Michael JECKS - The Mad Monk of Gidleigh

Satisfied with his logic, Esmon wondered why his father should be so keen to punish the priest. Perhaps it was merely the instinct of a man who has lost his property to a thief. His father always valued his belongings, and Mary was one such: an item on his inventory.

His father had always coveted Gidleigh, largely because it had that castle, but Esmon was less interested. Times were changing. The whole realm was like a ripe plum, ready to be consumed by any man who was bold enough. That was proved by the Despensers. They had come from nowhere, and now they were the most powerful men in the country after the King himself. Perhaps not after him; maybe they were more powerful now. Everyone Esmon had heard talking about the King’s court seemed to think that Edward II had abrogated responsibility for the realm and handed all authority to the Despensers, especially Hugh the Younger, Sir Ralph’s friend.

This was a time for younger men, Esmon thought. No need for the life of subservience to his father; better that he should ride with his own company and make his fortune. There were opportunities for a man like him. The country was in the power of a strong family, so Esmon should himself join with them and make sure that as their power waxed, so did his own influence.

It was not far from here that he had been born, a quarter mile eastwards, down that hill on the right. That was the old manor in which he had been raised until Sir Richard Prouse had died and they had moved to take over the castle. It was while he lived in the manor that he had taken a shine to young Margery’s body, and she had made herself available to him. A handsome wench, he reckoned, although not so attractive as that other daughter of Huward’s. Flora was a very fine-looking filly.

On a whim, Esmon decided he would go and see her. It would warm his heart just to look at the girl. He shouted to Margery’s brother to fetch his horse, and ambled around to wait.

Simon and Baldwin’s horses were soon ready for them. While they waited, Baldwin strolled over to the gatekeeper and spoke to him. Simon meanwhile went to ask Hugh how he was.

‘Feels like someone’s been using my head for target practice. It’s like it’s more full of arrows than a quiver,’ Hugh grunted.

‘Be grateful to Lady Annicia for her careful nursing last night,’ Simon returned.

‘When she gave life to the man who did this? I suppose it’s a family business, is it? He knocks men down, she mends them.’

‘Just sit and enjoy the sun, Hugh. With luck we won’t have to stay here for much longer, and soon we can get back on our horses and go home.’

‘Aye – to Dartmouth,’ Hugh muttered sombrely.

‘It’ll be Lydford for the nonce, anyway,’ Simon said, a little sharply. His nerves were still raw when it came to discussing the move to his new post.

‘Simon, please come with me!’ Baldwin called.

He led the way around to the side of the castle, and there he explained all he had learned the night before.

‘So this Wylkyn could have killed Sir Richard?’ Simon breathed.

‘Yes, and Esmon sought to make him pay for the slaughter of a knight.’

‘He would have been better served to accuse the man in a court.’

‘True enough, although I think he would say that you don’t wait with a rabid dog, you kill it immediately. This was the same situation.’

‘So what are you saying?’

Baldwin shrugged. ‘If it’s true that this Wylkyn killed Sir Richard, he deserved death. Perhaps we should forget about it.’

‘There’s still the matter of Esmon charging tolls on the King’s roads,’ Simon reminded him.

‘Yes. But no one has complained about that, so we can’t do anything.’

‘Careful where you put your feet, Baldwin!’

‘Hmm?’ Baldwin glanced down and saw that at his feet was a box filled with wood ash and human faeces. Above them was a garderobe, a little chamber set into the wall of the upper solar chamber and overhanging the box. ‘Ah!’

‘Yes. I suggest we move a little away,’ Simon smiled. ‘What were you staring at?’

There were several thatched buildings built into the wall and the castle’s keep. The nearest was the stable block. Inside, the horses were ranged on both sides, and their urine was channelled from their stalls down into a gutter that ran down and out through the wall here, to a drain. Next to it was a good-sized manure heap where the horses’ dung was deposited each day. This filled the angle of the wall between the stables and the keep. Baldwin was staring past the stables to the wall.

‘It’s not very interesting,’ Simon said, casting a look at Baldwin to see for what his friend had brought him here.

‘Don’t you think so?’ Baldwin said, pointing at a ladder, puzzled.

Simon cleared his throat. ‘Very well, Baldwin. Why are we here?’

‘The gatekeeper said that the gate was locked overnight, same as always. It was still locked this morning. There is a heavy sliding bar which locks the gates, and if that bar had been moved to open the gates, the gatekeeper would have heard it and woken. So we can assume that Mark didn’t get out that way. Besides, if he had, the gate would have been unbarred this morning, unless the priest had a confederate who went and shut the gate after him. I suppose that’s possible, since he was released from the cell. Still, I reckon he escaped from here. There is the ladder, and it would be an easy climb to the top of the wall.’

‘And as easy a way to break a leg as I could imagine,’ Simon said. He went to the ladder, tested a rung, and then climbed upwards. At the top he cautiously peered over. ‘Ah! Perhaps not. The land is higher out here.’

‘I thought so. The wall is partly built into the hillside so the ground is higher outside than in. That wall was not built for security, but to increase the space here in the yard,’ Baldwin said. ‘Is there any sign that he could have jumped down there?’

‘I can see prints. He went up this hill, I think. Towards the moor.’

‘I am glad. So, we can leave the posse to find Mark out that way, and meanwhile we must search for him nearer.’

‘But where?’ Simon demanded as Baldwin strode back towards their horses. ‘I said, his steps were heading for the moors, almost due westward.’

‘If that’s where he is, we can assume that Sir Ralph will find him,’ Baldwin mused. ‘The posse rode in that direction, and they know all the places of concealment, I daresay. However, if I was Mark, and I was trying to escape, I would leave a trail that was obviously pointing in one direction, and would then hurry back in a different one.’

‘You think a priest could reason that rationally?’ Simon grinned.

Baldwin took his horse from Godwen and mounted swiftly. ‘Yes. I think he’d think very clearly and rationally. If he could plan to get out of here, surely he’d plan a sensible escape.’

‘What if he didn’t plan it? He could have grabbed a chance and gone.’

‘Or someone else planned it for him,’ Baldwin wondered. He was silent for a few minutes, frowning with concentration. ‘That raises several possibilities,’ he admitted. ‘But if I am wrong, we can be sure that Mark will be found – and killed. Let us hope I am right, for his sake.’

‘And if you are right?’

‘He didn’t go west to the moors. But he wouldn’t have gone north because he escaped that way last time, and he would expect to be caught there. I don’t think he’s the sort of man who would try that again.’

‘So he’s gone south or east?’

‘East, if anywhere. There is a bridge down that way…’

‘Ah yes, where the old hermit lives. I remember it,’ Simon said, thinking of the old rangy figure of Surval.