A Friar's bloodfeud

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Nicholas watched them walk in with the terror of a man who knew he was facing death. He couldn’t stop his arms from shaking, and as he gripped the altar cloth with his fists, kneeling at the side of it, the golden cross reflecting the light from the candles and bathing him in a rich glow, he felt none of the calmness that the Church used to offer him.

He knew who was outside. There was no mistaking that rough, coarse voice. Anyone who knew Sir Geoffrey would recognise that mixture of bullying and swearing. The row made by the horses and men arriving had been one thing, but listening to his old master threatening the knight in the gateway, that was another. And finally he’d heard more horses, and that was when Nicholas knew he was dead. He was convinced that it was a second force of Sir Geoffrey’s men. It never occurred to him that it could be Sir Odo — someone who might save him.

But the thought of saving him was far from anyone’s mind in here, he saw as he took in the expressions on Baldwin’s and Simon’s faces. The two men walked in, Edgar waiting near the doorway, and even as Nicholas glanced at the priest nearby, he was already sure that these men would see him destroyed. Foreigners wouldn’t trust his word. Why should they?

‘Father,’ Baldwin said quietly. ‘I have kept those men all outside for now, but until there is more sensible protection, do you mind if I remain here myself?’

‘Of course not.’

Jeanne was at the rear of the nave, and she walked down to the altar now, a jug of wine in one hand, four cups in the other. ‘I hope a little wine will refresh you?’

‘Jeanne! What are you doing here?’

‘I saw this man arrive, husband. I was able to help him a little. Don’t worry, Richalda is at the inn.’

‘With Emma?’

Jeanne smiled. ‘With Jankin’s wife. She is good with children and Richalda is playing with someone her own age. For the first time in a while she isn’t bored.’

Baldwin glanced at the priest as he took a cup from his wife. ‘The coroner will be here before long, I hope, but for now, do you object to my questioning this man?’

Matthew shook his head and waved his hand as though to invite Baldwin to begin. Jeanne passed him a cup too, and soon the men were all drinking from their cups, except for Nicholas. He sat with his head hanging, eyes wide with fear.

Baldwin faced him. ‘Your name?’

‘I am called Nicholas le Poter.’

‘You have come here to seek sanctuary?’

‘They’d kill me else! You can see that.’

‘They say that you murdered this Lady Lucy of Meeth.’

‘It was nothing to do with me! I don’t think I ever saw her, let alone harmed her! Sir, you must believe me! What would I do with a woman like her? I’m just a man who lives by his hands, nothing else. She wouldn’t even look at a man like me.’

‘She was taken on the road from her manor when she had a man with her. The person who killed her is responsible for two lives,’ Baldwin said. ‘I am Keeper of the King’s Peace, and I must learn who did this. Also, we know that Ailward was murdered, and the family of Hugh Shepherd from near to this place. I would discover who might be responsible.’

‘You want to know who was responsible? Ask Sir Geoffrey. He could have desired Lady Lucy. Perhaps he tried to make her wed him? And the man Hugh, he died on the night that Sir Geoffrey had led his men against Sir Odo’s sergeant, Robert Crokers. Maybe he sent some other men up to this man Hugh’s house and killed them?’

‘Why would he do that?’

‘Because he’s terrified that he’s going to be removed from the manor! A stronger man will soon take the notice of Lord Despenser. If someone was to replace him here, what would happen to Sir Geoffrey? There’d be nowhere for him to go. So all he can do is try to remove anyone who shows an ounce of initiative, and then take over their ideas to increase the wealth of the manor. He’s done it before, and he’ll do it again. I have no doubt.’

Simon rasped ‘What of the man Hugh?’

‘Him? He was up here on Sir Odo’s lands, wasn’t he? If Sir Geoffrey wanted the favour of the Lord Despenser, he’d increase the lands he controls. If he could, he’d take this man Hugh’s lands in the name of his master. Just as he’d take Lady Lucy’s.’

‘A mere bully trying to increase his master’s estates by theft?’ Baldwin murmured.

‘It has been known,’ Edgar said.

Something in his tone made Baldwin and Simon turn. There, in the doorway, facing Edgar, was Sir Geoffrey. A short distance behind him stood Sir Odo.

At the sight, Nicholas felt he must choke. The expression on Sir Geoffrey’s face was adequate proof of his mood: he was in the blackest temper imaginable. There was no escaping those small, keen, grey eyes. Nicholas tried to look away at Sir Baldwin, but he found the Keeper’s eyes too intense too, as though he trusted no one, and that by merely looking at Nicholas he had seen through to the depths of his soul. The man with him, the bailiff, was hardly better, with his pale complexion and staring eyes. The only man in the church who looked on him kindly was the priest — and Sir Odo. Nicholas knew why, though. ‘My enemy’s enemy is my friend,’ he had once heard Sir Odo say, and it made good sense. That was the sort of rule that he could understand. Now Sir Odo looked at him in a friendly manner, which was in sharp contrast to the expression he wore as he turned back to Sir Geoffrey.

‘This is outrageous! I demand that you leave this man alone until the coroner is here!’ Sir Geoffrey blustered.

‘There is no need. I am only asking some questions,’ Baldwin said.

‘There is every need. The interrogation should take place in front of the jury.’

‘In your back room?’ Sir Odo asked with a cynical lift in his eyebrow.

Sir Geoffrey stared at him. ‘There is nothing out there I need be ashamed of.’

‘Of course not,’ Sir Odo agreed suavely. ‘No, no! It would be terrible to suggest such a thing.’

‘I demand that you leave this man here now. I shall post men to guard him through the night to be sure he is held until the coroner comes. If he wishes to abjure the realm and save us all a lot of time, he can do so then. For now he should be kept quiet and secure.’

‘I agree,’ Baldwin said. ‘I shall remain here with him.’

‘That would be much better, Sir Baldwin,’ Sir Odo said, adding simply, ‘and this is my parish, my manor. I shall decide, Sir Geoffrey, who shall remain here to protect the man.’

‘I didn’t say “protect”,’ Sir Geoffrey snarled.

‘No. But I did,’ Odo said, this time a little more pointedly. ‘I see it as my duty to keep him safe and alive until the coroner can question him. That is what I shall do. So, with your leave, Sir Baldwin, I shall go and seek some men who can guard this place. You will not object to more men to back you up?’

Baldwin smiled. ‘Not at all.’

‘Do you accuse me of something?’ Sir Geoffrey asked.

‘Not I,’ Baldwin said mildly.

‘What of you?’ Sir Geoffrey said, staring straight at Nicholas.

‘Sir! What do you want me to say? That I will rather go to the gallows than denounce you? Then I do accuse you! I accuse you of the murder of the Lady Lucy of Meeth, and of the murder of the little family here in Iddesleigh. And I will repeat this before the coroner. I swear, sirs, I am innocent of these murders, and that man is guilty.’

At the chapel, it took Perkin and Beorn some little while to tidy the corpse.

‘What are we doing this for, anyway?’ Beorn grumbled. ‘Have we become the church’s unpaid fossors? I ought to be home. Look! It’s dark already, and it’ll be light soon enough. I need to go and sleep.’

‘Stop your grumbling and help,’ Perkin said unsympathetically. ‘We may as well get him ready. We’ll have to get him to the church tomorrow, no matter what time you want to sleep.’

That was the trouble, of course. The chapel had no churchyard for the dead. Its open space was dedicated to the living, for it was where the vill’s people would gather on May days and festivals. For a serious matter, like a burial, they had to carry the poor corpse up to Iddesleigh where the church could arrange for a funeral and interment.

Usually it was a rather tedious job, wrapping the dead body and hauling it all that way on a cart, but it was easier than others. A travelling man had once told Perkin that in Dartmoor one parish was so vast that the poor folk of the moors had to walk miles to the nearest church. It was easy to believe. The Church had no interest in where a man might live, nor who his lord was. For the Church the only issue that mattered was the location of the nearest legal church. Churches owned their own lands and protected them as greedily and passionately as any local magnate.

At least poor old Isaac had been so old and desiccated that he would weigh little to transport. And they’d be able to borrow a cart from someone. Nobody would grudge old Isaac his last journey in comfort.

‘Where’s that little runt who was with him, though?’ Perkin asked as they finished. ‘Surely Isaac must have died a while ago. But I haven’t seen Humphrey since he viewed Lady Lucy’s body. Have you?’

‘I know my little Anna said she saw him going up the road after our supper tonight, but that can’t be right.’

‘Why?’

‘He’d have seen old Isaac, wouldn’t he? No churchman would leave another priest lying in a room like this, would he? Stands to reason.’

‘Yes. You’re right, of course,’ Perkin said, but doubtfully. ‘What reason could he have had for leaving Isaac like this? If he had any other business, he’d have to send his apologies and stay here with his old master, wouldn’t he?’

‘Difficult to mistake him, though,’ Beorn said.

Perkin had a sudden memory of Humphrey’s face when they went to the chapel to ask the priest to come and say the words over Lady Lucy’s corpse. He’d looked shocked then, and he stood in the chapel’s doorway like a man trying to block the view inside …

But that was mad. What on earth would one priest want to conceal the death of his companion for? He must just have missed Isaac’s body.

Perkin and Beorn finished their work, and carried the body to the altar. There they set him down on the floor to lie in front of the cross, and stood back a moment contemplating the little huddle of cheap linen.

‘Seems unfair for him to just pass away like that.’

Beorn had a choke in his voice. Perkin nodded, unsure of his own.

‘I mean …’ Beorn coughed. ‘He baptised me, and my brothers, and all my children. He married me, he buried my old man and my mother up at Iddesleigh. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for any of us.’

‘Even a priest has to die,’ Perkin managed. He was in the same position as Beorn. There had never been a time before Isaac. All his life he had known the old priest. Every moment of importance, Isaac had been there in the background, his grim, penetrating eyes watching over them just as the Church said her shepherds watched over her flock of souls. Isaac was the living embodiment of the Church down here. The chapel itself may have been a strong building of moorstone, but the rock was a pale imitation of the strength of his conviction.

‘I’ll … I’ll get home, then,’ Beorn said hesitantly.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll stay here with him,’ Perkin said. ‘Go on. Be off with you. I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Thank you, Perkin. I’ll come at dawn with a two-wheeled cart.’

And when it was all silent in that little room, Perkin sat next to Isaac’s body and put a hand on the cold, firm shoulder. ‘I’ll miss you, old man.’

Hugh entered with a pair of coneys over his shoulder. He dropped them on the floor before John, who stared at them.

‘Found them on the roadway. Can’t have been anyone’s,’ Hugh said defensively.

‘Clearly not!’ John said. He tried to separate them, and saw that Hugh had cut along the upper rear part of each rabbit’s left leg. He’d thrust the right leg through the gap between tendon and bone, making a loop, and tied the two together so that they might hang on his shoulder without falling. John unjoined them and began to skin both carcasses as Hugh settled down, staring at their captive.

Humphrey was less imposing now. When Hugh had seen him before, he had that sort of arrogance that a priest has. That kind of look that tells anyone else that he’s a man of importance, and you aren’t, so get out of the way quickly. He had that appearance last time Hugh had seen him, when he had been in the road asking about Constance. When he had told Hugh to look after her, because she deserved all the care Hugh could give her.

Not now. Now Humphrey lay back in the mess of the floor with his bound hands held before him like a supplicant. His robe was marked and stained, and his hair was almost as wild-looking as his eyes. ‘What do you want with me?’

Hugh squatted near him and stared deep into those eyes.

‘I want to know why I shouldn’t kill you right now.’

It took some while to persuade Sir Geoffrey and his men to leave the church, and only when Baldwin and Sir Odo were sure that the party was truly riding back towards Monkleigh did Baldwin relax a little and invite Sir Odo to join him in a jug of wine.

‘I should be delighted … but first, please let me demonstrate how little I trust my neighbour,’ Sir Odo chuckled. He beckoned a farmer’s boy who stood nearby watching the goings-on with fascination. ‘You want a farthing? Good. Then run down the road there, until you come to a place where you can see those men riding away. If you see any of them turn off and return this way, come to me at the inn at once. Yes?’

The delighted boy grabbed the coin eagerly and scurried off down the road.

‘I think that answers my first question,’ Baldwin said.

‘What was that?’

‘How honourable is Sir Geoffrey?’

Sir Odo laughed aloud as he limped along the roadway to the inn. ‘Ach, he’s not so bad by his own lights. But his master is a dangerous man, now that he’s the king’s own adviser. A man with so much power is always a threat. And if Sir Geoffrey thought that he’d be more well-regarded if he took another man’s land — well, from all we’ve heard, Lord Despenser is less scrupulous than many others.’

‘You are candid, sir.’

‘I am a knight of Sir John Sully, and he is a loyal vassal to Lord de Courtenay. I am loyal too. I dislike this new fashion for men to sell their service for money. In my day, we took our oath because we loved our lord, and we served him faithfully to death.’

‘Still, it might be as well to moderate your language with strangers, sir.’

Sir Odo threw him a look in which the grin smothered the shrewdness. ‘You think so? Sir Baldwin, since you’re known for avoiding any discussion of politics, other than stating that you’re the king’s man because you owe him allegiance, I think I can speak openly in your presence.’ He nodded towards Simon. ‘And every servant of Lord Hugh de Courtenay knows of the Puttock family. If I can’t trust Lord Hugh’s father’s favourite steward’s son, whom can I trust?’

‘Thank you, Sir Odo,’ Simon muttered. He felt more than a little out of his depth in this discussion. Sir Odo was a plain-speaking man, and a bluff, honest character, but in Simon’s experience so were almost all leaders of warriors. They tended to have that skill of speaking to a man as though he were an equal, no matter what the actual difference in position. It was that which led men to trust them and follow them into battle.

‘You’ve been praised often enough by our lord,’ Odo said. ‘So you see, Sir Baldwin, I feel no concern when I speak openly in front of you, and I do want to see if there’s anything we can do to resolve matters here.’

They were at the inn’s door, and they walked inside. There was one table on the right that was inhabited by two young men discussing the attractions of a maid, but when the two knights stood before them, and Edgar jerked his thumb, they soon took the hint and vacated their seats.

‘So, Sir Odo,’ Baldwin said when they were all seated with great earthenware cups filled with wine before them. ‘Tell me more.’

The most part of Sir Odo’s story told them little that was new. Sir Geoffrey was an acquisitive soul and sought to take over Sir Odo’s lands ‘on this side of the river — at first, anyway. No doubt he’ll want the whole of Fishleigh as soon as he can get his hands on it.’ If he could take Lady Lucy’s lands as well, he would have a great swathe of land east and north of Sir Odo, which would make it all the easier to subdue any possible revolts, and incidentally make it easier to swallow up any other manors he desired … ‘all in the name of his master, of course,’ Sir Odo said drily, and tipped his head back to finish his wine.

Baldwin poured him more. ‘So I can understand why he should have killed Lady Lucy, if you are right. She was a barrier to his advance.’

‘There are stories that she was tortured?’

Baldwin nodded.

‘I dare say he tried to make her hand him her lands. When he failed, he killed her. A savage, brutal man.’

‘Clearly. What of the land between here and the river? Madam Isabel and Malkin feel it is theirs and yet you hold it.’

‘I do.’ Odo grimaced for some little while, then tilted his head and nodded. ‘It was theirs, and when they lost it, Sir Geoffrey had it along with his other lands. I bought it from him. Ach! I’m not proud to take advantage of the situation, but I have a duty to Lord de Courtenay. That land creates a buffer between Monkleigh and Fishleigh. I thought it made sound sense to purchase it, and Sir Geoffrey was keen enough to take my money. Now I realise he put my money straight into his own purse. He intends to win back the land for his own master.’

‘I can understand that,’ Simon said, ‘and I can see how he might have sought to remove Lady Lucy. I suppose Ailward could have possibly tried to win back his lands in the future, so Sir Geoffrey had him killed: but I can see no reason why he should have killed Hugh.’

‘Hugh?’ Sir Odo asked, perplexed.

‘My friend’s servant, who used to live a little way up here,’ Baldwin said.

‘Ah, yes. I heard of that. The fire?’

‘That was what the coroner said,’ Simon said without conviction.

‘Sir Edward?’ Sir Odo gave a humourless laugh. ‘Oh, yes. He’d agree to whatever Sir Geoffrey suggested to him. They are close, those two. But then, both serve the same lord.’

‘Despenser?’ Baldwin confirmed.

‘Yes. And the coroner knows where his loyalties lie.’

‘Why would he seek to remove Hugh?’ Baldwin asked with a frown.

‘If I’m right and he wants all my lands this side of the river, the first thing he’d do would be to launch raids on the outlying farms and properties. Well, on the same night he attacked my man Robert Crokers, and then your man up here. Didn’t kill Robert, but then he probably thought that a man who was so high in my household would be too much of a provocation to me. It would force me to react. So he took your man instead. He left a message for me at Robert’s, and killed someone else to show he wasn’t scared. Both parcels of land are close to his estates.’

‘So it would be easy for him to get an armed force to them without being seen,’ Baldwin noted.

‘Of course. I’ve been on edge ever since,’ Odo said, drinking more wine and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I’ve a chain of men with horses at different places between all the outlying farms, just in case of another attack.’

‘That was how you arrived today?’ Simon asked. ‘I wondered where you had sprung from.’

‘A messenger arrived to tell me that Sir Geoffrey set off from his hall earlier this evening. At first I was convinced he’d gone to ruin poor Robert’s house again, but there was no sign of his men there. So I thought to myself that he must have been heading this way instead, and we lashed our brutes to get here as quickly as we could. Just in time, too, from the look of it!’

‘It was in very good time,’ Baldwin said, but there was no warmth in his tone.