Michael JECKS - The Mad Monk of Gidleigh

‘Like riding down the Bailiff investigating a miner’s murder. Blatant and threatening,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘If we assume that this Wylkyn had done something to upset Sir Ralph, he would have stayed hidden away on the moors, surely. He wouldn’t approach here. Yet if this ambush was conducted because they knew that Wylkyn was here, then…’ He stopped, shaking his head. ‘This tale makes no sense. I must think about it.’

‘There’s one thing that appears consistent,’ Coroner Roger said. ‘There is flagrant robbery on the King’s highways about here. We ought to speak to Sir Ralph and make sure he realises that he’ll have to pay if we learn he was involved.’

Os kissed her once more as they parted, then he walked back to the clearing where he had dropped his axe. He was still sorry that Mary was dead – he’d miss her all his life, probably – but in her place, he had found Flora, and she was all a man could want, as well as adoring him. He would be churlish indeed if he didn’t reciprocate her love.

They had left the clearing and gone to a deserted charcoal-burner’s hut deep in the woods, where they had made their vows, and then they had lain together, sealing their contract in the oldest way possible. Now he knew he would live with her, Os was more than content: he was the happiest man alive.

Which made him more than a little concerned when he thought about how he had spoken to Esmon. It was lucky that Os had been born a freeman. If he wished, he could run away with Flora, take her to a town far from here where they could start afresh. Os was strong and willing to work and there was always a living to be earned by someone like that.

A peasant who bolted could always be chased and brought back, but Os was safe, all because he was born illegitimate. Any illegitimate offspring could have been born to a freeman, which meant that all bastards had to be assumed to be free. Everyone in the vill had a fair guess that Os was actually the son of Sir Ralph, not that the knight would ever admit the fact, so no one ever dared to suggest that he might be a peasant’s son anyway. He was safe from that.

His axe was gone. There was nothing there. He frowned, searching along from the tree where he’d been working to the farthest edge of the clearing, but there was no sign of his axe, only a heavy stirring of the grass where many horses appeared to have trampled.

‘What have you lost?’

‘Ben!’ he burst out, startled. ‘Where did you spring from?’

‘Oh, don’t mind me. What’s gone?’

‘I left an axe here.’ He couldn’t help but feel a more kindly attitude to Ben. He had disliked the boy for a long time, but felt he ought to make the effort to be friendly to him now that he was a brother-in-law.

‘Forgot it in your rush, did you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I saw you with Flora.’

Os reddened. ‘I’m sorry. We were going to…’

Ben sniffed and waved a hand. ‘I don’t want to know the details. I saw you watching one sister in the river, and now you’ve shafted another.’

‘Oh, you won’t lose your sister.’

‘I didn’t mean I would. I meant you would. Do you know who is Flora’s father? No? I didn’t think so!’

‘Huward, of course, your own father.’

Ben smiled maliciously. ‘No. Our father is Sir Ralph of Wonson. The same father as you.’

The small cavalcade rode to the inn and left their horses with the ostler at the gate. Gladly they entered the hall, roaring for ale and wine as they passed under the lintel, but when they reached the fire, the host scurried in looking worried.

‘Master Knight, I’m right sorry to–’

‘Drinks, Host! Excuses later,’ Coroner Roger stated firmly.

‘This man, though,’ the landlord said, wringing his hands.

‘What man?’ Simon said sharply. Glancing about him, he saw no sign of Alan and Saul and suddenly he recalled his anxiety watching them ride away. ‘The two carters, where are they?’

Baldwin gave a most uncharacteristic curse and clenched his fist. ‘By God’s vengeance, if he’s killed them as well, I’ll have Esmon’s head.’

The bedraggled and damp figure of Alan was soon with them, sitting near the fire so that his damp woollen clothing gave off the odour of wet dogs. His eyes were hunted; he jumped at every sound. Once the fire crackled, and although he was staring at it, he lurched to his feet and stared fearfully over his shoulder.

‘Sit, boy! Tell us what happened to you. Where’s your companion?’ Coroner Roger rumbled.

‘It was Esmon again. We were riding back, taking the little lane that comes from Throwleigh, and we met him with a small company. They got Saul, but his horse blocked the road, so I jumped off and bolted like a rabbit. One of them came after me, so I ducked into the woods to get away. He couldn’t follow me when the undergrowth got too thick.’

‘This is an outrage!’ Coroner Roger said with slow menace. ‘What of my men?’

‘They were with him. I suppose they were taken as well.’

‘They were taken as well, were they?’ Coroner Roger repeated. His voice swelled and grew as he absorbed this news. ‘Taken as well. The servants of a King’s Coroner were captured and taken by a feckless, witless boy no better than the son of an Exmouth whore AND A BRETON PIRATE !’

Simon shot him a look. Coroner Roger had always been a calm man, sometimes dry to the point of cynicism, at other occasions caustic, especially when discussing his wife (when she was not present), but Simon now, for the first time, was seeing his friend angry, and the sight was impressive.

The Coroner was not tall, and although he was comfortably padded, his constant travel all over the wilds of Devonshire had kept his body firm and muscled. Now he appeared to expand like an enraged cock-bird when its feathers are ruffled. Sir Roger’s chest swelled, his face hardened, his eyes grew flinty and unblinking, his normally smiling mouth became a thin bloodless gash in his blanched visage, and his whole body appeared to still, as though he was so furious his entire energy must be constrained by the focus of his anger.

‘Coroner,’ Simon said hesitantly. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll get the men back for you.’

‘Get them back? I’ll say we’ll get them back! And not by paying some ransom to a Godless, thieving, renegade knight whose only means of income is the robbing of his neighbours,’ Coroner Roger declared at the top of his voice. ‘That miserable dog’s TURD ! I’ll cut out his heart and lungs and FEED THEM TO THE HOGS ! I’ll hamstring the bugger! Aye, I’ll–’

‘You will sit, Coroner, and calm yourself,’ Baldwin said soothingly, taking the sputtering man by the elbow, ‘so that we can plan how to bring about the release of your men.’

‘Release? We’ll release them by pulling down his damned castle! You’ve heard the evidence against this knight and his mewling kitten, haven’t you? This fellow here,’ Coroner Roger said, grabbing Alan’s shirt-front, ‘says Esmon, Sir Ralph’s son, captured my men, don’t you?’

‘Yes, sir!’ Alan squeaked with alarm.

‘And he led the gang who killed Wylkyn.’

‘Yes!’

‘Who killed Wylkyn? Esmon! Who took all the men from the convoy back to the castle?’

‘Esmon.’

‘Did he release you?’

‘Yes…’

‘But?’ Coroner Roger snarled.

‘He demanded ransom from all of us.’

Coroner Roger met Sir Baldwin’s gaze. ‘Sir Baldwin. You are Keeper of the King’s Peace, with authority to pursue felons with the posse comitatus . I here declare that I believe Esmon, son of Sir Ralph of Gidleigh Castle, has feloniously captured, ransomed and murdered travellers on the King’s highway. I accuse him of seizing the servants of a King’s Coroner, and of taking them against their will to his castle. I demand that the posse be raised to force him to submit to the law.’