Michael Jecks: A Friar's bloodfeud

Here was the man who was responsible for the woes of his lady’s family, the man who was the architect of his own shame, delivered up to him. It was the work of a moment to mutter ‘He’s mine!’, to draw his dagger, and to leap up after him.

Sir Geoffrey for his part had no idea that he was now being pursued. He hurried on his way, stumbling occasionally, tripping over a large tree limb that had broken off and lay on the ground in his path. All that was in his mind was the desire to reach a place of safety, ideally some distance from Monkleigh. The nearest and safest he could think of was Dolton, and that was several miles north. It would take him ages to get there if he walked through the night. Better to find somewhere to rest for the night — perhaps a barn or outbuilding away from other people. There were some sheds up near Pagan’s father’s smithy. That would do.

And then he would be able to start to plan his revenge on Sir Odo. The mad bastard must have thought he could get away with this — well, he’d soon learn how mistaken he had been! Sir Geoffrey would not rest until he’d taken revenge. He’d come back here with the Despenser host, and he’d take apart Sir Odo’s property stone by stone. Sir Odo himself would be declared a felon and outlawed throughout the land. If he could, let him make his way to the continent and seek a new life there, because Sir Geoffrey would be damned before he saw him return to Fishleigh. That manor would become forfeit, and damn Sir John Sully if he wanted to argue. No one could argue with the Despensers, not now. He would …

His foot caught on something and he tumbled headlong. Eyes closed, he lay on his belly cursing his fortune before even thinking about rising. It was typical of his luck that he should fall. What next, a twisted or broken ankle? Perhaps he would manage to break his neck and end his misfortunes in style.

He tried to get up, and realised that the hand gripping his sword was stuck. It was the sword. It wouldn’t move. Opening his eyes, he peered at it, and saw that there was a man’s boot resting on it. Following the leg upwards, he found himself staring at Pagan’s grim features. ‘Get off my sword, you motherless son of a cretin!’ he snarled.

To his astonishment, Pagan appeared to ignore him. Instead he reached down and took hold of Sir Geoffrey’s short hair, pulling his head up. ‘Shut up! You’ve done enough already.’

‘What?’ As the cold metal of the blade touched his throat, Sir Geoffrey was suddenly still.

‘Leave him, Pagan. Let me kill him!’

‘Adcock?’ Sir Geoffrey said, trying to look over his shoulder while not moving his head. He was pulled up so far that his fingers could hardly touch the ground, and the pressure on his scalp was terrible, but he daren’t move his legs in case Pagan thought he was readying himself to attack.

‘Leave him, Pagan. He nearly killed me, and all because I was doing our lord’s work, clearing unusable land. I say I kill him now and we throw him into the mire.’

‘Adcock, don’t be foolish!’ Sir Geoffrey said. ‘You can’t kill me, I’m your master here. Steward to the …’

‘You are nothing now, Sir Geoffrey. You’re a fool who’s lost a manor, that’s all. And wandering about at this time of night you are a suspected fugitive. Come, Pagan, let me kill him. God knows I have enough reason, the bastard!’

‘No.’ Pagan sighed deeply. ‘I can’t, Adcock.’

The fellow was brimming with enthusiasm, the blade gripped so tightly in his hand fairly shaking with desire. He wanted to kill this man more than anything he’d ever wanted. And it was all Pagan’s fault.

‘I can’t let you, Adcock. We’ll take the knight back down to Iddesleigh, and hand him over to that Keeper and his friend. They’ll know what to do.’

No, Pagan couldn’t let this fellow commit murder. When Adcock had arrived here, he’d been a cheerful enough lad, from the look of him, and now he was ruined. He had been subjected to Sir Geoffrey’s cruelty, insulted, demeaned, and changed into a brutal facsimile of the man he had been such a short time before. And all because of Pagan’s crime. It was all his fault that Adcock was here in the first place.

Adcock protested, ‘I want to kill him, though. Look, it’ll take one stab and we throw him into that mire there. No one will ever find him if we don’t clear it, and after being beaten for clearing the other one, I’m not going to do that in a hurry.’

‘Don’t think you can kill me with impunity, boy!’ Sir Geoffrey grated.

‘Who,’ Pagan asked quietly, ‘is there up here who would stop us?’

And suddenly Sir Geoffrey felt panic. He tried to pull his sword free and then grabbed for the dagger at his belt, but there were too many men, and he could only scream his defiance and abuse as they roughly turned him over, binding his wrists.

Baldwin and Simon watched the flames roar skywards. Edgar was helping a few others to keep the two sides apart, while men ran about the place fetching and carrying buckets of water from the well to try to douse the flames. Hugh was standing morosely staring at the blaze, remembering the fire at his own house.

‘There is little chance of putting that out,’ Baldwin said.

‘Old thatch that’s had a good chance to dry is never easy to put out,’ Simon said.

The clouds of smoke, thick, greasy, and greyish green even in the darkness, roiled about the area. Invariably when it sank down and engulfed all the men, it made them choke and splutter, it was so thick and foul.

They had seen the fires as they hurried down the road, hoping to prevent bloodshed, and both had known that they were too late before they had caught sight of the house. ‘At least there are few dead,’ Baldwin said.

‘So far,’ Simon replied. ‘There are some bad wounds in among that lot.’

They had brought all the men from the bar at Iddesleigh with them, in the hope that they might compose a force to thrust between the warring factions, but by the time they reached the hall most of the men were already separated. The fighting took second place to watching the manor burn for those who had no direct investment in the building. When Baldwin and Simon arrived, Sir Odo’s men had more or less taken the place, and he and a few others were impounding their prisoners against a fence, having taken their weapons from them.

‘Sir Odo, this is an outrageous abuse,’ Baldwin said as he met the knight.

‘It was an outrageous abuse when that man decided to invade my lands,’ Sir Odo said. ‘This was just an attempt to persuade him to leave me alone. He sowed, and he has reaped the harvest. It’s the behaviour of the Despensers that makes the country so dangerous today. If more men stood up to their bullying, the realm would be safer.’

‘You think this is safer?’ Baldwin demanded, waving at the fires and the bodies on the ground.

‘It’s better than giving up everything, every time the Despensers or their men decide they want to grab another piece of territory,’ Sir Odo said.

‘Is that all this was? An attempt to stop him taking your lands? Or was it to stop Despenser — or, for that matter, Lord Hugh de Courtenay — ever learning that you’d kept back parts of the lands he had taken from the widow of Squire Robert?’ Simon asked.

‘That is an unworthy thought,’ Sir Odo said.

‘It would be a deeply dishonourable act,’ Baldwin said.

Sir Odo glanced at him, then shrugged. ‘Well, I cannot help what you two think to yourselves, but bear this in mind, lordings. My action here has protected Lord Hugh de Courtenay’s lands. While he is thought to be a bold and courageous defender of his property, he is more likely to be safe from the Despensers’ attempts to rob him as they have so many others.’