Michael JECKS: The Abbot's Gibbet

“I know, but Luke was guilty of crimes here already. Do you feel well enough to listen to what happened? May I bring in witnesses? I would not ask while you are recovering, but a man lies in prison unjustly.”

“If it is a matter of justice, I have a duty to listen to whatever evidence you have.”

Baldwin nodded to his servant and Edgar left the room. A few minutes later he returned with the friar and Lybbe. Hugo walked to stand before the Abbot, but Lybbe stayed near the door, his eyes downcast, hands bound before him. Baldwin spoke to the friar. “Brother, the Abbot is keen to hear your tale. Could you tell us about the trail-bastons of Tiverton?”

“My lord Abbot, I would have raised this before, had I known how important it was,” Hugo said apologetically. “I kept silent because I thought the man had already paid for his crimes and to tell the watch or others about offenses so many years ago could help no one, and would only result in his death. That seemed too heavy a price for him to pay when he had already suffered so much. I wish I could reverse that decision, for then I might at least have saved Peter’s life, if not Torre’s as well.”

“I am sure you acted through the best of motives,” the Abbot said soothingly.

“But the result was so devastating. Yet I must tell all I know now to prevent another unnecessary and unjust death.

“My lord Abbot, when I was new to my calling, I lived in the Franciscan house at Bridgewater. From there I used to travel far afield, preaching and hearing the confessions of the poor people. They were good days, when all over the country you could see hamlets being established, the forests being cleared as new assarts were thrust in among the trees, and the roads filled with merchants and travellers. Now, since the famine, many of those same places have been deserted. The survivors fled after burying the last of their kin.

“But twenty years ago the land was fertile, the people prosperous – and the idea of a famine inconceivable. Still, some were unprepared to work and earn their living as a man should, and these became gangs of trail-bastons – outlaws. They were like wolves feeding on helpless lambs; they would ride up to outlying farmsteads and bartons and attack, ravishing the women, murdering the men, stealing what they could from peasants and landowners alike.

“I saw little of the violence myself. Every so often I would come across a farm which had been devastated, or meet people flying from the trail-bastons, but that was all until I was myself taken.”

“You were caught by them?” the Abbot asked with surprise. “They dared capture a friar?”

“Oh, I don’t think all of them were in favor of it. Some wanted to let me go immediately, others wanted to ransom me. There was quite a debate. But after three days they did release me – once I had given them absolution. They refused to let me go until I had done that much.”

“It was meaningless if it was forced,” the Abbot muttered.

“True, my lord, but I hope that some of the men will have performed the little penances I gave them. It would be a terrible thing to see so many souls destroyed,” Hugo said piously. “I was set free not far from Tiverton, a little to the north of the town, and the trail-bastons continued on their way. It was there I first met Jordan Lybbe.”

“First met him?” the Abbot interrupted. “He was not with the outlaws?”

“No, my lord. I never saw him with them. When I was left by the men, I was lucky enough to meet a priest, and he took me to stay with him at his house. Lybbe was there. He was apprenticed to a merchant, and was travelling back from a fair, but his horse had become lame, and the priest had agreed to let him stable his animal to rest.

“I will say this. Lybbe was a well-spoken, kindly man. He was not so religious as I would have liked, but he gave me to believe that he understood justice and morality. He was no felon.

“We were both there some days later when we saw smoke from a nearby farm. Lybbe offered to go and see if he could help. He left me alone in the house – the priest had gone to visit the town – and hurried off. When he came back, it was with a young girl in his arms.” The friar stopped and motioned to the bearded merchant. “Come, you tell your own story.”

Lybbe shrugged. “There’s little enough to tell. As friar Hugo says, I thought there had been an accident, maybe a barn had caught light; I went to help put out the flames. Instead, when I got there I found men capering about with pots of ale and wine. The trail-bastons had attacked the place and fired the stores while they drank themselves stupid. I could do nothing against so many, but gradually the men settled as the drink fuddled their brains. Maybe I should have fetched help to capture them, but I didn’t know the area and couldn’t tell which direction to go to find enough men, so I waited and watched.

“When the men were well into their cups, I went in. Inside the house there was…”

Lybbe’s face was suddenly blank, and Baldwin was struck by his demeanor. If Lybbe had broken down and wept, Baldwin would have disbelieved it as an act, for this was a strong-willed man. His quick stillness was infinitely more convincing. That the scene had horrified him was clear from his careful words and unemotional speech.

“There was a family. The man lay on his back. His head had been cloven almost in two. Beside him was his wife. She had not died instantly – the men had put her to their own use before cutting her throat.” Lybbe could see the scene in his mind’s eye as he spoke. The woman with her face turned to her husband in death, mouth wide in a silent scream as if pleading with him to end her torment. “At her side was a girl, only a youngster, and all over blood. She had been struck, but when I looked, I thought I saw her breathe. It seemed impossible that she should have survived, but when I felt her, she was warm. I picked her up, but not before I saw Luke. He was there, drinking, a bloody axe in his hand. He saw me, but I think he was so fuddled with ale he didn’t realize I was not of his band. There were too many others around for me to risk fighting him, so I walked out and took the girl back to the friar.

“That is almost all my story. While I treated the child as best I could, the friar roused the men of the place, and soon a goodly number was gathered. They chased after, and captured quite a large number of the trail-bastons. Then, the next morning, I went to pray in the church, and I found one of them. It was Luke.”

“I was with him,” Hugo explained. “I knew Luke from when the band had caught me, and seeing him there astonished me. He claimed sanctuary.”

“I wanted to take him outside and give him to the locals,” Lybbe growled. “I grabbed him, and hauled him from the altar, and would have taken Luke outside, but friar Hugo wouldn’t let me. He insisted that the sanctuary must be honored. It was all I could do not to kill him there and then.”

“It would have been an evil act,” the Abbot said. “Brother Hugo was quite right.”

“You and brother Hugo didn’t see the family butchered like oxen in their own house.”

Hugo continued, “Lybbe gave his evidence in front of witnesses, and soon after we both carried on with our journeys. There was a guard set on the church to stop Luke escaping, and the coroner had been called, so there seemed little for us to do. I heard later that Luke had approved in exchange for his life, and I must confess I was pleased to think that one man would have an opportunity of saving his soul. I thought he would be able to create a new life for himself abroad.”

“Yes, only he lied,” Lybbe said gruffly. “He said I was one of his band; said I had killed the woman; said only his intervention had saved the girl’s life. I stopped in Tiverton for a night and while I was there I heard that I was being hunted. When I learned what he had said, I realized my danger. The friar knew I had not been with the trail-bastons, but I had no idea where he had gone. I could have gone back and told the truth, but what would have been my chances against a man who swore on his life? I was no local man, I was a foreigner to Tiverton. The priest was no use, he had been away. The only man who could vouch for my innocence was the friar, and he had gone. I thought I must escape home.