Michael Jecks: A Friar's bloodfeud

His companion grunted. ‘You were right.’

‘It was only a matter of time. I’m just glad that Walter took my hint,’ Matthew said. ‘It cost me a lot to donate a barrel of ale to Fishleigh. I wouldn’t have been happy had it been drunk and the fool didn’t take advantage!’

Humphrey nodded, then sipped from his jug again. There was some comfort in being here in a vill far from ecclesiastical courts. When the bishop’s man had arrived a few days ago to speak to Matthew about the chapel and whether a man should be selected to fill the post left vacant by Isaac’s death, Matthew had turned and looked at him, and Humphrey had been sure that he was about to be denounced in front of this cocky clerk; but Matthew had merely asked, ‘What do you think, Humphrey?’

‘Me? I don’t know, Father.’

‘And neither do I,’ Matthew said to the clerk. ‘You pick a man you feel most suitable. Anyone will find it hard to stand in Isaac’s shoes. He was so kind and perspicacious. But we shall make any replacement most welcome. Humphrey here used to help Isaac. Perhaps he could do the same for a new man, too?’

‘Do you think she will be safe?’ Jeanne asked her husband as she played with her daughter.

‘Is that a serious question?’ Baldwin asked with frank astonishment. ‘How is your belly?’ he added nervously. He was not squeamish about the dead, but the reality of birth terrified him, and he was still anxious that Jeanne could have been hurt by such a long journey homewards to Furnshill.

‘Don’t be silly. I am fine. Now, come — poor Emma’s not really all that bad,’ Jeanne said.

‘My lady, your maid was more venomous than a viper, more ferocious than a tiger, more cunning than any fox, more cruel than …’

‘No. Not cruel. Loyal.’

‘Noisome, harsh, loud, complaining …’

‘Kindly, devoted and …’

‘Entirely unrestful.’

‘Did you really hate her?’

‘No! Not in all truth. But she was no comfort to me. I am happy that she is also happy, and I am content that she lives with a man she loves now. Far better that than remaining here and ruining what little peace we have known.’

‘Yet she stayed with me to see to my happiness even though it meant leaving her own lover behind. I never knew that.’

‘Nor did I.’ Baldwin admitted to himself that it put a different complexion on his view of her. ‘It showed a great deal of generosity on her part.’

‘Yes,’ Jeanne said. But she could not help wondering if Deadly realised how his life must change with Emma as his wife. After a short while, she said, ‘I wonder what happened to that friar?’

‘John?’ Baldwin said with a smile. ‘I hope he lives long and happily. He stopped Hugh from killing a man, and that was a good act. Hopefully he’ll be preaching somewhere.’

‘He murdered Sir Odo, didn’t he?’

‘His sister was avenged. I saw no evidence that Sir Odo was murdered.’

‘You told the coroner to go and view the body, but you didn’t go with him,’ Jeanne pointed out.

‘There was no need,’ Baldwin said. ‘Sir Odo fell from his horse and his head was crushed.’

‘You believe that?’

‘It is what the records say, so surely it must be true,’ Baldwin said, and smiled to himself. Sometimes, he reflected, justice was not perfect — yet the best result could be achieved by men who intended to achieve it.

It was early afternoon when Simon and Hugh arrived back at Simon’s house at Lydford. For his part, Simon was sore and weary, and he felt as though he needed a week’s rest before he would be recovered, but he forced himself to forget his own aches and pains as he glanced at Hugh on his pony.

Riding was one of those pursuits which Hugh had gradually come to accept as necessary, but it was not one in which he excelled. There was something about a horse that he found unnatural. A beast so large, so dangerous, was not the sort of creature he would want to sit upon. They were too powerful for him to control them, and he disliked intensely being so high from the ground on them. Still, there were times when a horse was necessary, and while travelling he must ride.

After the last few days, since Odo’s death, he had found himself suddenly weeping for no apparent reason. The slightest reminder of his wife was enough to set him off. Once, in Iddesleigh, he had seen a young maid with her lover, and the way she had set her hand upon his forearm, and gazed into his eyes, was so entirely like Constance’s way of looking up at him that the sight made his tears flow once more. Then, on the way here, Simon had suggested that they should pause for a while at Exbourne, but outside the tavern by the roadside Hugh had seen a girl gracefully swaying, her hips moving gently as she scattered grain for chickens, and the scene was again so reminiscent of Constance that it brought tears to his eyes.

‘Don’t worry, old friend,’ Simon had said kindly. ‘It’s good to remember her. She loved you as you loved her. It’s only right that memories of her should come to you. Better by far than that you should just forget her and the happiness she gave you.’

He was right, Hugh knew, but it didn’t help.

Simon tried to offer consolation at first as they rode southwards towards Lydford, but after Oakhampton it seemed pointless and heartless. Hugh was happier with his own thoughts.

At last, when they drew up outside Simon’s house and Meg appeared in the doorway with Edith, Simon was reassured. If anyone could effect a cure for Hugh’s broken heart, it was Edith. He watched indulgently as his daughter went straight to Hugh and helped him from his pony.

‘Simon, I’m afraid I have some terrible news,’ Meg said.

He smiled down at her. ‘Now I am home, I am sure that there is nothing that can spoil my day.’

‘The Abbot, Simon — Abbot Robert. He’s died.’

Simon closed his eyes. ‘May God bless him,’ he said.

It was sad, but he didn’t realise yet just how much the death of his patron would affect him and his family.

In Barnstaple, the sun gleamed from the sea. The little port was warm today, and the clouds were few and high, so the sun shone almost uninterruptedly.

There was a festive atmosphere to the place, and as the scruffy, bedraggled man stood up in the churchyard, many cheered and applauded.

‘My friends,’ John began, ‘some of you have families. You should never forget your families. It may be hard for you to realise, but even I had a family once. I loved my brothers, but most especially I loved my sister. And when she was taken from me, I learned what loneliness was. But from God’s good grace, I have realised that I have a larger family now. And it is to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have come to speak today.’

Not his best start, he reckoned, but hopefully he’d get more fire in his belly later, and then he’d be back on form. There was a good little friary here, and he was sure that they could make use of his skills.

He hoped so.

And at the inn, Jankin threw open his door with a feeling that all was well with the world. His purse was full after the last few weeks, Deadly was spending less time at the bar, which meant that others were spending more time there, and he had a new delight.

‘How is she?’ he said as his wife came in.

‘She’s fine. I think she’ll be a marvellous little thing.’

‘I should hope so. The little monster’s had a hard enough beginning,’ Jankin said, and he picked up the little pup and peered into the dark blue eyes. ‘You fight on, little one. You’ll have plenty of work to keep you busy later in life. For now, you concentrate on being healthy, eh?’

The puppy gazed at him with a serious expression for a moment, and then bit his nose.