Michael JECKS - The Oath

‘But…’ he gasped, desperate to find anything that could even approximate to the scene he had expected. Hobbling out into the thin sunshine, he stared about him wildly. Behind him was a little church, and there were some trees in the small graveyard, but not enough. He was sure that as he and the vingtaine approached that latest vill, there had been trees lining at least one side of the road. As he had fallen, looking up he had seen their branches against the sky. He couldn’t have dreamed that. There had been branches framing Otho’s head when the Sergeant bent to him. And when he found that head, it was in a little wood. He couldn’t have dreamed it all!

‘You are awake, then? Good. How is your leg? It must be a little improved for you to be out here,’ the priest said. He was walking towards Robert from the open church door. Seeing Robert’s look, Father Paul gestured back to the building and said, ‘There are so many strangers travelling the country, peasants who were arrayed and deserted, felons who will take advantage at any opportunity, as well as warriors who are seeking whatever plunder they may discover, that I have to keep a wary eye on my altar in case one of them steals it to sell. Thieves are no respecters of the House of God, you know.’

But Robert paid little heed. ‘This isn’t where I was,’ he lamented.

The priest looked at him oddly. ‘It isn’t?’

‘No. When I fell and hurt myself, I was in a little wood, on a busy roadway.’

‘I found you about thirty yards down there,’ the priest said, calmly but firmly. ‘Would you like to see?’

‘Yes,’ Robert said eagerly, and carefully followed him. It was hard going, even with the tall staff to cling on to, and Father Paul had to point out holes and puddles as they went so that the injured man didn’t fall again.

‘It was just here. You can see,’ the priest added helpfully, ‘where you have flattened the grass here.’

Robert looked around at the flat lands, the treeless pastures and low hedges. He felt confused, weak and sickly. Like a small child who has lost a toy.

‘No, this wasn’t it,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t here!’

Inn outside Winchester

Baldwin walked into the little shed and eyed the men held inside with disfavour. The innkeeper had argued against it, but Baldwin and Redcliffe had insisted that the prisoners should be bound. It would be too easy for them to escape if they had their hands free, which was one reason why Baldwin suspected the innkeeper was in league with these fellows. At least there was no fight left in them. They were all sitting sullenly, their wrists tied securely, and probably painfully.

‘Who among you wants to hang?’ Baldwin said.

They tensed visibly, and the boy who’d had the long dagger, whom Jack had knocked down with a timber, looked fretfully at the bearded man who appeared to Baldwin to be their leader.

In the grey daylight, Baldwin saw that this man had brown hair, and his beard was brown and ginger, as though he had carelessly painted a wall and splashed ochre over his chin. He had the narrow, deep-set eyes that to Baldwin indicated that he was untrustworthy. The knight was not keen to make snap decisions about any man, but felt that when someone had attempted to test his blade in Baldwin’s breast, he was entitled to take a dim view. At least the fellow was in less of a position to hurt anyone now, from the look of the blood seeping through the linen wrapping his flank.

‘You,’ he said, pointing. ‘Are you the leader of this band?’

‘We don’t have leaders.’

‘You don’t have a lot, do you?’ Baldwin said. He leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms. Wolf came and stood at his side, head lowered aggressively.

The men were all unrested, he could see. Even without the bruises and injuries it was clear that they were strained. There was a smell of sweat and fear. ‘You realise that I can have all of you hanged? Men who rob by night are the lowest criminals. And in your excitement, you chose to attack a Keeper of the King’s Peace. A word from me, and you will all die.’

Silence greeted his words. The boy looked down and rested his brow on his arm, sobbing without a sound, while another man stared at Baldwin in confusion. He was one whom Baldwin had punched with the pommel of his sword. There was the imprint of the steel on his forehead, and the eyebrow beneath was torn and bloody.

The bearded man said nothing, but his eyes were fixed on Baldwin as though unsure how to respond.

‘You have nothing to say in your own defence?’ Baldwin enquired. ‘In that case, I shall have to ask for the Bailiff to come and take you, then.’

‘What would you have us say, master? You want us to pretend it was an accident?’ the man sneered.

‘Since you ask, I would know this: why did you choose to attack us last night?’

‘We’re going to hang, so why should we answer you?’ the man with the injured brow demanded.

‘Fair enough.’ Baldwin looked at them all, one by one. ‘If there is no mitigating circumstance, as Keeper of the King’s Peace, I have no choice but to hand you to the law.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Simply this: as draw-latches and robbers, you are felons, and you will hang. Of course, if you were motivated by some other…’ He let the sentence hang, watching the bearded man again.

The boy lifted his head and began to speak. ‘Sir, I didn’t know we were–’

‘Shut up!’ the bearded man growled. ‘Don’t go speaking when it’s not your turn.’

Baldwin looked at the boy. ‘It is your turn, fellow. If you want to live, you should speak your mind.’

‘I don’t want to hang! We were paid, sir, and I–’

The bearded man turned and hissed viciously at the boy, who paled and withdrew, shuffling his arse towards the wall.

Baldwin sucked his teeth. ‘You, boy, will be taken outside in a moment,’ he said, and then his tone hardened as he eyed the bearded man. ‘I am inclined to hang one of you today as a deterrent to all those who think that they can waylay a knight. So you will die. And then I can learn all I need about you from the boy there.’

‘You can hear what you want from anyone when I’m dead.’

‘If you reconsider, you could all live. Which would you prefer?’

‘You will release us if we tell you the truth?’ the bearded man scoffed. ‘Is that what you’re trying to tell us?’

‘I have no desire to see bloodshed. I only want to know why you chose to attack us last night. You must have seen I had little enough with me. Did you mean to steal my horse?’

‘Not you, sir. We didn’t want to attack you,’ the boy protested.

‘Who, then? The man with us had no money, that much was obvious when you looked at him.’

‘We didn’t mean to rob him,’ the boy said. ‘We were paid to kill him.’

Bristol

That day began much like any other for Cecily. She rose before dawn, and left the house to seek bread for the breakfast, and then began her chores while Emma Wrey set about her board.

Cecily had not expected her new mistress to be quite so accommodating and generous. Bristol was a good city, with many kindly folk, but not many would want the bad fortune of someone like Cecily in their houses. There were too many superstitions about servants from unlucky households bringing bad luck with them for her to expect such a pleasant home again.

Emma was different. Perhaps it was the fact that she was responsible for herself. Her husband had been a good man, like some kind of angel. But even angels can die, and eventually he fell dead in the street after an evening’s drinking with friends at an inn.

It was some little while after the murders that Cecily had found herself in this house. Before that, she had been forced to find what she could on the streets again, hawking eggs and flints for whatever she could charge. It wasn’t easy, but at least she gathered in some store of coin.