Michael JECKS - The Last Templar

Only when she was sure that her husband had left the house did she begin to weep.

Hugh was already on his horse beside the two Furnshill men, so Simon quickly tied his bags to his saddle and lifted himself up. Mounted, he wheeled his horse and led the way up behind his house to the road to Copplestone.

They rode quickly, the bailiff ignoring Hugh’s curses. His mind was on the organisation of the posse and what they would have to do when they arrived in Oakhampton, and his face held a fixed frown of concentration as they swept along the lanes. They followed the road along the ridge and were soon dropping into Copplestone, where they met the main group of the posse, some twelve strong, in the town centre. Black was not yet there. He had apparently taken it upon himself to ride to all the other men’s houses to call them to the posse, and would be coming along later after fetching the last of them.

The men all stayed on their horses while they waited, and the publican of the inn brought them beer, giving the whole affair a holiday atmosphere, as if they were lords at the beginning of a hunt. Simon was concerned at first that some of the men might get drunk, but then he realised that it was probably unlikely. They all seemed to be talking too loudly and laughing, but the beer was slow in going down, and he suddenly understood that they were all nervous and needed the courage that the drink brought, as if they were preparing for a battle. He sat back on his horse and watched them.

They were all firm, stolid men, these yeomen. Although Simon knew only a few by name, he recognised most of them. Almost all were farmers from the area, strong men, well used to the harsh and changeable weather of the moors. Their horses were not the strong war horses of a group of knights, they were all the small local ponies, but they were sturdy and could travel for miles across the moors, feeding themselves by cropping the short grass that lay all around, with no need for extra provisions to be carried.

The men were all nervous and brittle as they waited, as if they all wanted to get the matter over and return to their homes, but it was not merely the nervousness of personal danger. All of the men wanted to help in the capture of the gang, that was obvious. There was a tenseness, a muted excitement in their loud laughter and shouting voices, almost as if they were waiting for a fair to begin so that they could get on with their enjoyment of the day. They were not fearful for their own safety, rather they were keen to get on with the serious matter of catching the outlaws and getting rid of the danger they represented; not just the risk to travellers, but the threat they represented to the whole area.

When trail bastons started in an area, it was common for them to raid outlying homes, raping the women and killing the men. The men of the posse in the square knew what had happened near North Petherton, where several farms had been destroyed by gangs of ruthless killers. In their own pragmatic way they had decided that they would not allow the same madness in their countryside, and they were determined to prevent this gang from surviving.

Black arrived more than an hour after Simon and Hugh, leading a group of six additional men whom he had collected on his way. He nodded gravely to Simon as he came into the village, then rode up to the inn and took a pint of beer, draining it in one long draught. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he urged his horse over to the bailiff.

“Sorry it took so long, but some of the men were in the fields.”

“That’s fine.” Simon looked up at the sky. “It’s getting late, though. We’d better be moving if we want to get to Oakhampton.”

Black nodded and shouted to the men. Slowly they handed back their mugs and jostled into position, and soon they were all moving off, not in an organised unit like a wolf pack, but a strung-out line of men and horses, a group of individuals bound together by their common need for defence against the threat of the trail bastons. Simon and Black rode in front, not from any need to lead, but simply so that they could set the pace.

They rode along briskly, and had passed the track to Clanton Barton before Simon realised they were there. He turned and looked back at the farm when he became aware, staring hard at the buildings as if he could penetrate the walls and see the monks inside, but there was no sign of them. Had they left already?

“I was thinking,” said Black from beside him. “Do you think that this lot could be the ones that killed the abbot? I mean, could the men who killed the abbot have been part of this band? A vanguard out looking for food, and when they saw the abbot they took him for his money?”

Simon turned and stared at the road ahead, his face blank as he thought. “I don’t know. I hope so.”

They rode on, keeping to a smart pace. They would not be able to reach Oakhampton before night, and Simon was content merely to get as far as possible and find somewhere to camp and finish their journey the following morning. The road led them between thick woods as it curved around the moors, swinging lazily as it took them farther southwards. When they had left Bow some three miles behind them the light began to fade and Black started to look for a camp.

At last, as the light was sinking towards darkness, they came to a small stream and Black called the halt. In little time the horses were hobbled and watered, then the men lighted fires and settled down, wrapping themselves in their cloaks or blankets as they sat down to drink and eat before sleeping.

Simon sat a little apart from the rest. He was exhausted after the day. His hangover was gone, thankfully, but his whole body was tense and stiff from his hours in the saddle, and he felt. as though he had aged ten years since leaving Furnshill manor that morning. He wrapped himself in his cloak and was soon dozing, propped up against a tree not far from the stream.

Next morning they were all up before dawn and ready to continue before it was light. Grimly, in the chill grey of the early morning, they carried on, making their way along the gentle slopes of the road between the trees.

They had only travelled another two miles from their camp when Simon saw Black frown and stare at the road ahead. He held up his hand for the posse to halt, and as he did, Simon thought he could just hear hoofs up ahead. He felt Black’s quick glance at him, then the hunter kicked his horse to amble forward a little. Simon followed, his face frowning as he stared ahead at the next bend in the road, quickly checking his sword hilt as he went, while the men behind went silent and tense, wondering who could be riding so quickly at this time of the morning.

Soon they saw a horse gallop around the bend in the road, a small piebald horse with a young man on its back. As soon as he saw the posse he reined in and slowed, his expression one of suspicion as his eyes roved over the men standing grimly in front of him.

“Morning,” said Black. “You’re in a hurry.”

“I’m carrying a message,” the youth said shortly.

“Who for? Where are you going?”

The youth’s eyes held Black’s for a moment, then glanced behind him again at the others. “To Crediton.”

Simon edged his horse closer. “You need have no fear of us, friend. We’re a posse, on our way to Oakhampton to help follow the trail bastons and catch them.”

The youth’s face radiated relief, the suspicion falling away as if it was dirt wiped away by a cloth. “Thank God! I’ve been sent to ask you to come, only I hadn’t realised you would be this far already – I thought you were outlaws! Quick, you must come back with me, there’s been an attack!”

“We heard, that’s why we’re on our way, we had a messenger last night.”