Michael JECKS - The Mad Monk of Gidleigh

‘Have you any idea who could have released Mark?’

‘Yes. I think it was Sir Ralph’s son, Esmon. The fellow knew that his father would be enraged to hear that Mark had escaped, and would seek him with a fury unsurpassed by the hounds of Hell. Esmon sought to ensure that his father would kill Mark for escaping his cell, and to do so, Esmon made certain that Mark was released. Whether it was Esmon himself or one of his many disreputable men who let Mark out, I do not know.’

‘You are sure of this?’ Baldwin asked.

‘As sure as I can be without hearing Esmon confess, yes.’ Roger Scut looked out at the doorway and dropped his voice. ‘Do you know what he has done now? He asked me a little while ago whether I would help him to depose his father. I truly believe that lad has no conception of good and evil. He asked me to write a letter confirming that Sir Ralph was too ancient and infirm to be able to continue as Lord of Gidleigh. As though I should do any such thing!’

Baldwin glanced at Simon. He doubted the entire truth of Roger Scut’s comments, although their general thrust he thought was probably accurate enough. ‘As though,’ he repeated drily.

Roger had the grace to look away.

‘Do you know what I think, Scut?’ Baldwin asked. ‘I think you came here wanting to brain a guard and release Mark.’

‘Yes.’

‘Because you thought that then he would be hunted down and killed. You knew Sir Ralph would slaughter him under any pretext. The Bishop would punish Sir Ralph, but so what? You would be here to take over the chapel and all its revenues.’

‘Nonsense, that had–’

‘You actively sought the death of Mark to fill your own pocket.’

Roger shook his head, but his voice was quieter, as though he scarcely dared deny the charge. ‘No, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Simon had listened with contempt. Now he deliberately turned his back on the monk and ignored him. ‘Hugh, this Esmon has captured more men today. He took a carter and two of Coroner Roger’s men captive. Did you see them arrive, or hear them?’

‘I heard someone – over in the gatehouse area.’

‘That is where Sir Ralph and his son tend to keep their prisoners ready for ransom,’ Roger Scut said helpfully.

‘Show me where this room is,’ Simon said, speaking to Hugh.

Osbert sat in the shelter of Piers’s barn and wrapped his arms about himself. It was not cold, but the ideas that milled in his brain were stifling him, and he felt as though his head were about to explode with the things that evil shit Ben had told him with such amused glee in his voice. Truly, Ben was foul. He deserved to be murdered. It was said that a man’s evil could be reflected in his sons, that a man who was sexually incontinent could give birth to a leper, and if that was so, all the sins of Sir Ralph had been stored and concentrated in Ben’s voice. He enjoyed using his snake’s charm and insinuations to bedevil others.

There were so many things Os wanted to do but he felt enfeebled. As soon as Ben had told him, he had wanted to go to Flora and apologise, to cradle her in his arms. More, he wanted to lie with her, feel her naked body next to his, make love to her like a man should – except he couldn’t, not now! Christ Jesus, not ever!

His desires were impossible. Cursed. He must accept that. If he couldn’t, he might go mad. God would see to it. For a man like Os to touch Flora with thoughts of passion was obscene ! She was his sister !

He wanted to go to the castle and tear it apart stone by stone; he wanted to feel Sir Ralph’s flesh beneath his hands and rend his body to wolf-bait; he wanted to stamp all over Esmon’s corpse; he wanted to stab and slash at them just as Esmon had stabbed and slashed at Wylkyn. He wanted to kill, and go on killing, to destroy this terrible injustice. The first woman he had loved was dead, buried and rotting; her sister, whom he now adored in Mary’s place, whom he felt the duty to protect with his life, was now ineradicably removed from him. He could no more hope to be her husband than he might hope to marry the Queen. She was removed from him, and with her removal, it felt as though his heart had been plucked from his breast. Life held no pleasure. All that remained was hard, cruel toil, made the more painful by the constant presence of Flora.

‘They’ve gone. Buggered off, the lot of them.’ Piers entered, threw his stick against the wall, and crouched leaning with his back against the stone wall. ‘But Esmon’ll be back. You know that. He’ll return, and when he does, he’ll want your head.’

‘He can have it. What is there for me now?’

Piers shrugged. ‘I don’t know what your problem is, other than the obvious little things, like trying to kill Sir Ralph’s son. Now, if I’d done that, I’d be guilty of petit treason and I’d get killed, but you won’t. You’re safe – you’re a freeman. All you have to worry about is getting away from here before Esmon catches you. At least right now, with a murderous monk on the road, you should be safe enough. People have more to worry about than a miserable-looking miller’s helper. Unless you meet said monk, of course,’ he added thoughtfully.

‘I love Flora.’

‘Hmm. That’s not a huge problem,’ Piers said, head cocked on one side. ‘What does she think about it?’

‘She feels the same. Promised to marry me.’

Piers nodded his head slowly. ‘Right. So she loves you too, but you feel bad? Not good? Not glad?’

‘I can’t do it. I can’t ask her to marry me.’

‘I… You don’t have much, no, but you’d make her a good enough husband, wouldn’t you? You’re not cruel or stupid – at least, I wouldn’t have said so until just now. What’s the matter?’

Osbert sat back, curled his arms about his legs and rested his chin on his knees. He remained there for some while, staring into the distance, and then gave Piers a disconcertingly straight stare. ‘You mean you don’t know?’

Piers held his hands out, palms up. ‘Don’t know what?’

‘My mother. She was never ashamed of me, of my bastardy. She always said, any man born like me shouldn’t regret his birth. The fact was, I was free, after all.’

Piers shrugged. He knew the rule of the law: a freeman who fathered a son conferred his freedom on the child, and a bastard must be assumed to be free. ‘So?’

‘Ben told me. I always loved Mary, and then, when she was gone, I fell in love with Flora. At least Ben saved us.’

‘What?’ Piers asked, confused.

‘I never knew my father. Mother always said it was because he’d married some prune-faced whore.’

‘Yes, well. These things happen,’ Piers said.

‘I always wondered why Mother didn’t tell me who it was. I thought it was because she was ashamed. Didn’t want to tell my father that she’d given birth.’

‘It’s common enough.’

‘You don’t understand, do you?’

Piers didn’t, nor did he particularly care. He had spent the whole day riding about the countryside seeking Mark, and now he was going to help Osbert escape, a man who had hurt his master’s son. It didn’t bear thinking about. ‘Neither of us have time for this, Os. Come on.’ He was brushing the twigs and straws from his backside when he heard the steps outside. Slow, thoughtful steps, Piers considered, not the sharp, swift footfalls of a man who rushed to a barn with a sword in his hand ready to kill or capture the men inside. Rather they were the reluctant steps of a man who was setting off on a long journey without knowing his destination.

Peering around the doorframe, Piers saw a familiar shape. ‘Oh, thank God!’