Michael Jecks: A Friar's bloodfeud

‘I didn’t bring you down to sell you a horse,’ Hugh said.

‘Didn’t … you mean you brought my horse down?’ Sir Odo exclaimed, reaching for his sword.

Immediately the staff in Hugh’s hands whipped out and cracked against Sir Odo’s knuckles. The metal-shod tip broke two bones in his hand. Sir Odo felt them crack, and a terrible numbness overcame his hand. Then the pain began, and he clutched at the ruined limb. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Hugh Drewsteignton, or Hugh Shepherd. I used to have a little house up in Iddesleigh.’

Sir Odo felt his stomach lurch, but he tried to keep his voice calm. ‘So? I recall — your poor wife and child were killed, weren’t they? That was terrible. Wasn’t it a fire?’

‘You and your men were there, weren’t they? You killed my woman so you could blame Sir Geoffrey for starting a war between Fishleigh and Monkleigh. You didn’t want to hurt any of your own peasants, so you had my house burned, you killed my woman and son, and left me alive to accuse Sir Geoffrey.’

‘Why should I do that? It would hardly help me, would it?’

It was John who answered now. The friar stepped forward from behind Hugh. ‘You would use anything to remove Sir Geoffrey, wouldn’t you? You might as well confess, Sir Odo, because this man intends to kill you anyway. At least if you admit your crimes, I can hear your confession first.’

Sir Odo’s eyes narrowed. ‘You would help a murderer kill me?’

‘Only because of your many crimes,’ John agreed sadly. ‘Your offences have convinced me that you deserve death. There is nothing I can do to stop this fellow, clearly. Come! It is true, isn’t it?’

Sir Odo stared at him, then up at Hugh, and nodded. He spoke with a fierce rage. ‘I wanted him out, yes. He was in my way.’

‘And you had killed Lady Lucy and this man’s family?’

‘He wasn’t one of my serfs. I wasn’t going to hurt the men who generate the manor’s income when he and his woman were there instead. They didn’t matter.’

Hugh gave a groan, and covered his eyes with a forearm. ‘Didn’t matter? Didn’t matter ?’

Sir Odo sneered at him. ‘She was a good wench, too. Wriggled like a stoat when my man had her,’ he said. His hand was slipping to his dagger.

‘Stop!’ Hugh said brokenly. ‘I’ll …’

There was a loud, dull thud, and Hugh’s eyes rolled up into his head as he collapsed like a pole-axed ox. Friar John pursed his lips and stared down at him, shaking his head. ‘Sorry, Hugh, but I couldn’t let you do it.’

‘Thank you, Friar! You were getting a little close to too late, though,’ Sir Odo said with a weak smile. He shoved the dagger back in the sheath. ‘Could you help me up, please? My ankle is …’

Friar John closed his eyes, shook his head a little, and then smiled at Sir Odo. ‘What of the confession? Did you kill Lady Lucy too?’

‘Yes. The little whore wouldn’t accept me when I wanted her to marry me, and I lost my temper. I must have asked her a dozen times, but she wouldn’t listen. I killed her, I admit it.’

‘Then may God damn your soul!’ John said, and brought the rock crashing down on Sir Odo’s head. He heaved it up and dropped it five times, until the skull was broken and bloody, and only then did he throw the rock aside and sit down, weeping.

Simon wanted to go to search for his man as soon as the crowds had left. ‘I only found him again this afternoon!’

Sir Geoffrey heard his anguished tone. ‘With any luck your man will have found Sir Odo and killed him already. The devious, lying, duplicitous bastard deserves death after all the grief he’s caused.’

‘And you are a saint?’ Baldwin sneered. ‘I suppose when you tried to chase Robert Crokers off his land, that was a kindly gesture to the poor man?’

‘That was different. That bastard Odo had told me that we could run the manor there to our mutual advantage, and it seemed a good enough …’

‘So you were prepared to steal from your master,’ Baldwin noted. ‘You knew it was a part of the estate he had taken, yet you retained it.’

‘I expected rewards, and I would naturally have shared them with my master,’ Sir Geoffrey said loftily.

‘It will be interesting to see whether he agrees with you when your little investment comes to his ear.’

Sir Geoffrey looked less happy at that thought. Bad enough to have to explain the ruin of his manor without Lord Despenser learning about the disputed parcel of land.

‘And there is still the matter of the murder of Robert Crokers,’ Baldwin reminded himself.

Simon put his hand on Baldwin’s shoulder. ‘I have to go. You know why.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘Take Edgar. He knows these lanes quite well already.’

Edgar was first at the stables, and he grabbed his horse and saddled and bridled him while Simon was still looking for his saddle. It was often the way, Edgar had noticed, that men who were otherwise entirely sensible would all too often lose track of where their horses had gone in a stable. For him it was entirely natural to see to his horse first. A warrior would always see to his mount’s comfort before his own, because he would depend on the beast for his life. He had also spent too many years avoiding capture, while he and his master wandered about the continent as renegade Templars, not to know exactly where all his equipment was at all times.

When his own horse was prepared, he hurried to help Simon, and soon both were ready. They mounted, and Edgar took the lead, cantering up past the church, then taking the left turn down towards the river. They crossed it, and were soon on their way to the old hall at Fishleigh. As they approached it, Edgar slowed his mount, patting the horse’s neck and studying the hall closely.

‘They aren’t alarmed,’ he said.

‘Why should they be?’

‘If a crazed peasant had run in demanding the head of the master, I’d expect either a lot of noisy fighting, or hilarious celebrations,’ Edgar mused, and nodded to himself. ‘I think Hugh must have found Sir Odo as he fled.’

‘Where will he be, then?’ Simon said despairingly.

‘On this road. We didn’t see any sign of them up towards Iddesleigh, so they must have gone south instead,’ Edgar said imperturbably. He urged his horse into a trot.

‘What’s that?’ Simon demanded when they had covered perhaps another quarter mile. ‘There’s something in the lane — a horse!’

Edgar said nothing. He had seen the little bundle just beyond the horse, and he clicked his tongue. His mount hurried onwards and Edgar slipped from his saddle as Simon joined him. ‘Here he is!’

‘Oh God! He’s not …’

‘He’s breathing too loud for a corpse,’ Edgar said shortly. His hands were at Hugh’s head. ‘Yes, there’s a lump the size of a goose’s egg here.’

‘What could have happened?’ Simon wondered, leaving Edgar. A short way beyond he found another body. ‘Sir Odo, too!’

Edgar left Hugh for a moment, and reached down to Sir Odo’s body. ‘He’s dead. It’s clear enough what happened, Bailiff. Sir Odo was riding along here at full tilt, and Hugh was in his path. His horse tried to avoid Hugh, stumbled, and fell, hitting Hugh as he went. Sir Odo also fell and broke his head.’

Simon looked at him for a long moment. ‘You think so?’

‘I will do by morning,’ Edgar assured him. ‘Would you gather up Hugh? We shall need to carry him back.’

‘Of course,’ Simon said, and marched back to Hugh’s body.

Edgar watched him go, and as Simon bent to pick up Hugh, Edgar took the rock from beside Sir Odo’s corpse, and hurled it as far as he could into the furze that lined the road.