Michael Jecks: A Friar's bloodfeud

Malkin knew the truth, of course. No one in their right mind could doubt the truth behind Sir Odo. He was the man behind all the violence, and the cause of the deaths, including his own son’s.

She’d never been happy about Odo coming to visit her mother-in-law, Pagan knew. It was a question that Pagan’s mind would turn to every so often, whether or not Ailward had told Malkin that he was Odo’s son, not Squire Robert’s, but he doubted whether he would ever learn the answer. And in fact the speculation was enough. He didn’t need to know, and he didn’t want to know.

No, he had only ever loved the once, and it was enough for him. When Squire Robert died, he had felt the pain more than anything else he had ever known, and the only thing that kept him sane for many years was the knowledge that he was doing his duty by guarding Robert’s son Ailward. Except Ailward was not his son.

But Robert had thought he was, and that in some way was as good as Pagan could have hoped for. If Ailward was good enough for Robert to treat as his own son, Malkin’s son would be enough for Pagan too. He would serve the child as he had served Ailward.

For love.

Coroner Edward knew that he would not remain in his post for very long. Not when the full details of the matter were aired. And they would be. He had Sir Baldwin de Furnshill’s personal assurance of that.

He had tried his best to explain how important it was that he was kept out of the story — after all, the matter was little to do with him. He had been an unwilling accomplice at best. He had accepted a small retainer to be in the area when he was called, but that was all, really. The errors of his inquests over the body of Constance and the others were just that: mistakes. He was new to the post of coroner, and these were very difficult times, what with so many people being involved, and Sir Geoffrey trying to demand favours.

Lord Despenser was keen to see that his men worked together well, too. He would hardly expect a hard-working man like Sir Edward to ignore requests for help from a man so senior as Sir Geoffrey, would he? No, of course not.

It had looked for some while as though Sir Baldwin was being swayed by his arguments, but then he’d made the little slip of offering a sweetener to him. At once the shutters had fallen behind his eyes. It was just as though Edward had become invisible to him all of a sudden. Baldwin was looking at him, focused, and then he was looking through him unheeding. All because he had asked that justice be allowed to be flexible on this one occasion.

‘Are you ready yet?’

‘I have been ready for some while now,’ Sir Edward lied. He disliked Sir Geoffrey more and more each time he saw the man. Now, with the remnants of the men who had served the steward, they were to leave Monkleigh Hall. And a good thing too! Sir Edward could hardly wait to be well shot of this place. It held only foul memories.

Sir Geoffrey, to his surprise, seemed to be sad to be going. Well, probably not a surprise. Once the Despenser heard of the mess that this manor was in now, he’d not be best pleased.

That was important, too. Sir Edward had to have his story planned so that when he was asked for his version, he had it ready. The truth would work — in places … but there were plenty of aspects which he had to hone.

After all, he didn’t want to be sunk with Sir Geoffrey. Perhaps he might even be able to rescue something from it all. Maybe even a small manor of his own, if he was credible enough and managed to put all the blame on Sir Geoffrey.

Yes. That was the way forward. He would have to see how he could deny all knowledge and responsibility. Then, even if Sir Baldwin told some different story later, he could deny it, saying that these were the words of a man who was a natural enemy of Lord Despenser, and who would be delighted to slander and malign Lord Despenser’s loyal supporters. With any luck, Sir Baldwin would be too busy to do anything for quite a while, and by the time he did, Sir Edward’s story would already have been commonly accepted.

What story could he tell? That he was asked to come down here, naturally, and wanting to help another vassal of Lord Despenser, had hurried down to protect Lord Despenser’s interests, but then, when he arrived, had learned that the deaths could have been caused by Sir Geoffrey’s dreadful relations with his neighbours. Being suspicious, he didn’t return home, but stayed nearby so that he could fly back quickly if there was more trouble, and when a fresh body was found … Yes, that would do it. With luck, soon he would be Lord Despenser’s hero, and would have a larger manor, or some other form of recognition. Yes, he told himself. Life was good. Sir Geoffrey could sulk and complain, but Sir Edward was going on to better things.

Hopefully he wouldn’t have to carry on his duties as coroner, either.

He would have been much less happy if he had known of the messenger Baldwin had sent ahead of him with a sealed package that held a full explanation of all that had happened, including allegations that the coroner had offered him a bribe to conceal the details.

Walter was amerced before Baldwin left the vill, and forced to deposit a large sum to guarantee that he would turn up at the next court.

He had been to courts before, and just now he wasn’t of a mind to expand his knowledge of the system. In the old days, it could be ten years before the Justices might arrive to try a case in a vill like this. That was how long it took them on their Grand Eyre, constantly on the move from one county to another, hearing all the felony cases put to them by the juries of every Hundred.

No longer, though. One of the changes which the old king had implemented was the change in the court system, and now the courts were held more regularly. That was not a result which appeared attractive to Walter.

Tonight there was a celebration to be held at the manor to celebrate the departure of Sir Geoffrey and his men from the ruin of their hall. While the peasants of Monkleigh were forced to clear up the mess and rebuild much of the place, the men of Fishleigh were intending to hold a big feast, sponsored in part by the treasure which some of the men had secreted after their attack on Sir Geoffrey’s hall. Walter had been told he wouldn’t be welcome there, and he had volunteered to help look after Nicholas while the normal guards went to drink.

He wasn’t alone, but there were only two others, and he knew their routines. One was at the far side of the church, and by the middle hours, he would be snoring. The second was a little more reliable, but he liked his ale too, and he’d be at the inn for much of the early evening, so just now, Walter told himself, quietly opening the door, just now was the ideal time.

The figure at the altar stirred and blearily looked up. ‘Who’s that? What do you want?’

‘Don’t panic, Nick. It’s me, Walter. Come on, let’s get away from here. If you’re here when the coroner arrives you’ll be forced to surrender or abjure the realm. Do you want to swing, or leave the country for ever? No? Then get your backside off the floor there and come with me. I can’t stay, because if I’m still here for the next court, I’ll hang too. So I’m running, and if you want to, you’d best make the most of it.’

‘Why should I come with you?’

‘Well, Nick, if you come with me, you and I can watch over each other, and when we get to a town, we can separate if you want. But for now, while we are on the run, two minds and two pairs of eyes are better than one.’

Nicholas considered, but only for a moment. ‘All right!’

And meanwhile, outside, Matthew grunted his approval. ‘Godspeed, Nicholas!’