Michael Jecks - The Tolls of Death

This little manor, like so many others, had been run by the Temple’s lay Brothers. A wounded Knight might arrive every so often, to be rested and refreshed ready for another battlefield, but not many came here. Most remained nearer London, that great cesspit where all the world’s malcontents eventually drifted. There the Templars had their great Temple. That was where the King had expected to find them when he was instructed by the Pope to arrest them all. However, Edward was a friend of the Knights. They’d helped him when he was younger, and he repaid them now, raising objections and dissenting from the French King’s view that the Templars should be eradicated. Instead he gave them time to escape, and when he finally agreed to arrest those whom he could catch and was instructed to torture them all, he replied that England had no need of torture, and therefore, unlike the French, England had no trained torturers. It was illegal in the King’s realm. He refused the Pope’s offer of experts in such fields.

So for years King Edward II had procrastinated, against the wishes of God’s own Vicar on Earth until, in the end, he submitted and confiscated the Templars’ lands. Many had gone into exile. Some, it was believed, had gone to Scotland and repaid King Edward’s support by joining his foes at Bannockburn. It was rumoured that the Beauséant , their white and black flag, had been seen there, although John was not the only man to disbelieve that. He had known many Templars, and yes, the bastards were as prickly and arrogant as only the truly rich and wellborn could be, but that didn’t make them disloyal.

The Pope demanded that their lands should all go to the Hospitallers, but Edward had again demurred, and many, like this manor, had been held by him and parcelled out to his friends and members of his household. This one had gone to a friend of the Despensers, and because of Sir Henry of Cardinham’s loyalty during the recent wars, he had carried some authority when there was a debate about who should be installed as the priest. Luckily for John, Sir Henry had carried the day, and John won the post. That was nearly ten years ago, when he was eight and twenty, already quite an old man for his first parish, but that didn’t take away from the pride and delight he felt in possessing it.

And to Sir Henry’s credit, he had never asked anything in return. Perhaps, John thought with a grin as he made his way out of the churchyard, the fellow was softening in his old age!

He was determined to keep himself hidden down here in Temple. As one opposed to the King, it was wise to maintain a low profile. That was partly why he had grown so angry when that silly chit Julia had admitted her pregnancy. It drew attention to the parish, would gain it a bad reputation. He could have imposed the leyrwite , of course — the fine imposed for women who were less chaste than they should be — but thank God, it proved unnecessary as Adam had been willing to take her. After all, imposing the leyrwite was no way to thank his master for this living. No, better that the silly girl took herself off to the parish where the father lived.

Mind, that was before John had realised his error with Adam. The other priest had turned out to be an equal embarrassment and threat to John’s own safety. He could deal with it by reporting Adam to the rural dean, and yet that seemed too cruel. No, John would keep that threat up his sleeve for now.

For this magnanimity, John must live with the awareness of his danger at all times, for rumours could attach themselves even to the innocent.

Especially at a time when war was brewing.

The inhabitants of Cardinham left their church with their spirits uplifted by the priest’s assurances of the wonderful life to come, during which all men and their women would be safe from hunger or cold, from fear or from sadness. The poorest today would be rich in Heaven, while the rich and powerful would be barred from Heaven’s gates. They could wail and gnash their teeth as they were herded away, down to Hell.

Bolstered by this cheerful prospect, the peasants of the parish mingled at the church’s yard before setting off homewards. Some, like those from Colvannick, had a walk of more than a mile back to their homes, and they were reluctant to set off immediately. Sunday was one of the few days when people could talk and enjoy themselves without fear of the lord’s men noting their laziness and reporting them.

Serlo took a look about him and started off on his way.

‘Something wrong, miller?’ Richer called.

‘Nothing.’

‘Yet you seem in a hurry. Where are you going? Home to your lovely wife?’

‘Leave her out of it!’ Serlo answered. People, he saw, were listening. Many would like to see him pulled down a peg or two, he knew, and he curled his lip at old Iwan the smith and Gregory, his grandson, who were taking it all in. He felt hurt that they should listen so insolently — it reminded him of when he was young, and some of the older boys picked on him, taunting him about his father’s drunkenness. In those days he was swift to burst into tears, and he was aware of a tingling at his eyes even now.

‘What are you staring at?’ he snapped peevishly. ‘An old fool, and a young one, both listening to things that’re none of their business. Go and join the women gossiping if you’re hard up for news!’

‘Anyone can listen to me,’ Richer said mildly. ‘I don’t mind. You’ve been charging people for your own benefit instead of asking for the proper tolls, haven’t you, Serlo? I think you ought to account for that missing money. We wouldn’t want a thief to profit from his stealing, would we? The castellan wants to know what you’ve been up to.’

‘Don’t tell me that Gervase and Nicholas are bothered! This is nothing to do with them! I own the farm of the tolls. I bought it. No, this is all because of you ! And there’s only one reason a murderous hireling would be interested in my affairs.’

‘A …’ Richer felt his throat tighten with rage. ‘And what would that be?’

‘The same as any other mercenary . You’re just looking to line your own pocket!’

The slur hurt, and Richer was about to punch the arrogance from his face, but better counsel prevailed. If he was to punish the slob, better that he should do so later, when there were fewer witnesses. ‘Miller, I am no “hireling”, as you put it, but I am loyal to my master, unlike you.’

‘And you want to sit there to toll all travellers yourself, I suppose? It’s no wonder you left no friends behind here when you fled the vill, Richer! You’ve none still, have you? Where’s your big companion now? He take a dislike to you, same as all others with a brain?’

Alexander’s wife Letitia was chatting to another woman when she overheard her brother-in-law’s rising tone and sighed inwardly. It was only with an effort that she prevented herself from rolling her eyes in despair. Serlo, she was quite sure, would be the end of her husband. The fool could make an enemy of a saint.

She sought her husband, and seeing him in deep conversation with Adam, decided to save Serlo herself from making an even greater fool of himself than usual. Crossing the yard she smiled sweetly at Serlo. ‘Brother, how are you this fine morning?’

The miller scarcely acknowledged her. ‘You never married, did you, Richer?’ he ranted on. ‘Never had the money, I suppose. It’s hard if you can’t give a woman a stable life.’

Richer’s smile returned, although it was a little glassy. ‘You think I should be sorrowful? I am happy enough. What, should I be like an old gossip who sits at the gate to a vill and charges money for others to enter? I think not! And then to defraud his master …’