Michael JECKS - The Last Templar

“Last night? But that’s when the attack was!”

There was a mumble of anxious voices from the men, but it died when Black turned and glared. Simon leaned forward in his saddle.

“Where? What happened?” he said urgently.

“Late last night, sir. A group from Cornwall, on their way to Taunton. They were only six miles from Oakhampton when they were set upon and robbed, and many were killed. Two of them managed to get to our farm, a boy and a woman. Our house wasn’t far from the attack. They are there still. They said that the robbers were being hunted over to the west of the town, so my father thought I should ride for Crediton and get more help, so I was on my way…”

“Yes, yes, I see,” said Simon meditatively, then looked over at Black. “This must be another attack.”

“Yes,” said the hunter. “So Tanner may not have heard about it yet. We may be the first, the nearest to hand.”

“We have to go there and see what we can do!”

Black shrugged and turned back to the boy, who waited with a nervous keenness. “Your farm – is it on the way to Oakhampton from here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take us there, then.”

They rode at a canter, all of them eager now that they seemed to be so close to the criminals, and it was only another hour before they were riding down the muddy track that led to the farm.

At the door, the youth dropped from his horse and ran for the house. Black and Simon told the others to stay outside before following him inside.

The house was an old dwelling, with rough thatch that needed replacing, but inside they found it to be a cheery home, lighted with a warm orange glow from the fire roaring on the hearth. Sitting in front of it were a boy and a young woman.

As they walked in their messenger stood uncertainly by the door, as if nervous of entering, and when Simon looked in he realised why and winced. The young woman could not yet be twenty years old, he could see. She was obviously tall, a strong and slim figure with a firm and elegant body under her robe, but it was her face that caught his attention. She was obviously terrified; it showed in the way that she sat huddled, as though to comfort herself, it showed in the paleness of the face under the thick and long black hair as she turned to stare fearfully at them, in the wide and tear-filled dark eyes, in the trembling of her chin under her tightly pursed lips, and it was so palpable, so clear, that Simon felt the pain himself, and longed to go to her and comfort her.

The boy sat quiet and still, hardly acknowledging them as they entered, but sitting silent in front of the flames, with his straw-coloured hair reflecting the glow, and staring at the men with unseeing eyes, as if they were of such little importance that they merited no response. He was beyond fear; he seemed to have lost all sense.

As Simon and Black walked closer, an older couple came in behind them and, while the man caught them by their arms, the woman barged past and went to the two figures.

“Sorry, sorry, but they’re…” the man said haltingly. Simon gazed at him uncomprehendingly, then glanced back into the room. The older woman was cradling and gently rocking the younger, who clung to her like a frightened child to its mother. “Come outside, please,” the man said. “Come outside, we can talk there,” Simon and Black exchanged a glance and followed him out.

In the open, the man seemed surprised at the sight of the men on their horses, and appeared to be concerned until Simon’s soft voice broke into his thoughts. “Don’t worry, friend. We’re the posse from Crediton. We’re here to help with the trail bastons.”

At this the farmer relaxed visibly. “Thanks to God! For a moment I was thinking you could be the same that…”

“What has happened? All we know is what your son told us,” Black interrupted.

The old man’s eyes misted. “You’ve seen what they’re like, friend. They turned up at my door last night, just like you see them now. We haven’t been able to get a word from the boy, he just won’t talk at ail. Just sits and stares all the time. The girl’s his sister, or so it seems. They were riding up to Taunton with their parents and others and camped some two miles yonder.” He pointed to the southwest, towards the grey line of the moors. “They had made their camp and were preparing their food when they were attacked.”

“Do you know when it was?” asked Simon.

“No. All she will say is that it was after dark. She says that men rode into the camp and killed all the men, and some of the women too. I think that the other women were kept for… for…”

“You think they were to be molested?” Simon said, feeling his anger grow as he realised what the two indoors must have witnessed.

Black’s face grew dark too. “Was she raped as well?” His own wife could not have been many years older, Simon realised.

The old man nodded slowly. “She won’t talk to me, but she told my wife.” He shrugged and there were tears in his eyes when he glanced at Simon. “When I go into the room she just goes quiet and holds on to my wife. She’s so terrified of men, just like when she saw you gentlemen. My wife says she hasn’t ever seen anybody so scared.”

“Did she describe the men who attacked them?” asked Simon, ignoring the hissed curse from the hunter.

“No. All she would say was that one of them looked like a knight, all in armour, whatever that means. He could have been wearing a hauberk of plate or chain, or dressed in full armour for all I know. The others were just ordinary men.”

Black and Simon exchanged a glance, then, slowly, Black nodded grimly.

Turning back to the farmer, Simon said, “Can you let us have your son to show us where they were attacked? Can he find it?”

“Oh yes. You don’t really need his help, it’s clear where it happened, but you can have him by all means.”

Quickly, Black and Simon swung into their saddles and, when the farmer’s son was ready, they made their way back along the track to the road and then south and west towards the moors.

The men were all silent and deep in thought as they went. As he considered the little information that the farmer had been able to give them, Simon found himself shivering, straining under the influence of the greatest passion of rage he had ever felt. It was not just the senseless brutality of the trail bastons, it was seeing the horror-struck girl. Her absolute terror at the sight of him and Black seemed to show the degree of her suffering. He kept returning to the same question: who could do this? Who could inflict such pain on a girl so young; who could shatter the lives of a little boy and his sister; who could produce such misery and live with himself afterwards?

It felt as though the breath came in hot rushes, as if he was inhaling flames, and he sat tall and straight in his saddle as he rode, as if his anger had doubled his strength and energy.

The hunter rode beside him with a stolid, hunched mien, riding smoothly and effortlessly, but when Simon glanced over at him he could see that Black was as angry as he himself. He stared ahead, hardly blinking, his dark eyes fixed on the road ahead as he went, and he reminded Simon of a cat, a cat that has just seen a shrew and is slowly stalking it with the intense and total concentration of absolute absorption. But the anger was shown by his quick movements, by the occasional snapping turns of his head as he glared into the woods on either side, as if daring them to hide the men they hunted, and by the sudden, swift, snatching of his hand as he grabbed at his short sword, as if he was caught every now and again by a desire to pull it from its scabbard and kill.

Keeping up their fast pace, they soon covered the short distance to the place where the attack had happened, and when they came close the farmer’s son slowed and pointed. Up ahead and to the left of the road, they could see smoke rising from among the trees.