Michael JECKS - The Mad Monk of Gidleigh

‘But? I assume that there is a “but”?’

‘I realised that I was being foolish. I saw that it would be better by far for me to take Mark back to Exeter with me. I went to his cell, and found it unguarded, the hatch open, and the prisoner released. I looked about the castle for a while, but in the dark I feared that I should only alert other guards to his disappearance so I returned to my bed, and that was that. Yes, I did desire his chapel, but no, I am not evil enough to have seen it through. Especially when I realised that Sir Ralph actively sought Mark’s death. That would have been quite wrong.’

Baldwin eyed him with contempt. ‘I think Esmon said enough to make you realise that he was more unbalanced than you had realised. You told us how he suggested you should support his bid to depose his father. That scared you, didn’t it? Until then you were prepared to sacrifice Mark just for your own greed!’

Baldwin stopped. He had to take a deep breath to control the shaking rage that was overtaking him. This man was the same as the clerks in France who were prepared to see the destruction of the Knights Templar, to see religious men tortured and consumed in the flames, just because it suited the purpose of their masters at the time.

‘Scut, if I can, I shall ruin you. I shall not permit you to clerk for me again. You are evil and repellent.’

Mark shivered with fear as he looked at the fence. It was a scant fifteen yards from him, and he could see a place where the stakes were rough and notched. Even he should be able to climb up and over the top.

It was a terrifying prospect. He knew that as he crossed the wide strip of bare grass to the wall, he would be in full view of anyone on top of the wall or the keep, especially in this bright moon- and starlight. It might not be a full moon, but the light it gave was nonetheless clear for that and Mark fancied he would be able to see a mouse scurrying across the expanse.

‘Please God, give me strength,’ he prayed. The place was still. Occasional bursts of laughter came from the hall, but that was all. The guards appeared to be elsewhere again, just as they had been last night when he escaped the place.

Only one day ago. And now he was desperate to get back in, to avenge Huward and his family, to avenge so many deaths. He would wait here until much later, when even the guards would be nodding at their posts, and then he would slip inside, and if he could, he would strike one blow at Sir Ralph that would forever end his raping and murdering.

After all, Sir Ralph had destroyed Mark’s own life. He had made a filthy criminal of him. Mark was polluted, and all because of his damned father.

Baldwin walked away from his conversation with the cleric with a deep sense of disgust. It was hideous to think of a man of God willingly lying to put a comrade into danger, just to satisfy his own lust for wealth and property. There were many clerks and monks who would be pleased to emulate Roger Scut, Baldwin knew. Since the Pope had moved to Avignon to escape the risk of living with the outraged Roman populace, the Church was filled with men who were actively seeking to enrich themselves.

He walked about the yard and spoke to the gatekeeper, asking whether he had seen Esmon.

‘He’s in the buttery, I think. Haven’t you bothered to look there?’

Baldwin bit back the response that was on the tip of his tongue. As a knight, he was unused to being answered in so rude a manner. It was enough to make him grab a sword and teach a lesson in manners but he thought better of it.

He walked to the buttery in a contemplative mood. This castle felt as though it was about to burst into flames like Huward’s mill. Men of all stations were sullen, responded badly to commands, and were slow to obey. It had all the atmosphere of a place that was expecting the figurehead to disappear at any time soon. Baldwin had seen it in other places over the years. When a warrior-group was about to change their leader, there was a period of anticipation and fear beforehand. Pretenders to the power would jostle and bicker for position in the affections of the rank and file men, and as the leader became gradually divorced from them, the men would imperceptibly change their allegiances until the new leader felt his time was ripe.

That was the impression Baldwin got, even in his exhausted state. This castle was shortly to change hands again. Sir Ralph was to be replaced, and by whom else than his own son? There was nothing so potent as the disloyalty of a son who craved power.

The buttery was a smallish room for so large a hall. A broad plank had been set upon two barrels, and Ralph’s son Esmon stood at it, sipping meditatively from a pot of wine. As his eyes lit upon Baldwin, his face lost all mobility. Baldwin had found a frozen man once, up on a high mountain pass while he was travelling on behalf of his Order. The body had a curious potency about it, as though at any time when he warmed, he might leap into life. Baldwin knew that the same was true for Esmon.

‘May I join you?’ he asked.

‘You want wine? You should have asked a servant to draw some for you,’ Esmon replied insolently.

‘You should remember your manners, young sir. The castle is not yet yours.’

‘What does that mean?’

Baldwin was too tired to bother to explain. ‘You killed the miner Wylkyn. Where were you when the girl Mary was murdered?’

‘I was out. Why, do you seek to accuse me of another murder?’

‘I seek only to learn who killed the girl – and to discover where the body of the miner has been hidden.’

‘I have no idea where his corpse is buried.’

‘Buried?’

‘How else could it have been hidden?’

‘A good question,’ Baldwin said. He saw no reason to let Esmon know that he was sure he already knew where the body lay. ‘You haven’t answered my question: where were you when the girl died?’

‘I was hunting with Father. We told you.’

‘And then you came back here together, you said.’

‘Aha. Yes, well, that wasn’t quite true. He left before me. I waited a while before setting off. I was helping some friends empty a wineskin.’

‘Where did he go?’

Esmon smiled. ‘Out on the road where that poor girl was found.’

Baldwin felt physically sick. This boy was deliberately pushing his father forward as the primary suspect. ‘You mean he might have passed that road?’

Esmon seemed to lose interest in the matter. He sipped more wine and stared at the wall. ‘Don’t take my word for it. Ask Elias, the ploughman. He must have seen my father. And the serf Osbert.’

‘I have – and yes, they did see him. They also saw you , at the bottom of the lane.’

‘I didn’t ride along that lane,’ Esmon said immediately. ‘I came up from the tavern. I was there with some of the men, emptying the skin. If you’ve been told I was on Deave Lane, then whoever said that was lying. And one other thing: you don’t like me. I don’t care – but I shall own this castle one day, and when I do, I shall be a powerful man in my own right. Don’t try to thwart me, Sir Baldwin. I could be a bad enemy.’

Baldwin let his amusement show. ‘You try to threaten me? You, a mere child, seek to scare me? I suppose you think that your friends the Despensers will come and save you from any man who dares to stand in your way?’

His laughter stopped and he stepped forward. ‘Remember this, boy. I have been a knight for many years, and I have killed many men, but always in fair combat. I have never needed a party behind me to attack a poor miner on a moorland road. That is the act of a coward.’

He left Esmon, seething with anger that the younger man should have dared to threaten him again, but as he entered the hall, he found his mood changing. He saw Simon and Hugh sitting side by side on benches, both drinking happily enough and joining in with the chorus of a bawdy song sung by a very drunk man-at-arms.