Michael JECKS - The Mad Monk of Gidleigh

Baldwin sat with them, regretting now, as he glanced about him, that he had roused Esmon to anger. A man like him could be a dangerous adversary in a place like this, filled with his own paid men. Any one of the men in this hall could be watching him even now with a speculative eye, waiting until he was asleep so that he could slip a knife in between Baldwin’s shoulder-blades.

A cheery thought. He leaned back against the wall, fixing the men in the room with a suspicious glower, but saw no shame or quick embarrassment. Whoever might have been told to kill him was a good actor – or perhaps no one had been told. Maybe he was simply paranoid, seeing enemies wherever he looked, or maybe he was being sensible. He should stay awake all night just in case, to guard himself and the others.

It was no good. His tiredness was overwhelming. He allowed his eyes to close for just a moment’s peace. Surely that could not be dangerous. Perhaps he could catnap as he used to when he was a young warrior in Acre. Then he could sleep for a half hour and wake refreshed and ready for guard duty. Yes, he would close his eyes for a while, he thought. It could do no harm…

He slept like a man who was practising for death.

It was with a great shock of alarm that he awoke. Like a man who has been startled to full wakefulness in an instant, he jerked upright.

The fire in the middle of the floor was still glowing gently. No one had thought to douse it overnight. Often they would not bother in a great hall like this; there were so many men asleep in here, servants and men-at-arms, that any hazard should be minimal. Now the glowing embers were gleaming.

Baldwin heard a creak, and he turned to the heavy tapestries along the wall, but then he heard another creak. It came from the screens, and he listened carefully. All through the room there were loud snores and grunts and whistles from men who had eaten and drunk too much before collapsing where they sat or lay. Snuffing the air, Baldwin was sure that he must be the only man in the room who was not inebriated. The odour of sour breath reeking with wine and ale was pervasive, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust, but as he did so, he caught a whiff of clean, fresh air.

Rising quickly, he rested his hand on his sword and stepped quietly to the screens. Peering around the frame, he looked at the main doors in the cross passage. The door to the court was slightly open, squeaking gently on its hinges, and Baldwin, having convinced himself that there was no assassin concealed there, went to the door. He opened it and took a deep breath of the clean night air. From the sky, he thought that it was the very last hours of the night. In the morning he would regret this, he told himself. He would be all the more tired for having woken in the middle of the night.

As he shut the door quietly and made his way back to the hall, he had no idea how accurate his forecast was to prove.

True to his gloomy prediction, he woke late, with eyes gritty and his senses dulled from the unwarranted disturbance during the night. He was snappish to Hugh and Simon, both of whom appeared to have thrived on their excesses of the night before. It was a rare occurrence for Simon to be so happy and refreshed after drinking; if Simon were to wake so cheerfully every morning, Baldwin would probably have murdered him by now.

‘Come on, Baldwin. Time we were up.’

‘Leave me in peace,’ he groaned. The room had not yet woken and men lay snoring all about. Most were the castle’s servants, but there were some eleven men-at-arms as well, lying in one corner all together, as though they were huddled for security away from the rest of the castle’s staff. One man was stirring.

‘We have to get a move on.’

‘There’s no hurry.’

‘You’ve forgotten?’

‘Forgotten what?’

‘Baldwin, wake up, in God’s name! The Coroner, remember? He’s collecting the posse of the county to come here.’

‘My God!’

‘I thought that might stir you,’ Simon said with grim satisfaction. ‘He’ll more than likely think we’re being held hostage for ransom. We should collect ourselves and leave before things get out of hand.’

Baldwin nodded and dressed himself as swiftly as he could. His sword he hung on his belt, and with the comfortable weight dangling at his hip he immediately felt much stronger and safer. It was curious, this sense of power and authority that a mere hunk of steel could confer. Baldwin knew that his was an awesome weapon, capable of removing a man’s head in one blow, but that did not alter the fact that here, in this castle, with so many men-at-arms in the pay of Sir Ralph and his son, he was not safe. Any feeling of security that he won by donning his belt was false. Safety lay outside, with Coroner Roger and the men he was gathering.

Hugh had already collected up their small packs and stood with them bound to the long staff he always carried, their weight carefully balanced to be comfortable on his shoulder. He paid no attention to the men all about them, but stood chewing his inner lip like a man who was deep in thought. At least he was no longer suffering from the after-effects of Esmon’s attack.

‘We had best leave now,’ Simon said. He had the same lack of faith in their host. ‘We can break our fast at the inn with the Coroner.’

‘That suits me very well,’ Baldwin said, but even as he and Simon made to walk to the door, Esmon entered. Baldwin saw Hugh’s eyes narrow, and his stance subtly alter, as though he was ready to strike at the knight’s son.

‘You aren’t leaving us already, my lords? Food is on the way, and you would be better served by eating your fill first.’

‘We are seeking your father to thank him for his hospitality,’ Baldwin said.

‘He is in the solar. Would you wish me to call him for you?’

‘No. No, there’s no need to wake him,’ Simon said hurriedly.

‘But you must see him before you leave. Wait until you have broken your fast, for then he shall be risen and ready to wish you Godspeed,’ Esmon said, smiling coldly. ‘You will be safe here,’ he added.

There was little that Simon and Baldwin could do in the face of his polite insistence. Explaining the reason for their departure would hardly be courteous, Baldwin thought, and yet waiting until the posse comitatus arrived was scarcely a better option. They must simply eat quickly, and be gone.

With that resolve, he returned with Simon and Hugh to their bench and waited, but Baldwin noticed that Hugh carefully removed their packs from his staff and set the length of timber well within his reach.

Before very long, servants arrived in the hall and they began to set out the trestles and place the long board tables on top, giving three long rows perpendicular to the great table on the dais where Sir Ralph would sit with his family. Men brought in cloths which they draped over the tables, then more men appeared with bread trenchers. A panter went to the Lord’s table and set out his knives, while another, little more than a boy, took up a bowl and towel and stood waiting, and the steward stood and watched them all with a serious expression on his face, as though daring them to misbehave in his master’s hall. Baldwin was sure that he spent much of his time glaring at the men-at-arms in the corner. They were still all there, standing or sitting, laughing at jokes, a few playing dice.

Obviously feeling that it was no good and must be given up as a bad job, the steward shook his head in apparent disgust, and then twitched aside the tapestry that covered the door to the solar, opening the door and disappearing. A few moments later, he reappeared in the hall, and walked to the corner of the table. There he nodded to a lad who waited at the door to the screens, and Simon saw him walk out.