Michael JECKS - The Mad Monk of Gidleigh

‘Os, Os – help me!’ she screamed.

‘What do you want now, peasant?’ Esmon demanded, angry at being discovered, and jerking Flora to her feet again. ‘I was here first.’

‘I’m here last,’ Os said firmly. He set his feet a shoulder’s width apart and hefted his axe. ‘She doesn’t want you here. Leave her.’

‘I’ll stand or go by my own will, not by your leave!’

‘I’ll say no more. Go.’

Flora was reluctant to speak. It was against her natural instinct to try to talk to Esmon. He was son to a knight, one of the most powerful men in the country, and as such he was fearsome enough, but with his propensity for violence and rape, Flora found it hard to say anything in his presence. ‘Please…’ she began, but the two men ignored her.

‘Leave her,’ Os said again, gripping his axe more firmly.

‘Go from here, peasant, before I teach you not to be insubordinate in front of your master,’ Esmon responded, but he was hampered by his grip on Flora. He let one of her arms go, trying to grab at his sword, but he was unbalanced and Flora tried to dart away, almost pulling him over. ‘Keep still, bitch!’

Suddenly Os lifted the axe and sprang forward. It was so quick that Flora scarcely had time to open her mouth to take a swift intake of breath, and then she saw that he had moved to Esmon’s side, and as the knight’s son reached for his sword, the flat of the axe-head slapped his hand aside, giving a harsh, cracking noise in the stillness of the woods. Instantly Esmon gave a muffled cry, falling back and releasing Flora. She stumbled and fell on her arse.

Esmon could scarcely believe the pain. ‘You bastard! You’ll pay for this!’

Os said nothing, but slid his hand along the axe-haft, raising it ready to strike. There was no compunction in his eyes, only determination.

‘Sweet Jesus!’ Esmon sobbed, cradling his hand at his breast. The breath was rasping in his throat. ‘This will cost you your life, churl! I’ll not see you live after this! You think you can attack me? I’ll soon be back, and I’ll bring men!’

Osbert eyed him without speaking. It was as though all his contempt for Esmon and Esmon’s family was concentrated in that one brief glance; as though a lifetime’s loathing and hatred were comingled and, under his glance, Esmon felt devastated. Never in his life had he experienced such withering disgust. He felt like a worm or a slug being surveyed by a gardener.

‘Bring as many as you want.’

Flora watched in horror and despair as Esmon turned and made his way from the clearing, nursing his hand tenderly as though every step cost him a sharp agony.

‘Os, you have to get away, as far away as you can!’

‘Where would I go?’

‘I don’t know, but as soon as he gets back to the castle, he’ll tell his father, and they’ll come to kill you. You don’t want that, do you?’

‘I’ll go nowhere.’

‘What of his father?’

‘I don’t fear him.’

‘He’ll have you killed!’

Osbert didn’t answer. He still held his axe, but now he glanced at it as though scarcely recognising what it was, and then he let it fall to the ground. He stood with his fists clenching and unclenching, his jaw set, his eyes flitting everywhere. When she lifted her hand to touch his face, he gave a loud groan and reached for it, taking it and raising it to his mouth. His other arm encircled her waist, and he kissed her warmly, and she responded with all of her heart.

There had been nothing to learn in the greasy turf by the wall where the two carters confirmed that the miner had lain after the attack, although as Simon and Baldwin had already observed, the blood more than adequately confirmed that. Neither carter was comfortable about accusing the killer, but that was unnecessary now. Baldwin was interested more in where the body had been taken than in interrogating the two.

‘Leave them for now, Coroner. If we can find this corpse and learn why someone should conceal it, perhaps that will prove who killed him.’

‘You speak for yourself, Sir Baldwin,’ Coroner Roger stated with gruff amusement. I need the evidence of these two idiots.’

‘If you ask them to give their evidence in court, all that you shall have is two men standing before a strong lord and making an accusation. If we can find the body, we shall have a more compelling reason for his arrest.’

‘And I can take him to Lydford,’ Simon nodded, ‘to the gaol where he belongs. At least we can make sure that he pays compensation for his crime, if we can show he was guilty of this murder.’

Coroner Roger shrugged. ‘Very well. What of these two?’

Baldwin eyed them. They were an unprepossessing pair, the older man with a perpetually running nose, the younger with the scrawny appearance of a starved cockerel. ‘You two can go to the inn we passed on the way here. If you aren’t there when we get back, I shall order your arrest and shall have you fined. Is that clear?’

‘Oh, aye, Master Knight,’ Saul sniffed, adding with heavy irony, ‘if we do anything, like trying to save ourselves from being murdered, then you’ll see us thrown into the good Bailiff’s gaol, where we’ll most likely die from starvation. Oh, I thank you, Master. It’s good to know we’ll be treated so well.’

‘Be off with you, and don’t decide to run away!’ Baldwin said sternly. ‘Go!’

‘And bear in mind,’ the Coroner said with a grim smile, ‘that my two servants are with you. They won’t let you out of their sight.’

Simon grinned as the two carters grumbled to themselves, eyeing the Coroner’s guards without enthusiasm, snapping their reins and lumbering away. Baldwin was smiling too, and Simon could tell his friend was tickled by them. Often Baldwin would have a curious, or so it seemed to most others, affection for the peasants with whom he came into contact, and Simon could see that these two had delighted him, the younger because of his apparent fear, starting at every noise, while the older man was so stolid and unimpressed with the rank and importance of the men who held him here. His sole apparent concern was his cold and how much longer it would last.

As the sound of the horses rattling on their way gradually faded into the distance, Simon stared after them. He was struck with a sudden sense of foreboding; a black mood swept over him, as though the devil had sent a grim presentiment of doom through his soul, but then he blinked, and in a moment it was gone.

‘Come along, Simon!’ Baldwin called, and he followed his friend to the wall. Even as he did so, he couldn’t help but cast a glance over his shoulder, and as he caught sight of the two carts, the sense of foreboding returned.

Esmon seethed with anger, even as his fist throbbed with pain. How dare a mere churl like Osbert attack him – him! – the son of a knight, a man of status and fortune. It was incomprehensible. That sort of behaviour led to insurrection and mutiny. He wouldn’t stand for it… he couldn’t stand for it.

Leaning against a tree, he saw one of his men at the entrance to the mill’s lane. The man grinned and called out: ‘Master, the monk escaped last night.’

‘How on–’

‘Your father’s gone to the moor to seek him with many men, but there’s been a draw-latch at work in a farm north of here. Food taken.’

Esmon chewed his lip. He first of all wanted to make Os pay for his attack. His hand still hurt and his soul smarted at the insult to his dignity, but he knew he must also try to capture the priest if he could. ‘How could he have escaped? This is pathetic! It will bring ridicule upon our heads if it gets out that a cretin of a priest can escape from our gaol! God in Heaven! I suppose we must try to find him.’ But if Mark was robbing farms northwards, Esmon could ride out east first and teach Os to attack him. He was itching for revenge.