Michael Jecks - The Tolls of Death

Afterwards, John had waited, certain that the family’s disloyalty must have been noted. Perhaps the King would order that he was one of those who must be punished for association. Many were. Or Sir Henry might realise that the man he had installed in this chapel was related to a traitor, and seek to have him removed to show his own devotion. Yet nothing had happened so far. Only that visit from Warin, and the subsequent veiled threat from the Coroner’s man, Roger. Damn him!

Here in the wilds of Cornwall he had thought himself as safe as a man could be, far from the centre of power, whether it resided in London or York or one of the many cities dotted about the English countryside, but even here there was no security. John was grown accustomed to searching the faces of all visitors, always alert to the wrong expression. There were too many travellers who might be spies sent by the King. Or by one of his enemies.

Warin had appeared to be safe enough at first. He reminded John of their fathers’ friendship, chatted happily about their pasts, and only later did he spring on John the reason for his visit. He was here to investigate the allegiances of all the men in the vills hereabouts. He wanted to know, should his father Sir Henry seek an alliance with an enemy of the King, would his people obey him.

Whatever John said could be reported and used against him. If he said that he was a devoted supporter of the King, and Sir Henry sought to turn to Mortimer, John would be in danger, but if Warin’s father was testing him, and intended remaining loyal to King Edward II, John could be branded a traitor. No, there was no safety. His only security lay in praying for Bishop Stapeldon’s support, were he to be arrested. The good Bishop was absolutely committed to the King, so he could be a useful ally, but not if he felt John was himself turning to treachery.

He’d thought Warin was joking at first, but then he’d realised that the squire was too well briefed. He knew all about John’s uncle, and that meant John was in danger, as was Adam, because Warin had hinted at suspicions about the priest at Cardinham too. Not for treachery, but for that other sin which even the Bishop couldn’t condone. Ah, Christ, what could a man do, when all these forces were ranged against him?

There was nothing he could do during the morning, because there was no one whom he could send to warn Adam, but when the men started coming back from the fields for their lunch, he quickly scribbled a note, gave it to one of them and asked him to ensure that it only went to Adam’s own hand.

Yes, he had sent the message to warn his neighbour of the risks which he ran. And in the meantime, John had time to sit and contemplate the dangers. Not of his allegiance becoming more commonly known — since that was already a problem, if Warin was telling the truth — no, it was the hideous fact of becoming embroiled in the nation’s politics. That didn’t bear thinking about. Shivering, John wrapped his arms about him and he entered the church to kneel and pray, staring at the cross all the while.

That was what Warin had said, that Sir Henry sought to turn his allegiance from the King. There was no Lancastrian power with authority enough now, but others would soon appear, especially if Roger Mortimer was executed, as was rumoured. Then others would be bound to come forward and Sir Henry wanted the vill’s people readied for the coming wars. It was John’s duty to prepare the way, Warin told him.

He had seen the country at war; he knew what war was like. When the Lords Marcher had laid waste a wide swathe of the country, winding up at London, their armies drinking and whoring the nights away, John had been on pilgrimage to Canterbury. He had seen armies at close range, and had witnessed the depredations. Men argued and slaughtered each other, or threatened others with death if they were stopped in their drunken, thieving progress. He had come across a poor family standing sobbing in a road, because a man-at-arms had ridden down their youngest son — not by accident, but for fun. He galloped off, laughing. John had done what he could, but the boy was dead long before he arrived, and he could only give consolation to the family, not save the lad’s soul. He said prayers for the child, and continued on his way, a sad, more fearful man.

If war was to come here, to Temple, he knew the result. Bodies lying in the roads and fields; homes burning; women raped and slaughtered. In the fields, cattle killed for sport. Not even dogs or cats would escape. His little church would be razed to the ground, the ambry broken open and the church’s most prized possessions taken.

This was what Warin and his father threatened to unleash upon the vill.

They must be mad !

Nicholas couldn’t do it. As his fist approached her belly, her sweet eyes closed, tears trembling on the lower lids, he gave a loud bellow of rage and frustration, and sent his fist slamming into the mattress beside her instead.

Spinning around, he made for the stairs. He couldn’t hurt her, but he wouldn’t stay and listen to her. She was a whore, just some bitch who would spread her legs for the first man who came along. He would have nothing to do with her.

‘Do you want me to go?’

Her voice, teetering on the brink of despair, halted him. He stood at the top of the stairs, staring down like a man contemplating jumping from a cliff. ‘I don’t know what I want. I want revenge. Someone to pay.’

‘I thought you were dead. I was terrified. I thought I must again become what you detest. I thought I had lost my home, my love, everything. I was desperate, Nick.’

‘What do you mean, you thought I was dead?’

He turned, and now her floodgates opened. She sat outwardly composed, apart from the streams running down either cheek, and he felt his breast sear with sympathy. ‘What can I do? All I wanted was to love you, but you have betrayed me.’

‘Nick, I grew convinced that you were lost to me. Gervase and I … it was consolation I sought, nothing more.’

‘And the reward is another man’s brat!’

‘It could have been yours,’ she said.

‘No.’

‘You are very definite.’

‘I …’ His throat felt as though it was closing. ‘I had a disease sixteen years ago. It was mumps. I can’t father a child. The only child I will ever have is Richer. I had thought — hoped — that God had been generous, had given me a miracle. But it was just the foolish dreams of an old man. I am barren.’

Alexander sat silently as Warin and Richer chatted to Sue. Iwan stood again, sipping at his ale, and as he finished his cup and was about to leave them all, the door slammed open and two more knights walked in: Baldwin and Jules.

Knights! Honourable, chivalric men! They all made Alexander want to puke. These two in particular: one a Coroner, one a Keeper of the King’s Peace, and neither could find out the real killer of his brother or Athelina. Gormless fools!

‘Wine! A jug for us here,’ Baldwin roared as he entered. ‘Now, Sir Jules, I wish to delay the inquest until we have had time to speak to a few more people …’ He caught sight of the group sitting at the farther wall. ‘Good! We have been looking for you. Master Richer, Squire Warin, may we join you?’

‘By all means,’ the squire said easily, and pushed himself away from the table, his bench scraping loudly on the rush-strewn packed-earth floor. He stood as the two knights approached, and moved the table for them, Richer swiftly getting to his feet and helping. When Baldwin and Sir Jules were seated, Richer and Warin returned to their own seats.

‘You are commendably courteous,’ Baldwin said when they were seated.