The Mad Monk of Gidleigh

Chapter Thirty

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!’

Osbert was not of a mood to notice a newcomer. ‘After he’d shoved his pork sword into my mother and got her with child, he fell in love properly.’

‘He married,’ Piers said without thinking, and opened his mouth to welcome his new guest, when Osbert spoke again.

‘No. The bastard fell in love with Huward’s wife. All those children of the miller’s? They’re Sir Ralph’s. Mary, Flora, Ben, and me too. We’re all Sir Ralph’s children.’

Hearing the sharp intake of breath, he looked up, just in time to see the ravaged face of Huward at the doorway.

‘I thought you’d soon be here.’

Esmon stood with a pair of his men-at-arms behind him in the main gatehouse guard room. His hand was still painful, but he found that clenching and unclenching it eased the pain a little, and he was sure that it would only marginally limit his ability to fight if he was forced to draw his sword. Not that there should be any need for that, he thought as he observed Roger Scut at the back of the little band. ‘What, a wounded servant, two watchmen, a cleric, a Keeper and a Bailiff? All to come and speak to me? This is quite a party. What do you want? More wine?’

Simon smiled calmly. ‘You have a reputation, Master Esmon. Men say that you raid and kill on the moors.’

‘Who accuses me? I’ll show my innocence,’ Esmon said offhandedly.

‘You will learn at the next county court. You will be attached.’

‘By you, Bailiff? Oh, I don’t think you have the power.’

‘I think I do, and so does the Coroner and this good Keeper. And since the murder concerns a man going about his business on the moors, a man who mined tin, I have every right to arrest you now and take you to my own court.’

‘I don’t think I’ll submit to that. And what would you want to achieve, anyway? I am a friend of the Despensers. Touch me, and you’ll regret it! Copy that Keeper. He seems content to maintain his dignity with silence. Perhaps you should learn from him, Bailiff.’

Baldwin looked up at that. ‘You think I was keeping quiet? I was only waiting to hear what the good Bailiff had to say.’

‘You’ve heard him.’

‘And I say that you are to be arrested and will be judged by me in my court for breaking the King’s Peace, robbing and ransoming to the detriment of the King’s subjects.’

‘What, nothing of murder?’ Esmon sneered.

‘That was a crime committed outside my jurisdiction, but the good Bailiff has accused you already.’

‘So do you intend to steal me away even now?’ Esmon demanded, and his anger was unfeigned. These people had come here and taken advantage of his father’s hospitality, and now they dared to accuse him! It was against all the rules of chivalry to behave so rudely. ‘I suppose you would like me to put on sackcloth and ashes?’

‘No, but I would like to hear you apologise for trying to ride me down in the road,’ Simon said.

‘What?’

‘It was you who rode at me and struck my servant here instead because he tried to save me.’

‘I was riding on a road – if your servant got in my way, that’s not my concern.’

Baldwin, who was watching Simon, saw the Bailiff’s smile subtly alter. Now only Simon’s bottom teeth showed, and that, as Baldwin knew, was an infallible sign that Simon’s temper was about to snap. He interrupted quickly. ‘Esmon, you knocked Hugh here aside and could have killed him. If it was an accident, it should be no trouble to apologise.’

‘I certainly think it was a shame I hit him,’ Esmon said, eyeing Simon with cold anger.

‘Good,’ Baldwin said hastily. ‘And now we can see the carter and Coroner Roger’s men released.’

‘No. They were found near a farmhouse where someone had robbed a woman. Until my father speaks to them and determines their innocence or guilt, they have to remain here, I fear.’

‘They shall be released,’ Simon said, slapping his sword hilt. Baldwin caught his elbow to stop him marching forward.

‘They stay here, Bailiff, and they’ll only be released when my father says so,’ Esmon replied. ‘I don’t know why you think you can claim authority over my father’s court, but he takes such arrogance badly.’

Baldwin heard a noise, and glancing over his shoulder, saw more men walking in through the doorway and fanning out to encircle Simon and him. ‘So you refuse?’

‘Certainly I do. These three were found near a theft. What would you do, Keeper? Let them run wild?’

‘Will you surrender to our safekeeping for the murder of the man Wylkyn?’

A woman’s voice called sharply, ‘What is all this about?’

Esmon could have sworn aloud. ‘Mother, please leave us.’

‘I asked what this was all about. Why are our guests in here surrounded like felons?’

‘These guests, as you call them, want to arrest me.’

‘Because of Wylkyn?’ Lady Annicia walked in like a lady, but her deportment was not quite as smooth as when she was completely sober. Baldwin could smell the wine on her breath. She glanced at Baldwin and Simon with a perturbed frown. ‘He was a terrible man, though. He killed Sir Richard Prouse, you know, and then he drew a knife against poor Esmon too. Last week he tried to hurt my son when he met him on the road, and Esmon defended himself. That is all.’

‘It would be, perhaps, if Esmon had not led a raiding party to rob the carters and kill Wylkyn, and it would be easier to believe if the body of Wylkyn hadn’t disappeared afterwards,’ Simon said. His attention was still fixed on Esmon, keeping an eye on the youth’s hands in case he tried to draw a sword.

‘I would like to offer you wine, will you come to the hall?’ Lady Annicia said. ‘I am sure that we can discuss this more sensibly without the need for raised voices.’

‘Not until we have seen the men being held,’ Baldwin said firmly. ‘My Lady, please command your men to open that door.’

‘Very well.’

‘Mother, I…’

‘Esmon, you may go to the hall and arrange for wine to be served while we await your father’s return.’

‘I…’

‘Go. Now!’

He reluctantly submitted and pushed his way through all the men in the room. Outside, he let out his breath in an angry gust. It was infuriating that she had arrived just then. There was no telling what she might do to calm the Bailiff. Esmon had hoped that he might be able to taunt the man into an indiscreet action, pulling a knife or sword. With all the men there, he wouldn’t have got two feet before falling under all their blows, and the rest would have been cowed and fearful after such an outburst, but now he didn’t know what would happen.

Huward entered the barn, his attention fixed on Osbert with an expression that made Os shiver as though someone had walked over his grave. It was a dead face, as though Huward had already lost his soul and was staring into the pit of Hell.

‘Huward, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were there.’

Standing a little inside the doorway, Huward showed no emotion. He didn’t speak; he couldn’t. The discovery of his wife’s deceit and disloyalty had snapped something inside him. It felt as though his entire life had been a sham. He had believed in his wife, in her love, in her devotion – and in his children. To learn that the children might not be his own, that was too much to bear. Although he had spent the night with Surval trying to come to grips with this, to see how he could rebuild his life and make peace with his wife, the more he considered how she had lied to him over the years, the more he felt that he couldn’t go back.

This conclusion he had reached as he walked about during the morning after leaving Surval at dawn. He had not been hungry, and the idea of food made him feel physically sick. Perhaps he could have gone back to his mill, confronted his wife, demanded to know if it were true – but no. It could serve no useful purpose. All it could do was harm the memory of his Mary and hurt poor Flora. Ben would survive, and Gilda would probably be granted a pension from Sir Ralph, the bastard! No, Flora didn’t deserve to be hurt. And she might still be his own daughter. Gilda couldn’t know which was Sir Ralph’s and which was Huward’s child.

All had been a little early, he recalled for the thousandth time. All had been delivered two to three weeks before their usual term. Did that mean he had been cuckolded perfectly and that all were Sir Ralph’s? That thought was like a screw tightening about his forehead, squeezing and making his brain work more slowly.

He had come here to see Piers to tell him that he would leave the area and seek his fortune in another town, because at least that way his remaining daughter might not learn and have to suffer the shame of being pointed at by all the other folk. She might still be his daughter. Ben, he cared less for. The boy had been a pleasing son until he changed a year or more ago, and since then he had grown sharp, bitter, unkind. Perhaps he would improve in later years, if Huward wasn’t here.

But Os’s words showed he was already too late. He wanted to save the family shame, but the whole vill knew. Os knew, Piers knew, and in a vill like this that meant surely everyone must soon know. There was no escape, only scandal and utter disgrace.

In his breast he felt the welling horror of dishonour. His heart seemed to harden to stone, a massy object in a body now suddenly emptied of all emotion other than all-consuming grief.

‘Huward, old friend, I am so sorry you had to learn like this,’ Piers was saying, and more in the same vein, but Huward, when he looked at him, wondered only whether Piers had cuckolded him too.

There were some husbands who happily sold their wives as whores, he knew, but that was whoring with the husband’s consent, to help provide for a family in sore straits, like during the famine years. But his wife had never mentioned spreading herself for the knight. She’d probably done it for all the men in the Hundred. If she’d betrayed him with one man, why not a thousand? He could never trust her again.

‘Do you want some food, Huward? Ale?’

‘Leave me alone!’ he suddenly roared as Piers put a hand to his shoulder. The miller lifted his arm and knocked the Reeve’s arm away. It had felt like a snake’s bite. Loathsome, then poisonous. It was repellent, this mental venom. There was no one, no man he could trust in the whole vill.

‘Huward, I…’

‘Leave me. Leave me to die. I want nothing more from this place!’

Piers felt as though his heart must rip apart with compassion as he stood in the doorway and watched Huward lumbering down the road towards his home. ‘Huward,’ he said again, but it was just a whisper. He couldn’t do anything. There was nothing any man could do to protect Huward. His life was ruined.

‘Sweet Mother of God!’ Osbert said, and covered his face with his hands. ‘He’s dead, already dead. Did you see his face? Jesus, save us all! My father has much to answer for!’

‘He has much to answer for,’ Piers repeated in agreement.

Sir Ralph found the place lying peaceful and calm as the sun dipped down behind the hills. He tied his horse’s reins to a sapling and entered with a feeling of trepidation, wondering whether Huward would be there. If he was, Sir Ralph was not sure how he might react.

It was hard. If he could have stopped himself, if Gilda could have, he would. Until he met her, he had enjoyed many of the women in the area, for they had no clerk to help them bring a suit against their legal owner, and when he wanted to slake his lusts, he could do so with almost any of them, but then he had grown to know Gilda, and that woman had turned his heart and stopped his whoring. He had watched Gilda grow to maturity, and he had been besotted.

She had been utterly different. Long-legged, tall, elegant as a young filly, and with a spark in her eye, she had attracted all the men for miles around. He had known that he must possess her, and she was nothing loath. They had begun meeting, and remained lucky, for she had not succumbed to pregnancy, but they couldn’t continue for ever and Annicia would have been very difficult if she had learned that he was whoring about so near to their home, so Sir Ralph had hit upon the scheme of making his mistress legitimate in his own way. He couldn’t marry her himself, but he could share her.

The idea was marvellous in its simplicity. He had often noticed the miller watching her with more than a little interest. A man notices another’s lustful glances at his woman. At first she had declared her reluctance, but she couldn’t live in the castle with him. Something must be done, and at least Sir Ralph could make her life easier than for most other women. One day, Sir Ralph broached the subject with Huward and told him that he thought she would accept him, saying that Sir Ralph himself would offer a sizeable dowry, and Huward had been embarrassingly grateful.

It had led to problems. She had been furious at first, demanding to know what he meant by giving her away to someone she found tedious, but eventually she agreed to follow his plan. The row had been furious like a summer fire on the moors, but when it burned out, they both enjoyed the slow making up.

For the next seventeen years, that was that. His daughters and son were born, and he and Gilda enjoyed their illicit liaison at every opportunity. Huward was delighted to have been told by his master to marry the most attractive wench in the vill, and she grew to agree that Sir Ralph’s choice had been good. Huward was a good man, a kind and never overbearing father, a diligent worker, and an undemanding lover. He never had any clue that he was being cuckolded.

Now all that was gone. All was at risk. Annicia was furious. Well, it was no surprise, but he had to confess the reason for his misery over Mary’s death. Annicia had accused him of being Mary’s lover and getting her pregnant. That accusation was so repugnant that Sir Ralph retaliated by confessing his affair with Gilda.

Poor Mary. She had been the image of her mother. Tall and slender as a willow-wand, soft, gentle, kind even to that half-brained cretin Sampson. And now no more. Gone, like a dandelion clock in a gust. It felt as though a part of him had been destroyed, like a slow stab-wound in his belly, a raking agony that wouldn’t mend.

All this passed through his mind as he bent beneath the lintel and glanced inside. There he saw Ben sitting at a bench with a large pitcher of ale before him. The boy stood, uncomfortable in the presence of the Knight, shooting a look at his mother, who sat near the hearth on a stool, watching the flames.

‘You, boy – out!’

Ben curled his lip, and Sir Ralph could have sworn he heard an oath, but then he sauntered from the place.

‘Gilda? Are you all right?’ he asked softly.

She looked across the room at him. Her face was ravaged, her eyes dull, all light dimmed. Where once she had been taut and firm, now she was a haggard bag of flesh that sagged. ‘So you came at last.’

‘I wanted to come before, but how could I while he was here? He’s gone?’

‘He didn’t come back here after your court. What did you do, taunt him with the facts of my infidelity? Did you say to him how good I was in bed for you, like some whore from the stews?’

‘Nothing, I swear it! I told him nothing at all.’

She sighed, a sound that shuddered like a sob, and picked up ash, letting it trickle through her fingers. ‘I don’t care. If he knows and comes back and kills me, it doesn’t matter. There is nothing for me to live for now. He will call me whore, reject my children, and maybe sell me to his friends to make their sport as they will. What is there for me? Ashes and dust. That’s all we all win in the end, isn’t it? I should never have married him – he deserved better.’

‘Don’t speak like this, my love, my darling. You are my only love, is there nothing I can–’

‘Keep away from me! This is all your doing! You wanted me although you were to marry that cold bitch for her lands, and to possess me, to make me whore for you, you gave me to another, so we could cuckold him – a good, kind man who didn’t deserve it, just so you could enjoy yourself with me.’

‘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.’