Michael JECKS - The Traitor of St Giles

‘Who would guess that?’ said Andrew dismissively.

‘You damned, whoreson cretin ,’ Nicholas spat, and took a pace forward, clenching his fists. ‘You think you’re so clever, and yet out there I’ve heard three men commenting on your absence. Sir Peregrine of Barnstaple has already asked me whether you find the food of a loyal subject to the King less flavoursome than a traitor’s!’

‘The castle’s keeper said that? The bastard should–’

‘Let’s hope he keeps his views to himself, but in the meantime you, brother, had better come with me; because war is on its way, and if any man doubts your loyalty to de Courtenay, you will be removed from Tiverton – and if you are very lucky you will have a swift death!’

Simon disliked William Small on sight. There was something about his pock-marked face that singled him out for dishonesty and faithlessness.

The bailiff had joined Baldwin as he tried to feed the dog. Seeing his friend’s shock at the sight of the dead knight, Simon decided to say nothing in front of the other men; instead he moved to the sailor while Baldwin gentled the dog and tied him to a tree.

‘You say you’re a sailor?’ Simon demanded.

‘Yes, sir. But I agreed to help this knight in his journey. To guard him.’

‘Not very successfully.’

‘That wasn’t my fault, sir!’ William flashed back.

‘Perhaps. Where did you meet him?’

‘London.’

‘And you came all the way here?’

William shrugged. ‘He said he wanted to come to Devonshire, and I brought him to Exeter. I know that city from sailing.’

Simon eyed him cynically. ‘Why were you coming up here?’

‘He wanted to go to Tiverton,’ William said hesitantly.

‘For St Giles’s Fair?’ Harlewin asked. He had walked to over to the two men and now stood on Simon’s left watching the sailor with suspicion.

‘I don’t think so, sir. I think he was intending to meet with my Lord de Courtenay.’

‘What makes you think that?’ Harlewin burst out. ‘You’ve been drinking, man. Ach! I’ve got better things to do than listen to this.’

‘Why do you think a lord would speak to someone like him?’ Simon enquired, jerking a thumb at the dead man.

‘Sir Gilbert was a Knight Templar from a village not far from here, a place called Templeton. He knew Lord de Courtenay and wanted to speak to him.’

Sir Peregrine of Barnstaple had been called to the gatehouse soon after Lord Hugh entered the hall. He went reluctantly; if he could, he would have gone to see his woman, Emily, but he had to locate his man Toker and learn what news he had. Still, as the knight crossed the yard to the gatehouse, his thoughts were not on the realm’s political troubles or London; his mind was fixed upon the little room where Emily was in labour with his child. It was only as he entered his room that he could force himself to consider the business at hand.

Toker was one of his better finds. A Devonshire man through and through, Toker had been one of the survivors of King Edward II’s army that had been destroyed at Bannockburn. There he had been a squire in the retinue of Gilbert Clare, Earl of Gloucester, a man he respected and loved as lord and warrior. When Clare died at Bannockburn Toker was distraught, but being a loyal servant to his master, he had gone to Clare’s widow, Maud, Countess of Gloucester, and sworn fealty to her in her husband’s memory.

But even the most loyal servant is feeble protection against an army. In an act of cynical opportunism, Despenser the Younger seized the Countess’s castle at Tonbridge and from that day Toker had been the implacable enemy of the Despensers: their intolerable greed was the spark that fired his loathing. Chivalry demanded responsibilities, but the Despensers ignored duties and followed their own avarice.

It was his history which made Toker so invaluable. His hatred was boundless. Not only had Despenser cruelly shattered Toker’s belief in chivalry, he had stolen Toker’s future. Toker had dreamed of being knighted, but without a lord he had no opportunity. Without the largesse of a lord to support him, he had become what he himself detested: a wandering, lordless, impecunious scavenger. During the famine, starving, he became an outlaw.

Sir Peregrine had rescued him. Toker had been caught poaching Lord Hugh’s venison and something in Toker’s eyes intrigued Sir Peregrine. Little by little he pieced together the man’s story. He felt certain Toker could prove useful.

And useful he had been. Now Sir Peregrine’s only concern was that he might one day find himself without a focus for Toker’s energy, and then he would have to work hard to ensure that the man’s resentment did not become targeted upon him.

Toker was seated negligently in one of his chairs, waiting.

‘You’re back, then, Toker,’ Sir Peregrine said, walking to his own chair.

‘It was interesting, Sir Peregrine, and worthwhile.’

‘Tell me about it.’

Sir Peregrine had sent Toker, together with Perkin of Croydon and the Welshman, Owen of Harlech, off to London to gather information on the latest developments to do with the Despensers – to find out what the people of London thought, and how the Lords of the Marches planned to get rid of them.

Everyone who could afford to had sent men to watch. Abbots, merchants and lords – all had observers there to witness the unfolding events. No man could afford to be ill-informed when the kingdom was so near to civil war.

‘The Despensers have gone?’

‘Yes, Sir Peregrine,’ said Toker. ‘The King wasn’t happy, but he had little choice. Now the sire is in France while his whelp lies in the Channel and robs any ship he can.’

‘Let’s hope one of the ships he stops is full of men-at-arms ready for him. The bastard deserves death for the ill he’s stirred in the country.’

‘Yes, my Lord. The sooner they’re dead the better.’

‘What was the mood in London?’

‘Evil. The people are sick of a King who spends his time with actors and the like.’

‘What of Lancaster? Any news?’

‘Badlesmere has tried to join him, but I heard Lancaster wants nothing to do with him. A man like that, who’ll change his alliances almost at a whim – it’s hardly surprising if Earl Thomas ditches him.’

‘You must be tired. Would you like some food?’

‘I could eat a team of oxen and still chew on their harness,’ agreed Toker with a grim smile.

Sir Peregrine walked to the door with him. ‘It was lucky you came from the northern road,’ he said as they went down the stairs. ‘A man was murdered on the Exeter Road.’

‘Who?’

‘I don’t know yet. Some knight, apparently,’ Sir Peregrine said dismissively as they came into the sunlight. He waved Toker to the table near the kitchen where others were already chewing at cold meats and swilling the castle’s best ales.

If he had known of Toker’s meeting with the Templar in London, he might have found out that Sir Gilbert of Carlisle had been seen travelling with a chest containing riches of some sort. Thus he would have been alerted, and might have been able to rescue the gold, but he didn’t know to ask. As for Toker, he had already forgotten the man with the intriguing little chest. There had been too many things to watch, listen to and remember since then.

Baldwin rolled Sir Gilbert over. The back of his tunic was cleanly punctured where a sharp knife had been shoved in, and when Baldwin lifted the cloth, he found that directly beneath was a thin slit in the man’s flesh. It had wept scarcely a drop of blood.

‘One stab and his life was ended,’ Baldwin reflected, resting on his heels. Sir Gilbert’s sword now lay sheathed beside the knight’s body, but Baldwin was interested to see that where his purse had once dangled, there were only two thongs hanging, both with cleanly slashed ends. They matched those of the purse. The knight’s spurs were valuable, as was the belt and sword from the look of them, but his dagger’s sheath was empty. When Baldwin pushed the knife found by the other body into the sheath, it fitted. Must have been a straightforward theft that had gone wrong. Someone had had time to take the purse and dagger, but had then run off empty-handed.