A Friar's bloodfeud

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Baldwin entered the chapel silently.

It was a small place, only the one room, perhaps twelve feet by twenty, with a door to the left which no doubt led to a small chamber where the priest would sit and sleep. For the rest, it was an empty space with some patterned tiles set into the floor, and a small, low table at the far end for an altar. The cross wasn’t gold, but it was a good pewter, maybe, and had been polished until it gleamed like silver. Over the table was a good quality altar cloth, with gold threads stitched into it. All in all, it was a pleasant little chapel, and the pictures on all the walls livened the atmosphere.

Still, it was very quiet, and he began to be aware of a certain unease.

At the wall to his left was a large chest, and he walked to it and threw it open. Inside was all the paraphernalia of a priest, from his robe to his alb, with a book laid on top. He shut the lid again, glancing at the room anew. ‘Hello?’ he called, but there was no reply.

On hearing his shout, Simon opened the door and peered in. ‘Where’s the priest, then?’

‘A good question, Simon. Out, perhaps, seeing a parishioner …’ Baldwin stopped speaking suddenly. He strode to the altar, where he had noticed a parcel wrapped in a large square of cloth. Unwrapping it, he found a shirt, some bread and some dried meat. ‘What is this? A pack made up for a journey?’

Simon was at the inner door and now he called to Baldwin. ‘I think I’ve found the priest.’

Baldwin caught his tone of voice and crossed to his side. ‘My God.’

The coroner arrived at the hall in a bad temper.

He had expected the lights to be on and a welcome from his host, since he had obeyed Sir Geoffrey’s commands — or, rather, suggestions. They were of equal rank, after all.

But there was no knight, no men-at-arms, only a couple of old fools who seemed to know nothing. Their master was gone out, and all the others had gone with him. How thoughtful of Sir Geoffrey!

‘Damn his eyes. I ought to have gone home and not buggered about here. What’s the point?’ he muttered to himself, and a good deal more besides. He demanded wine, and the servants fetched him some in a hurry, as though they feared him almost as much as their master. So be it! If they were so easily cowed, that was fine by him. He sank the first jugful; then, as the level of the second began to fall, he started to feel rather more optimistic.

He was here as the king’s representative, and if Sir Geoffrey had some scheme afoot which would allow him to fleece the locals, so much the better. So long as he paid his friend the local coroner. And he would! Oh yes! If he’d been committing murder for his own advantage, he would soon come to appreciate that it was in his best interests to look after his friends. Especially if he wanted those friends to help protect him from the consequences of his actions.

And still more especially if he didn’t want his friends to try to remove him from this lucrative little manor and take it for themselves.

Sir Geoffrey was soon inside the little chamber with them, Edgar ever present behind him.

‘Who can have done this?’ he gasped.

‘A good question,’ Baldwin commented. ‘You have the coroner on his way already, I believe? It is good. He will need to speak to everyone in the area.’

‘Who’d kill a priest like old Isaac?’ Sir Geoffrey said with a shake of his head.

If he had not been so suspicious of the man, Baldwin might have been inclined to take his words at their face value. As matters stood, though, he was not of a mood to trust Sir Geoffrey. He moved about the corpse, gazing intently at the old man’s body. ‘There is no apparent wound. Perhaps …’ He pulled open the dead mouth and stared in at the yellowed teeth and tongue.

‘What are you doing?’ Sir Geoffrey demanded with distaste. ‘You defile the man’s body!’

‘I am seeking to learn how he could have died,’ Baldwin said impatiently. ‘It wasn’t an obvious poison, Edgar. No marks on the flesh, and he has not bitten his tongue in agony. If anything, I’d say his ending was happy.’

‘Happy!’ Sir Geoffrey snorted disdainfully. ‘How can a man’s death be happy?’

‘If he has lived many good years,’ Baldwin said ruminatively, ‘and he has enjoyed them, and he has known that at the completion of his time on earth the good Lord would take him to His bosom, then I think you could say his end was happy.’

‘He’s been murdered by that man le Poter. I expect this poor priest refused to offer sanctuary to a killer of widows. When the priest denied him, he turned on him.’

‘And felt so remorseful that he set the dead man on his bed like this, with his arms crossed, I suppose?’ Baldwin demanded contemptuously. ‘If you have a brain, Sir Geoffrey, please begin to use it. Besides, where is the wound that ended his life? Simon, could you help me to turn him over?’

Reluctantly, Simon took hold of the frail old shoulder and pushed.

‘See?’ Baldwin said delightedly. ‘No wound. Plainly this was no murder, but a simple death of old age. May all our deaths be as gentle.’

‘What is that?’ Sir Geoffrey asked, eyeing the pack which Simon and Baldwin had left on the floor by the doorway.

‘That? Only a parcel I found near the altar.’

‘It’s Nicholas’s shirt. He has been here. Perhaps he sought to rob the church as well as kill the priest. He is entirely evil!’

‘He is a man like any other,’ Baldwin remonstrated. ‘He entered, he found the priest dead, and he fled.’

‘Why should he bolt if he had nothing to hide?’

‘A man may have nothing to hide and yet still be wary of allowing himself to be caught by a posse bent on his destruction,’ Baldwin said dismissively.

‘You suggest my posse was …’

Baldwin looked at him for a long moment, then turned on his heel and left the chapel.

Humphrey tried to yawn. It seemed the natural thing to do, after waking from sleep, but even as he opened his mouth the pain shot from his temple to his jaw, and he hiccuped in pain.

‘Oh! Oh! God in Heaven, ow!’

‘Think yourself lucky, friend. You could have been struck with a knife instead.’

Opening an eye cautiously, Humphrey found himself staring at a rock.

The voice continued conversationally. ‘Of course, if you had been killed outright, it might have saved you a not inconsiderable amount of grief for the future.’

Humphrey winced. The voice was educated, and that could well bode badly for the future. ‘Um. We are all here in this miserable existence for our allotted time. We can all expect sadness and pain.’

There was a chuckle. ‘Ah, but a man who pretends to be a priest? He can be made to suffer dreadfully, can’t he?’

Humphrey tried to move his arms and found that he was effectively bound. A thong or cord tied him at the elbows, and his ankles were similarly restrained. He lifted his head and turned to face his gaoler. ‘I am a priest.’

‘No, I don’t think so. And nor do many others about here. Especially Matthew, who felt sure you were out to take advantage of poor Isaac. In fact he thought you were probably after the silver from the chapel. I’m surprised you didn’t bother to take all the altar trappings. The cloth would be worth a few shillings, and the cross too.’

‘I am no thief!’ Humphrey declared, managing to affect a tone of righteous indignation that he scarcely felt. He was glad now that he hadn’t tried to shove the chalice in his pack when he left. It had been tempting, God alone knew.

‘Oddly enough, you apparently are not.’ Friar John stood and walked to a small cauldron that sat over the fire. He stirred the pottage and sniffed at it appreciatively. ‘And yet you are not a priest, either, are you? So my interest in you is greater than it would normally be.’

‘Why do you say that? I can speak the Pater Noster as well as any, and I can …’

‘Oh, yes — so I have heard.’

‘Then there is no reason for you to keep me tied up like this, Brother. Release me and let me go on my way. If you’re so attached to your supper that you won’t share it with another poor sinner, then set me free so that I can pick up what I may from other people who are more gracious and charitable,’ Humphrey said with a note of indignation. He felt he had pitched the tone just right, and even this daft old sermon-gabbler would see the justification in his demand. There was no point in keeping an innocent man here. ‘Come, there is no harm done, apart from my broken head, and I won’t demand compensation for that. Clearly you thought that there was a draw-latch trying to break into your …’

He remembered where he was all of a sudden, and peered about him in the gloom.

‘Ah, you are perhaps wondering what a shod friar is doing down here?’ John asked amiably. He looked over at his prisoner and smiled gently. ‘That, you see, is the interesting point and the reason why you must remain here as my guest for a little while.’

‘I will not!’

‘Oh, you may shout all you want, Humphrey, but you won’t be released. Apart from anything else, I want to know what you are doing out here, so far from your little chapel. Did Father Isaac see you putting your hand into a pot of money that you should not have?’

‘Of course not! I told you, I am no thief!’

‘So you did.’ John turned his attention back to the pottage. ‘I do hope you are not, my friend, because if you are, I shall see it as my duty to turn you over to the secular authorities. I understand that they can be a little unkind so far from the city.’

‘Brother, no … please!’

‘I will wait. There is no hurry.’

‘But I cannot stay here like this, Brother! Please, set me loose so that I can continue on my way.’

‘I should like to — but I fear that my companion would become most upset if I released you.’

‘But why?’

‘Because he wishes to remain hidden for a little while. He must be unseen.’

‘I’ll not tell anyone!’ Humphrey gabbled quickly. He had suddenly realised who this friar must be: a member of an outlaw gang. This associate of his must be another outlaw, and perhaps the fellow would seek to silence anyone who saw his face, or who knew where they had their camp. Sweet Jesus! It was enough to make a man weep! He’d done nothing, and now his life was to be cast aside just because he had come here to a quiet building to seek shelter for a night.

‘Oh, no!’ John said affably. ‘How could we permit you to go without experiencing our hospitality?’

The Keeper was thoughtful as he climbed back on to his mount. He glanced across at Simon, who was watching Sir Geoffrey with a cold, flickering suspicion in his eyes. ‘Simon? Are you all right?’

‘It’s possible that he’s the man who got Hugh killed,’ Simon said.

He was calm enough, but Baldwin could feel the waves of rage. ‘Simon, do nothing foolish. You have no evidence. If we can find it, I swear, I shall see him in court myself.’

‘I don’t want him in court — I want him dead, if he killed Hugh.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘I can understand that. I swear to you, I shall help you if it is at all possible.’

Edgar joined them and sat easily on his horse with his customary half-grin. Simon shot a glance at him and looked away. He was aware that Edgar had been a close friend of Hugh’s, so he knew he must miss him, but just now the man’s expression was almost sardonic. Yes, there was a cold gleam in his eyes, and Simon was sure that he’d be the first to make Hugh’s killer pay, but just now he scarcely seemed to care that Hugh was dead.

When he turned away, he caught a glimpse of the hound master. The man was scowling at a pair of his brutes, who were sniffing and nuzzling at the ground. Simon jerked with his chin in the direction of the hounds, and Baldwin nodded. ‘They’ve got his scent.’

‘Sir Geoffrey! Sir Geoffrey!’

The knight came from the chapel and stood glaring about him, seeking the source of the call.

‘Sir, I think they have him again!’

Sir Geoffrey ran to his horse and climbed up as the first of the hounds began to bay. As the other beasts took up the call, Simon and Baldwin were soon caught up in a fresh chase. The mass of men and horses began to mill about the chapel’s yard, and then, as the hounds set off northwards, they leaped the low fence and set off in pursuit.

Over the fields they pounded, and Simon ignored a growing soreness on his left inner thigh from all the riding he’d done recently as he gave himself up to the pleasure of pursuit. The wind caught at his hair and it whipped about like a short mane, while his cloak tugged at his throat, snapping and cracking. There was another field, and a taller hedge this time, and he leaned forward as he felt the rounsey gather himself and surge as he rose over it; Simon just had time to force himself back before the beast’s legs struck the solid earth at the other side, slamming Simon back against the cantle. It caught him slightly askew, the top raking along his left buttock, and the pain flared for a moment, but then he was concentrating on the race again.

All was forgotten in the mad rush forward, because few if any of the men remembered what they were here for now — they were lost in the excitement of the gallop. Simon had a moment of sudden clarity: all the men here were the same felons and cut-throats whom Baldwin and he had been warned of by Malkin and Isabel. When they found the man they hunted he would stand no chance against them, even if Baldwin and Simon tried to stop them stringing him up forthwith.

Those who would have restrained the posse, the local villeins, were too few, and they would hardly dare to thwart Sir Geoffrey and his hirelings. Looking about him, Simon was aware of a quickening concern about what might shortly happen.

At a rough bellow, the horses left the straight path they had taken, and slipped right to the road again. A low fence and hedge, wait for the horse to bunch up his muscles … now! The rounsey soared up as lightly as a blackbird, and Simon felt a fleeting satisfaction before they came to earth again. This time he was better prepared and his backside didn’t suffer. His thigh was giving him grief, though, and he had to resettle himself in the saddle as they sped along.

The noise was deafening. In his ears was the constant swish and whoom of the wind, but even over that there was the clamour of a cavalry charge, the squeaking and rasping of leather against leather, the clashing of metal, the ringing of chains, the dreadful, persistent roaring of the hooves. No one hoofbeat could be distinguished; all was merged in a single, continuous, mind-numbing thud that seemed to last for ever. The only thing that mattered was staying on his horse, not falling and being crushed by the men and beasts behind him. More men died in fast horse races than in murders, he had heard once, and he could easily believe it.

He could see the buildings of Iddesleigh now. The clump of irregular houses seemed to shine in the darkness, their limewash glowing like starlight, thatch gleaming softly grey. And then Simon saw where the hounds were leading.

Baldwin was still at his side, and Simon could see that he wore an expression of fixed determination.

The whole posse turned up before the inn, and their horses stood stamping and blowing as the hounds jumped the rotten old fence into the churchyard, whining and pawing at the door.

Simon dropped from his mount and strode to the gate, but Sir Geoffrey was there before him.

‘You have no jurisdiction here, Bailiff,’ Sir Geoffrey stated.

‘But I do,’ Baldwin declared coolly. ‘I am not sure that you do.’

‘Whatever you think, this is a matter for the local court,’ Sir Geoffrey snapped. ‘He’s my man, and I’ll have him tried in my court.’

‘He may be guilty of murder, and I’ll have him tried in the king’s court,’ Baldwin responded.

‘With all my men here you try to dictate to me?’ Sir Geoffrey asked. He set his head on one side as though contemplating Baldwin with interest. ‘I think you don’t realise how matters are arranged here in the country, Sir Baldwin.’

‘I know well enough!’

Simon could see that Sir Geoffrey’s men were starting to encircle Baldwin. One was about to stand behind him when there was a cracking sound, and he disappeared. In his place stood Edgar with a heavy branch in his hand, which he discarded with a happy smile fixed to his face. The smile remained even as he drew his sword from its sheath.

Baldwin had left his own blade in the scabbard, but he hooked his thumbs into his belt as Sir Geoffrey leaned forward.

‘Out of my path, Sir Baldwin. This is my quarry. We thank you,’ he added, ‘for your help in running him to earth! But he is ours, not yours. Leave him to us.’

Baldwin looked at all the men before him. He did not move to draw his sword, but met the eyes of all those who stood facing him. ‘I am the Keeper of the King’s Peace. You all know that,’ he said, and then added in his loudest voice: ‘I call on all the villagers of Iddesleigh to protect their church from attack by men from another parish. I call upon you to support the king’s Keeper of the Peace!’

‘You can’t do that!’ Sir Geoffrey rasped. His hand was on his sword hilt now. ‘If you think a few pissy villeins can stop me, you’re …’

The rest of his words were lost. As he spoke, there was the sound of hooves from the south and west. Suddenly, up the hill from Fishleigh, there appeared a force of men.

Simon eyed them doubtfully. If this fresh force was arriving to support their neighbours, even if all the villagers came out to support Baldwin they must be cowed by such an armed host. The men reined in as they reached the church, circling the group at the door.

At their head was an older man, slightly short, badly scarred on one side of his face, who stood in his saddle and gazed about him as though he was surprised to see so many men already there. ‘Is this a fair? Is there a party? What can all these men be doing on my lands without asking permission, I wonder?’

Sir Geoffrey cursed under his breath, and Simon realised that this new group must be his enemies.

‘Sir Odo. God’s blessings on you. It is good to see you,’ Sir Geoffrey said as though the words were poison in his mouth.

‘Yes,’ Sir Odo said indulgently. He had a mild manner and a happy smile on his face as he spoke. ‘I am sure it is. So tell me, Sir Geoffrey. Is there something about my manor that I can help you with? I don’t think I have heard of so many men on my lands since … oh, since you visited my bailiff last Saturday. He’s back home now, you know. And will stay there.’

‘This is a different matter entirely,’ Sir Geoffrey said. ‘The poor Lady Lucy of Meeth. You know she has been found? Murdered and thrown into a mire?

‘On Sir Geoffrey’s land,’ Edgar added helpfully.

Sir Odo appeared to notice him for the first time. He gave a small frown as he took in his appearance, and then looked over Baldwin. ‘I believe we have met, sir?’

‘At Lord Hugh de Courtenay’s castle in Tiverton,’ Baldwin agreed, bowing.

‘Of course. You are the Keeper from Crediton? And I saw you in Exeter at the last court of gaol delivery. You were a Justice then.’

‘I was. And I am here to apprehend a man who was once in Sir Geoffrey’s household, but appears to have run to the nearest place of sanctuary.’

‘You think he killed the widow Lucy?’

‘It is possible,’ Baldwin admitted. ‘Although we shall only learn the truth if we are permitted to question him fairly in a court, or if he confesses.’

‘He will confess,’ Sir Geoffrey grated.

‘That is no concern of yours,’ Baldwin said.

‘He is my man!’

‘But he is not in your jurisdiction now. He is on Sir Odo’s lands. Also, he is in the church, which means he has the rights of sanctuary. Until there is a coroner here, he is the king’s man, and I will not have him removed by you.’

‘Please, Sir Baldwin,’ Sir Geoffrey said graciously, bowing. ‘Would you stand aside that I may at least speak to him first? Perhaps I can persuade him to come out.’

‘No,’ Baldwin said flatly. ‘I shall speak to him alone.’

‘I could make you move,’ Sir Geoffrey growled.

‘I could demand the support of Sir Odo.’

Sir Geoffrey glanced up at his neighbour, and hesitated. ‘Very well,’ he said with as much grace as he could muster. ‘If you wish to speak to him, so be it. The coroner will be here before long, I expect. He was only a short way from here, I believe. Surely your prisoner will be taken off your hands as soon as possible.’

‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin said. ‘And now, Simon, Edgar, let us speak to this unfortunate man.’