Michael Jecks: A Friar's bloodfeud

‘Aye. Ailward was Sir Odo’s. He was always aware of it. Sir Odo would ever make conversation with him if he saw the lad out and about, and I think that after Squire Robert died, my lady Isabel must have told him the truth, because his manner changed after that. He grew more arrogant, more froward. It was hard to contain myself sometimes, with the way he spoke to me. And then he told me what he had done with his father to Lady Lucy.’

‘What did he do?’ Baldwin asked.

‘It was his father who captured her. He had known this lady for some years, and I suppose he always desired her. He was a bachelor, she was a young and beautiful woman … It is not hard to see what thoughts began to fill his mind. Lady Isabel was still feeling the guilt that her behaviour had produced. She feels it every day, or used to until Ailward’s death. Now she only hopes for Odo to visit her again.’

‘He did yesterday,’ Baldwin grunted.

‘I know. Now that one avenue is closed, he is prepared to consider the other again.’

‘So he desired Lady Lucy,’ Simon pressed.

‘Aye. And she did not reciprocate. She spat in his face once, I heard, because he pressed his suit too strongly. She was a spirited woman. Then came a time when Sir Odo decided he would have her. He drew his sword, killed her guard, and captured her, expecting her to wither in his arms and accept his hand, but she wouldn’t. She rejected him entirely, and I think that was when his love turned to loathing. He knocked her cold, and carried her body to my house, tying her there and keeping her out of the way of all others. It was easy enough. He knew what he would do with her, because the news of the Despensers’ treatment of Lady Baret was being bruited abroad at the time, and he knew that Sir Geoffrey would take the blame for any act of cruelty towards a widow. So he killed her.’

‘What then?’ Baldwin asked gently.

‘Then, he told his son and a man-at-arms, Walter, to go and take the body to Sir Geoffrey’s land. Ailward told me all this. He thought it was a splendid idea: to put the blame firmly on to the Despensers’ man, and to quietly take over Lady Lucy’s manor while everyone was disputing Sir Geoffrey’s role in her death.’

‘How would he take the land?’

‘There was no heir, and her husband was a knight of Lord de Courtenay. It would take a little persuasion, but Sir Odo planned to have Lord Hugh de Courtenay take over the lands and make him the master of them. Lord Hugh may well have agreed. In the meantime, the disputed land where Crokers died would be made over to Ailward, because Lord Hugh and Despenser did not know of it. Ailward would have an inheritance, and if Sir Geoffrey was accused, he might somehow regain his old territories.

‘That was what he told me, his old servant, knowing that I was devoted to his father and his grandsire, but he didn’t realise how I would feel about him using a young widow and killing her in order to win so much. He told me gleefully how he and Walter had carried her body to the mire, weighted her down, and thrown her into the foul waters. Later, he said, a man at Sir Geoffrey’s manor would suggest that the mires were drained, hoping for advancement, and the body would be found. It could hardly be kept secret; from that moment Sir Geoffrey would be in difficult waters.’

Baldwin felt sickened. This behaviour was anathema to a man raised to the concept of chivalry. That a knight could consider such treatment of a widow was almost inconceivable, but there was no doubting Pagan’s words. ‘So you killed him?’

‘He was telling me all about how he had thrown her in, and he wanted me to go and help him clean my house. My home. The place where my father brought me up. I grew so angry to hear of how he had defiled my home that I lashed out at him. There was a rock, and while he spoke, I picked it up and hammered and hammered at him. He died.’

Simon and Baldwin exchanged a look.

‘For my part,’ Simon said, ‘I think you have done well to execute a murderer’s accomplice. If a man were to kill my daughter like that, I would like to think that a man like you would be there to do the same.’

Baldwin nodded, thinking of his own little daughter. If his wife was widowed, a recurring fear of his, then what would happen to them? A man such as Ailward deserved his end. As did Odo. Tomorrow he … ‘Where is Hugh?’

Hugh hurried down the road, limping slightly with the effort. He had taken a staff from beside the inn’s doorway, and it helped him as he made his way along the road towards Fishleigh.

‘Friend Hugh, I do hope you aren’t thinking of attacking a knight in his hall?’

Hugh turned and scowled at the friar. ‘Leave me.’

‘I can’t, Hugh. If you attack him, it’d harm your immortal soul,’ John said sadly. ‘How could I, a friar, live with myself if I were to let you do that to yourself?’

Hugh gritted his teeth and set off again.

‘Hugh? Look, there’s no point in going and killing him. He’ll be in court in the morning, and there he’ll be convicted.’

‘And released when he pays amercement. He’ll be free for ages. When the justices get here, they’ll take his money and make him innocent.’

‘Perhaps. Perhaps others will prevail and he’ll be hanged.’

‘That’s if he’s here.’

‘Hmm?’

Hugh stopped and turned to face him. ‘You don’t think he’ll be there. Do you? He’ll be on his horse tonight. You know that too.’

‘I fear it,’ John confessed.

‘I won’t let him. I want him dead.’

John said no more. The two men trotted on side by side, and it was only when they were in clear view of the hall that they began to slow their pace. ‘What now?’ John said.

‘He won’t come north. Means going through Iddesleigh; that’d be dangerous. He’ll go to Hatherleigh, and on from there.’

‘You are sure?’ John smiled. So was he.

Sir Odo had everything he could pack quickly in two saddle-sacks tied behind the saddle. The sacks clanked and rattled, for he had taken all his best plate. It would be easy to pawn when he needed ready cash. Hopefully his master’s lord would take his case to heart and protect him, but only if he reached Lord Hugh before news of this little matter could reach his ears from an unfriendly source.

He clapped spurs to his beast, and was off in an instant, pelting through the open gateway, out into the night, and immediately turned south on the road to Hatherleigh. That road would take him down to the main road to Crediton and up following the river to Tiverton and the castle where he hoped to find de Courtenay.

When he was out of sight of the hall, he whipped his mount again. Speed now was crucial. He had to get out of this damned area as quickly as he could. He had to …

His horse staggered and rose, neighing wildly. At that speed there was little Odo could do to stop the animal slipping sideways, the hindquarters sliding underneath, and suddenly his own leg was under the brute, the flesh being raked by the stones in the trail, and the horse was down, thrashing madly. Sir Odo kicked himself free and looking down felt the first glimmerings of panic and fear set in. The damned creature had broken a leg!

Swearing to himself, he drew his sword and swept it swiftly over the throat, jerking himself away as the blood fountained. Only then, wiping some of the blood from his tunic, did he have time to study the damage to himself, and as he peered at the blood seeping from the long graze all along his upper thigh, he cursed again.

Hugh smiled to himself. He cut the rope they had set across the road, and he licked his lips with a fierce excitement. Stepping forward, he stood in front of Sir Odo. ‘Remember me?’

Sir Odo glanced up with a feeling of disbelief. He had thought himself alone and ruined, but here was a man. He squinted up at Hugh. ‘Do I know you? Do you have a horse I can buy? I have money here, and I need a beast urgently.’