn’t come on to attack. And now he looked down at the road, he noticed that the immense number of torches seemed to be closely bunched together, as though for mutual support — or because a small party of men was carrying a large number of torches!

And then he heard the rumble of hooves and the screams, and he felt his scalp crawl to think how he had been duped.

Sir Odo drew his sword and waved it above his head. Without a word, he clapped spurs to his mount, and the beast fairly flew down the hill into the rear yard of the house.

A man was standing by a water butt, a yoke over his shoulders and two full buckets of water dangling, and Sir Odo gave a shrill shriek as his sword ran him through, and then there was another man, screaming in terror and running, and Sir Odo pushed the point of his sword through the man’s back, the force of his charge ripping the blade up through two ribs and then out as the man fell.