Michael JECKS - The Mad Monk of Gidleigh

‘Would you like me to dance and caper, Reeve?’ she asked directly. ‘When my sister lies dead in the church?’

‘My love, I wouldn’t ask that. It’s hard, when you lose a companion, I know. But there is still life in your breast.’

His words made her fear that he implied more than a casual interest in her feelings, but when she shot him a look, his eyes were kindly.

‘I can hardly forget my grief.’

‘Of course not, maid, and nor should you. Your sister was a generous soul. But you can delight in having known a life as easily as you can grieve for losing one. Look on her as having lived as long as she should, not as having died early. She had her time. You should celebrate her, not grieve for losing her.’

‘How can you know!’

‘Because I have lost, too. My wife. I do know what it’s like to lose.’

‘Mary was slaughtered like a pig!’

He gave her a sharp look. ‘We’ll catch the man who did it, Flora. He’ll pay.’

‘Him? A priest? How can you make him pay for taking her life?’

‘There must be some way.’

‘If he is punished, what will that mean to us? There are still other men who will prey on the women of our vill.’

‘Who?’ Piers said, his face hardening. ‘You tell me who would dare, and I’ll…’

‘What? You’d go and murder your own master, would you? And his son?’

Piers’s face fell. He avoided her eyes. ‘Has one of them threatened you?’

‘Esmon tried to catch me this morning. His father stopped him, but that doesn’t make me feel any more safe. What if his father isn’t nearby next time? How could I protect myself, any more than another woman?’

Piers sighed. The second indication that Sir Ralph’s family might have been responsible. Sir Ralph was the man seen, though, he told himself. ‘Don’t worry, maid. The law protects you. You shouldn’t fear rape or harm.’

‘You say that, when I have just lost my sister? And who would bother to appeal a rape?’ Flora scoffed. ‘We would have to accuse him in court, show our wounds, show our clothing all bloodied and marked. If you were a woman, would you submit to that? Then, if the man defends himself by saying that he thought the woman was asking for it, she can herself be accused of lying, and be convicted. What is the use?’

‘I still say that your sister didn’t show any signs that she was unhappy. She must have been pregnant some little while, and she never showed anger or fear before, did she?’ Piers said reasonably. He wasn’t here to try to upset her further but to calm her. ‘You’re right: sometimes a man will get away with rape, but I don’t think that Brother Mark was that sort of man. He wasn’t bold enough – brash enough – to try to. I think he loved your sister.’

‘He got her pregnant, though. The priest is saying he doesn’t want to bury my sister in the graveyard or give her a service in the church, because she bears a child out of wedlock, when it was another priest got her into that state!’

Piers groaned. ‘I’ll go and see that fool. He’s got his head up his arse most of the time. I’ll see if I can extricate it.’

Flora wasn’t listening. Her grief was overwhelming her, the misery materialising like waves breaking on a shore. There were moments of calm, when she all but forgot her loss, but then the next wave appeared, battering at her defences. The immensity of her misery was being forced upon her, and she felt as though she was drowning in it. ‘Oh, what are we to do?’ she groaned. ‘Must I live with constant fear from now on? At any time Esmon could come and force me to lie with him, and I could do nothing.’

‘First, maid, I’ll walk you home to the mill. Then I’ll go to see the priest and make sure he understands that your sister is to be buried there, whether he likes it or not. And then…’ his eyes hardened, and there was a glint in them that spoke ill for any man who tried to prevent him ‘… and then I’ll see what may be done about the master’s pup.’

Brian of Doncaster cuffed the boy about the head and made him squeal, then took up his cup and walked to the yard with it.

In the bright sun, the little court was baking. The heat seemed to reflect from limewashed buildings and the walls, adding to the heat, while the absolute lack of a breeze meant men sweltered in their thick woollen clothing. Brian himself found it all but unbearable. He was not used to such warmth, although that was no excuse for his men to be lolling on benches with emptied pots of ale before them.

Ach, there was time to get them up and working later. For now, maybe it was best to leave them to sweat and sleep off their drinking. Brian seated himself at a table near the hall, keeping an eye on the gate as well as his men. There was no sense in relaxing his guard. That was the way to receive a blade in the back. All these men were his, but only for as long as they reckoned his coin was forthcoming. As soon as his cash ran out, they’d be on to the next leader, leaving him, more than likely, lifeless.

Who cared? Brian didn’t. Death didn’t scare him – but lack of fear didn’t mean he would hasten its arrival, so when he sat in a room, he kept his back to the walls and his head facing the doorway.

This was a weird set-up, this castle. A bunch of old fools, one youngster with fire in his belly, and a gorgeous Lady. None of the servants were a threat to Brian. All of them were older men, as weak in the arm as they were in the head, and they could be flattened by Brian’s band of eighteen. Sir Ralph had been a cold, calculating devil, but now he’d gone soft. Hardly seemed able to concentrate for two breaths consecutively, since that miller’s girl had been killed.

Esmon was different. He wanted things. Life, money, women. There was a fellow who’d go far, if he had a mind. He was as ruthless as Brian had been in his youth. Anything he wanted, he took, and that was all there was to it. He could make a good leader. Some of Brian’s men already seemed to look on him like their own leader.

When Brian first met Esmon, he saw an easy time for a few months, nothing more. That was two years ago now, when Esmon was only fifteen. They had both been serving Hugh Despenser the Younger in Wales, just before the Despenser wars broke out and forced the Despensers, father and son, into exile. Brian had willingly taken Esmon’s invitation to come down here with his men. After the fighting, there was nothing to hold them in Wales, and with the Despensers gone, there were no more opportunities to reward themselves. Better to leave and find a new master. Perhaps Esmon’s own father would prove to be a warrior in need of a force, Brian had reasoned.

So it had proved. Sir Ralph had tasks for capable men-at-arms, and Brian and his fellows had earned their board and lodging. Now it seemed that some of his men would be content to remain here, taking orders from Sir Ralph and his son.

It was a state of affairs that Brian didn’t much like. If his men started to look to some other man as their master, it left little space for him. Now Esmon was talking about ambushing a group of travellers nearby, with the promise of good rewards for all. Brian wasn’t very pleased about it, although his men were delighted at the thought of money. They were content under the castle’s roof – some had even muttered that they were better off here, living well, under the direction of Esmon than they had been before. Brian himself should seek opportunities for making money, if he wanted to keep his men with him.

There was something odd about this proposed raid, Brian thought. It was almost as though Esmon was searching for revenge against someone. There was news of someone dying out on the moors. Perhaps it was something to do with that – although Brian couldn’t see how one man’s death should affect the date of a raid on merchants and tranters. Esmon had obviously been waiting to have something confirmed.