Michael JECKS - The Last Templar

Were his ears playing him false? He turned his head, one ear jutting towards the noise like a weapon as he tried to hear above the roar and hiss of the elements. Yes, there it was again! A horse.

Somehow he found a little more energy – from where he could not tell – and strode off into the trees. Surrounded by the trunks of the wooden sentries, he could only hazard a guess at the correct path to the horse and, hopefully, security and warmth. He forced his way through branches that seemed desperate to stop him, he kicked at trailing tentacles of creepers that caught at his feet, he struggled over thick bushes, trying to get to the horse. And then he saw it. It was ahead of him, standing and shaking in its fear and horror of the elements. The knight looked around in amazement. Where was the owner? There was no sign of anyone, no fire, no shelter, just this horse. Automatically his hand grabbed at his sword hilt as he stood just inside the line of trees and stared. But there seemed nothing to be afraid of; no sudden movement from the trees at either side, no noise from men running to him, just the incessant wind.

Frowning now in his perplexity, he slowly walked to the animal, which rolled its eyes in terror. Patting the neck, he could see that it was a mare and, to his surprise, she was still saddled and bridled. The harnesses looked rich even in the darkness and he could feel the quality of the leather under his fingers. Even in the rain he could see the flecks of lather that remained on her chest and flanks. Why? Had she been running because her owner was attacked? Why had she been left here?

What had happened?

He reached for the reins and pulled, but they appeared to be caught and, when he looked, he saw that they had snagged on a thick branch. Had she been running and got them stuck, making her stop? Shrugging, he collected them and led her away, patting her head and neck and talking to her while his eyes flitted around. There was no sign of her owner anywhere. Slowly, like a man who has forgotten how to and who is instructing each muscle in novel and unfamiliar functions, he permitted a smile to crack his face, and he offered up a quick prayer of thanks. Surely this was his salvation! This horse, evidently lost by another, would allow him to cover the remaining miles to his brother.

But it was when he felt inside the saddlebags that he began to understand his real fortune.

One was filled with coins.

Simon had spent the morning with Hugh, riding over to the east to check on the state of the lands over there that were now part of his responsibility. In reality, as far as he was concerned it was a good excuse to get away from the affairs at Blackway and to go for a good ride. Hugh, as usual, was not delighted with the thought, but when Simon mentioned the inn at Half Moon his interest suddenly developed and they were soon on their way.

They had left early, only an hour or so after dawn, and they were there before the local estate seneschal had finished his breakfast, so they had gone on without him, with the result that they were finished before ten thirty. After two swift pints of beer they started off home again.

But back at the house they found Edith standing and waiting. “It’s Tanner, father. He says there’s been a robbery on the road,” she said, her eyes huge in her horrified fascination.

With a groan, Simon rolled his eyes heavenwards in a theatrical gesture. “What now? A cockerel has been taken from a yard? Someone has mislaid his best hauberk? What now?” He smiled down briefly at his daughter, dropped down from his saddle, and passed the reins to Hugh before striding towards his door, Edith following.

Inside, he found Stephen Tanner, the constable, talking to Margaret. She came forward quickly and kissed him, then left them alone, going through to the yard behind the house with their daughter, casting an anxious glance back at him as she left. Hugh stayed in the room with Simon and Stephen.

“Stephen, how are you?” said the bailiff. “So what’s all this about a robbery?”

Tanner was a large, slow block of a man, a figure of enormous bulk, tall and broad. He had a square face on top of a body that would have suited one of the moor’s dwarf oak trees, solid and compact with the promise of great strength. Under his black brows his face was cragged and scarred by the weather, but his eyes were kindly and gentle. His mouth was a thin line, and always seemed fixed, rigid and straight, as if always pursed, making him look as if he had seen something that he greatly disapproved of. When he was unsure of something, his eyes held a constant look of frowning confusion that hid a careful and sensible intelligence and a shrewdness that had been the downfall of many a thief. Built as strongly as Simon’s house, he was known to be a good and honest man, which was why he had so often been re-elected to his position. Now, though, his face was troubled.

“Hello, bailiff. Sorry to come round like this, but I had a message to go over to Clanton Barton this morning, that farm on the other side of Copplestone on the Oakhampton road. Seems that John Greenfield there was working this morning when he saw some men coming up over his fields. They’d been set upon and robbed on die road to Oakhampton late last afternoon. He says they were in a terrible state, what with the rain and everything. They had tried to find somewhere to stay, but there’s not much down that way so they got stuck out all night. Well, he put them in front of his fire and sent his boy to get me. I’d heard you’d been made bailiff, so I thought I’d better come here and get you before I went over there. I know it’s my duty to catch thieves here, but now you’re a bailiff you have that job too. And if we need to get a posse together, I’d be grateful for your help. We don’t have too many robberies around here. If this is a band of outlaws, you may be able to get men from Oakhampton to help us catch them.”

“Yes, of course. I’d better come with you. Wait here, I’ll just go and get my things,” Simon said. As bailiff, he was his lord’s representative in the court at Lydford, in charge of the local constables. Clearly, if by helping Tanner he could see thieves arrested, he was performing his duty. Even though Lydford did not cover Tanner’s area, it was every man’s responsibility to help catch felons. He walked out to the yard at the back of the house, shouting instructions to Hugh to saddle up a fresh horse, then swiftly kissed his wife and daughter before snatching up his sword and leading Tanner out to the front of the house.

There they paused, waiting for Hugh. Simon fretted at the delay and when Hugh arrived with his horse he snatched the reins from him and was quickly in the saddle. Tanner mounted his great old beast more slowly, heaving his massive frame up with slow inevitability. The sight reminded Simon of watching a tree fall: there seemed the same slow beginning, the same initial faltering, followed by a sudden acceleration, until, at last, peace. The tree lying on the ground, the constable sitting in his saddle, with a small smile of achievement on his face, as if he too had doubted his ability to mount. Then they were on their way, gently cantering off to the Clanton farm.

“So did he say anything else about these people?” Simon asked.

“No. Seems they were travellers, but that’s all I know. The boy, he was tired out when he got to my house – couldn’t hardly talk. I left him with my wife.“

“We may have to call up a posse,” said Simon reflectively. “When we get to the barton, we’ll find out where they were robbed and what happened. If we need the posse we can organise it from there.”

“Yes, that’s what I thought. We may have to ride straight past the men’s houses anyway, if they came back this way.”