Michael JECKS - The Oath

‘I didn’t mean to insult you, Sir Knight, no. Not you, I was thinking of the other man in the chamber with you,’ the man said, his tone a little higher.

‘And I should hate to insult you, too. It may prove to be all too painful for you.’

‘I… I understand, sir.’

‘Now, good fellow, tell me: did you know any of the men who were here?’

‘No. Certainly not!’

‘I saw you talking to one of them.’

‘It is my job, Sir Knight. I have to be polite to my customers.’

Baldwin said nothing. In his mind was the question of how polite it was to accuse knights, however elliptically, of fraternising with criminals. He ordered the keeper to bring them eggs and some ham to break their fast and scabbarded his sword.

‘So, Master,’ Baldwin said when the innkeeper had hurried away to find their food, ‘would you like to repeat what you said to us last night?’

The scrawny man Baldwin had seen on entering the sleeping chamber the previous night pushed himself away from the wall. He was very wary still, but at least his suspicion appeared to be concentrated on the innkeeper rather than Baldwin. However, Baldwin had great faith in the judgement of another. As the man approached, Wolf lowered his head and gave a low rumble deep in his throat until Baldwin rested his hand on the mastiff’s head.

‘As I said, Sir Knight, the fellows were all together. I saw the keeper talking to a lot of them at different times, and I think they guessed that I might be carrying something valuable. I wasn’t, but they weren’t to know that.’

‘You were not?’ Baldwin asked shrewdly. ‘You will not mind my saying, sir, that you are not clad like a successful merchant, nor a Bishop. Why should they think you so fabulous a catch?’

He listened carefully, watching the man as he spoke. For many years Sir Baldwin de Furnshill had been Keeper of the King’s Peace, and as well as chasing felons with the full might of the posse behind him, he also had been called to sit as Justice of Gaol Delivery on occasion. Listening to a man’s voice and assessing where lies existed was a key part of his function.

This man showed no signs of concern, though. He spoke easily, maintaining a relaxed stance that was the opposite of a man bent on guile or deceit.

‘Sir Baldwin, once I had the life of a wealthy man, and perhaps those characters saw that aspect of me and thought that I was a rich merchant in disguise, but I swear to you I have nothing. On my oath, I have only my clothes and a few other belongings.’

‘What happened to you?’

‘Just the usual sad tale. I am called Thomas Redcliffe, a merchant from Bristol. Until a year ago, my business was good. I have often imported wine and oils to England, and I have grown to be well-known in my city. But last year my ship was attacked by Breton pirates, and I lost all. She was on the return voyage, and all my money was invested in her cargo, so when it was taken, and my ship as well, I was ruined. I hoped to stave off the end by prayer, and took steps to protect my business while I went on pilgrimage to Canterbury, but…’ He sighed. ‘You know what the roads are nowadays. I was set upon outside London, at the place called Black Heath. All my money was taken, everything. I continued on to the shrine of Saint Thomas, but it appears to have done me little good. When I get home, I daresay my business will be no better, and I have suffered a broken head into the bargain.’

‘It is a long way for a man to go for prayer,’ Baldwin noted.

‘A pilgrim must make an effort, surely? I thought if my misfortune was caused by some insult I had given to God, perhaps my journeying all that way might appease Him. At least I would have Saint Thomas to intercede for me.’

‘I am sure Saint Thomas would be glad of the opportunity,’ Baldwin replied.

He eyed the man thoughtfully. There was little about him that showed he was lying, and equally little to give the impression that he might have money on him and thus warrant an attack.

‘I have no idea why they should attack me.’ Redcliffe shrugged with every appearance of honesty. ‘I am not clad in furs or silks, I don’t have jewels draped about me. In truth, Sir Baldwin, it would be easier to understand that they had made an attempt upon you . You look rich, with all your expensive clothes.’

Baldwin glanced down at his new tunic, wondering if this was a subtle insult. It was only a matter of a few months old, but there were worn and faded patches at his knees and thighs, while the careful embroidery which Jeanne, his wife, had sewn at the hem was already pulled and ruined. Still, Redcliffe was right. It was more likely that felons would try to rob Baldwin, for a knight would be likely to carry something worth stealing: if not money, then pewter plate or good armour to pawn.

‘Perhaps,’ he agreed after a moment. ‘What of enemies? Is there someone who could wish to assault you: a woman’s husband, a jealous competitor in business?’

‘I have no enemies,’ Redcliffe said with a little smile. ‘A poor man cannot afford such luxuries. And my wife is a good woman to me. Beautiful and obedient.’

The innkeeper returned, and the smell of cooked food made Baldwin’s mouth water. For all the years of fighting and serving as a warrior, he was forced to accept the fact that he was no longer young, and the disruption of his night’s sleep after a day’s hard riding had left him feeling less than alert. The wooden trencher with the eggs and thick slices of dark ham were surely going to help him wake, and he broke off a lump of bread and dabbed at the eggs with it.

‘Where are you going now?’ he said after a little while, and drank from the jug of ale which the innkeeper had set at his side.

‘I am heading for my home. My wife will be wondering what has happened to me already, and I would fain leave her wondering whether she is a widow.’

Baldwin nodded, considering. The men who had tried to rob Redcliffe the night before were locked away safely, but this was no time for a man to be wandering the countryside alone. There were many others who would be happy to rob a lone traveller.

There was another point at issue: he had no desire to be stuck here, a witness to the attack on Redcliffe, but if he was to arrange for the arrest of the men in the innkeeper’s shed, he would be held up for at least a day. Better to avoid that. He wanted to get back to his own wife.

‘Do you intend to charge the felons?’

‘I would rather they were kept in a gaol until I was out of the county,’ Redcliffe admitted. ‘I don’t want to be delayed here waiting for a Justice to listen to their tale.’

Baldwin nodded, then beckoned the inkeeper. ‘Master, I wish to speak with the captives.’

Marshfield

When Robert Vyke woke next morning, for the first time his dreams had been untroubled and free of memories of that damned head. The pain from his leg had thankfully abated somewhat, and was now little more than a constant throbbing with an occasional stab of anguish if he knocked it by accident. In truth, his head hurt a great deal more than his leg, and that was when he remembered vaguely that his poor skull had suffered a second blow. Who had attacked him, after he found the body?

Slowly lifting himself from the bed, he pushed the rugs away and gently eased his feet to the ground. It was not a pleasant sensation to have his weight upon the injured leg once more, but he saw a large staff in a corner of the chamber, hopped over to it, and used it as a crutch.

Getting to the door was a lengthy process, but once there, he opened it and peered out. Immediately, his feeling of disorientation was increased.

Where he had expected to find a road, with deep potholes, mud and a hedge or shaw running nearby, instead he found himself gazing out over a flat landscape with one solitary track, and that so under-used that the grass grew thickly all over it.