Michael JECKS - The Mad Monk of Gidleigh

‘My love…’

‘Don’t call me that! I’m not your love. I’m just your serf – your slave. You owned me, but then you made a gift of me to another so that you could come and possess me again. You let another man protect your children, feed them, clothe them, never knowing that they were as cuckoos in his nest. And now my Mary is dead, all because of our deceits.’

‘It was the only thing we could do,’ he said. ‘What else could we have done? If we hadn’t, we would never have given birth to her.’

She shuddered again. ‘Better we hadn’t. I wish we hadn’t because losing her is so… so…’

‘We shall find her murderer and see him hang. You will feel better when you see him hanging from my oak tree.’

‘You would swear to do that for me? No matter who the murderer is?’ she said quickly, a light flashing in her eye.

‘As soon as I catch that shitty-trousered priest, I’ll–’

‘Not him ,’ she said scornfully. ‘The man who killed her was your son. Your precious Esmon, the foul degenerate.’

‘No, it wasn’t him.’

‘He was there, wasn’t he? My son saw him in the lane, just after he saw you.’

Ralph was silent. It was the one clue he had hoped would not be discovered, the fact that Esmon had been there that day. The terrible gnawing fear began to scratch and scrabble at his bowels. He had lost Mary, he couldn’t lose Esmon too. ‘You must take my word. He is innocent of this.’

‘It’s one of the few crimes which are not his responsibility, then,’ she spat. ‘Ask him what he was doing there. Just ask him!’

‘I don’t have to,’ Sir Ralph said miserably. ‘He was trying to find Wylkyn, to kill him.’

Baldwin was surprised when Lady Annicia took him and Simon out of the hall and into the solar behind. She graciously motioned to them to take seats, but waved the watchmen out, along with Hugh. Roger Scut hung around as though in two minds whether he was invited to join them, and she stood surveying him for a long moment, before finally shrugging her assent to his remaining. However, when she saw that Hugh too had stayed, planted stolidly next to Simon, her expression hardened, although she made no comment.

‘So, Lordings, you want these men released. Why should I do so?’

‘They are innocent travellers, my Lady,’ Baldwin said. He was a little confused by the way that this woman had taken control, but foremost in his mind was the desire to remove the captured men, as well as Simon, Hugh, the watchmen, and himself, from the castle. A castle was always a dangerous place for strangers, but this one, so Baldwin reckoned, was worse than most. The men-at-arms were too surly, and the whole place seemed to be ready to explode into violence and mutiny at any moment:

‘The men who are held are guilty of no crime, and were captured on the road while on the King’s business. Coroner Roger de Gidleigh had ordered the carter to our inn to wait for us, and he was on his way there under guard from two of the Coroner’s own men. These are the fellows you hold. Are they to be ransomed to the King himself?’

‘That would be the act of a felon.’

‘I know.’

‘I shall see them released,’ she said coquettishly, ‘on the understanding that any charges you might have brought against my son are forgotten. Esmon is a little wilful sometimes, but he is a good child, and I wouldn’t want to see him troubled by the threat of a court.’

Simon took an angry breath. ‘You wouldn’t want him… Your son tried to kill me, Lady, and if my servant hadn’t risked his own life, I might well be dead! My man Hugh threw himself between me and your son and saved my life.’

‘I am sure it was an accident. He will apologise.’

Simon cast a look at Hugh. ‘I require no apology, but my servant will need a physician’s aid when he gets to his home and I doubt that he could afford the services of a good man. Your son must pay for that. Shall we say fifty shillings?’

‘Fifty…’ The Lady Annicia was astonished to hear so high a sum suggested, but she recovered herself quickly. ‘I am sure that my son will be happy to pay. An accident like this is always unfortunate, and we must make sure that your fellow is as well looked after as he can be. Although,’ she added with a venomous look at the broadly grinning Hugh, ‘I cannot imagine that the physician in his vill would warrant such a price for his skills. I did nurse him myself, you know, and I think he has waxed well on our best wine all day.’

Simon saw Hugh’s glee and gave a slow nod. ‘I think that will be adequate compensation, Lady.’

‘So we can forget all matters which affect my son?’

Baldwin slowly shook his head, watching her all the while. Annicia had the uncomfortable sensation that she was being studied by a serious-minded lawyer. His dark eyes had, she thought, a certain air of reptilian disinterest, just like so many lawyers. ‘Your son is accused of murder on the King’s highway while trying to capture and rob travellers on their way to Chagford Fair. He will have to stand in court on that charge.’

‘He is so accused?’ Annicia asked softly. ‘And where is the corpse? I had not heard that there was one.’

‘I believe I know where it is.’

‘But I fear I do not understand,’ she said with a smile that failed to conceal her cold determination. ‘Do you mean to tell me that my son is to be accused of killing a man when there is no body, no proof of the wounds that killed him, no presentment of Englishry, nothing? I had thought that no body meant no case.’

Baldwin smiled, and once more she was reminded of a reptile: like a snake, he appeared not to blink. ‘We shall find the body, madam. And when we do, your son will be arrested on my order as Keeper of the King’s Peace.’

She was about to answer, when there came a rattling of hooves on the cobbles outside. Immediately there was shouting and roaring, with one voice calling more clearly than all the others: ‘In God’s name, all men here, now! There’s a fire!’

Simon ran to the door and stared out. ‘It’s your husband, madam.’

‘Fire! Fire at the mill! Every man, bring buckets, help to put it out!’

‘I suppose you should go with him,’ she said with a strange inflexion in her voice.

Baldwin looked at her. ‘Yes, my Lady, but while we are gone, you must ensure that the prisoners are sent on their way to meet with the Coroner. You shall do this?’

‘Yes.’ She saw his sceptical expression. ‘I swear it. You disbelieve me?’

‘Not at all, Lady,’ he said courteously. The shouting outside was louder, and he heard horses being gathered. ‘We must go.’

Baldwin and Simon ran down to the court and Simon had to snatch the reins of his mount from one over-enthusiastic man-at-arms who had mounted it already. As the Bailiff took the beast back, Baldwin smiled at the expression of outrage on his face.

Then they were riding out through the gates and he had no more time to think about anything else as he saw the towering column of flame where the mill had lain.

Sir Ralph had left the place sunk in gloom. Gilda’s pain and grief were too hard to bear. Even when he protested, ‘I loved her as well,’ it made no difference. She wanted revenge against someone, anyone, who could have been responsible for the murder of her child.

‘It was that monk, Gilda. He was up there with her. Everyone saw him,’ Sir Ralph said. ‘Why should my lad kill her?’

‘He knew you loved her, didn’t he?’ Gilda was screaming into his face, all rational thought gone as she rose to her feet, lurching towards him, her face streaming with tears. Her terrible desolation made her grasp at any explanation. She hated and feared Esmon, and that convinced her that he was the killer of her daughter. ‘He thought you wanted her for yourself, I expect, so he murdered her, just so that you couldn’t ever learn what he’d done! He killed her to stop you from raping her too! Her! Your own daughter! How does that make you feel, Sir Knight?’