A Friar's bloodfeud

Chapter Thirty-Two

Humphrey woke with his head a screaming agony. For a long moment he remained with his eyes screwed tightly shut, petrified by the thought of what he might see when he opened them. Visions of Hugh with a sharp knife already smeared with blood — his blood! — sprang into his mind, and he whimpered at the thought of imminent death. ‘Don’t, please don’t …’

‘Don’t what?’ Hugh demanded.

Opening his eyes cautiously, Humphrey saw that Hugh was at the far side of the room. The pain in his head came from his having banged his bruised skull against a rock lying on the ground. He gazed at the rock reproachfully, then pushed himself up and sat with his back to the wall. His head still hurt abominably, and he felt dizzy, but he would recover. ‘What will you do with me?’

Hugh glanced at him. He was like a man who had a single focus to all his thoughts and nothing else could intrude on them for long. ‘What?’

‘Will you kill me?’

‘I don’t know. I can’t have you letting people know where I am, though,’ Hugh said distractedly.

‘Where is the friar?’

‘He’s outside making sure we’re safe and no one’s trying to find us.’

‘Oh.’

‘What would you have done? Were you thinking you could stay here for ever?’

‘Hmm? What, there at the chapel? No, I suppose not. I think I did mean to rob Isaac and the church when I went to him in the first place. But then I grew to like him, and the people down here. It’s a good little vill, Monkleigh. There are some arseholes, but most of the peasants are as good as any. I started to think that if I robbed the church, all I’d be doing would be taking money from them. The Church would demand compensation for any thefts from the place, and those fines would fall on all the poorest people in the vill. Fines always do.’

Hugh grunted agreement.

‘What will you do?’ Humphrey asked at last.

Hugh looked up at him, then out through the door, and lastly up at the sky overhead.

‘I … I don’t know,’ he admitted brokenly. ‘Someone killed my woman, and I want revenge — but how can I learn who killed her?’

‘You were lucky to remain alive,’ Humphrey said without thinking.

‘Lucky?’ Hugh spat. He jumped to his feet and strode to Humphrey. ‘I saw her die, and her son, and they knocked me down and left me for dead.’

‘I didn’t mean to insult you, friend,’ Humphrey said desperately.

The raised voice had alerted John. He stood in the doorway, his gaze going from one to the other. When he spoke, his voice was calm. ‘Hugh, there’s no need to lose your temper with him.’

‘I know!’ Hugh said, spinning on his heel and leaving the cowering priest lying at the foot of the wall. ‘It’s just … why did they leave me alive?’

‘As a symbol? You were a living message to others that they should be fearful. Some men have minds that work in that way.’

Hugh tested his leg. It was all but mended now, and he grunted with satisfaction. ‘They’ll regret it.’

‘Now, Hugh,’ John said, entering the room and sitting near the fire. ‘What do you plan to do?’

‘I want to find the man who had Constance killed.’

‘And I want the man who killed Lucy of Meeth. Perhaps they are the same?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Then we can work together to find him.’

Sir Geoffrey slammed the door and walked out into the open area before the hall when he heard the riders thundering down the lane towards him. At first all he could see was the steam rising as a form of heat-haze in the lane, beyond his old hedge. Then there were the two leather caps of his bodyguards, whom he had sent in order to make sure that none of the men tried to desert, then the horses breasted the entrance, and he could see them all. There in the middle was Sir Edward with his hair moving from side to side as the wind caught the short strands. A vain man, Sir Geoffrey thought, and vain men always had their weaknesses.

‘And?’

‘I almost had him,’ Sir Edward said with a bitter shake of his head. ‘I had him in the palm of my hand, and the priest defended him. The damned knight from Furnshill stood up to me as well and it seemed sensible not to force the issue. Especially with Sir Odo’s men all around.’

‘I understand,’ Sir Geoffrey said, and turned on his heel.

‘Wait! What do you mean by that?’ Coroner Edward demanded. He had dropped from his horse, and now he stepped up to Sir Geoffrey in a hurry. ‘Are you suggesting something?’

‘I dare say many would be scared to think that they could be bested in a church,’ Sir Geoffrey said harshly. ‘All you had to do was bring him back here so that we could judge him here, on our land. And if we found he was guilty, we could have hanged him here.’

‘You don’t have the right!’

‘I can impose a death sentence if the coroner is present to hear it, and I can hang a man if the coroner is there to witness it. Don’t tell me my rights, Sir Edward! I have been here longer than you! I know the ancient rights of this manor, and I know your job too. I was a coroner before you were born!’

Sir Edward blinked. He had not anticipated such a storm of rage over losing the man. ‘He is in the church. He will be permitted to abjure, if he wishes.’

‘Abjure my arse! I want him here to answer our questions. I want to know why that girl was in the mire in the first place.’

‘Really?’ Sir Edward said, and he cocked an eyebrow. So far as he could see, Sir Geoffrey was building up an alibi and creating an environment in which his own determination to discover the culprit could not be in doubt. It was clever, the coroner thought, but hardly clever enough. ‘You know that Keeper? He has the reputation of a man who sees the truth no matter how well hidden. He is supposed to be honourable.’

‘All men are honourable until they need money,’ Sir Geoffrey snapped.

‘What will you do now?’

‘Cause that poor soul to be returned to her manor to be buried, and then I shall do what I should have done yesterday.’

‘What is that?’

‘Attack Sir Odo’s places this side of the river with all my men. I’ve had enough of this flouncing about in case someone is offended.’

‘You cannot mean that? You’ll start a war on Sir Odo’s lands?’

‘You’ve realised nothing, have you?’ Sir Geoffrey spat. He turned, thumbs stuck in his belt, and stared at the coroner. ‘You think I’m devious and manipulative, and I’ve set up all this machinery just so that I can take the spoils … but what if it’s shown that I am little better than a felon and a cutpurse? Oh, I will win the king’s pardon, no doubt, but that will be some while away. And in the meantime I’ll be an outlaw. You think I want that? Someone has been acting with great skill and determination to make me look like a murderer. The death of the woman from Meeth, the murder of the family in Iddesleigh, the murder of my own damned sergeant — all done to point to my guilt. Can’t you even understand that?’

Sir Edward nodded slowly. ‘And you think that this was all Sir Odo’s doing?’

‘I’ll spring a surprise on him that he will never forget. He wanted to make me outlaw? I’ll return the gift with compliments. He will regret the day he sought to put the blame for these deaths on me!’

‘So you are Perkin?’ Baldwin said.

The body had been deposited in the church with Matthew, and now they were at the inn with quarts of ale before them all. Simon was glaring balefully at the fire, and for some reason Edgar was looking amused. Baldwin had hissed at him to wipe the grin off his face, but to no avail.

Perkin sat uneasily in this company. ‘Yes …’

‘Stop fidgeting, man!’ Baldwin growled. ‘I’m not going to hurt you, but I want to hear from you all about the death of Ailward, and of Lady Lucy, too.’

Simon leaned forward. ‘But first, what can you tell us about the murder of the man up the way from here? Hugh Shepherd, his wife and their boy were all killed. Do you know anything about that?’

Shaking his head, Perkin said, ‘If I knew anything, I would tell you, on my oath. It was one of those nights when I was. . tired. I had been working hard all the day, and when I finished I went to my friend Beorn’s house and drank with him. He had some ale that had to be finished so he could put another brew on. There was rather more than I’d expected, or it was stronger than I was used to, and I slept well that night. It was last Saturday, I think?’

Baldwin looked up at Jankin, who nodded.

Perkin continued: ‘We all saw the men riding off in the late afternoon, and we wondered where they were going, but they set off down towards the river. Of course we know now where they were heading: to Robert Crokers’s house. Sir Geoffrey and Sir Odo have been bickering about that bit of land for some while. Sir Geoffrey claims that it’s part of the old estate and should have been passed to him when the lands were taken.’

‘Taken from Ailward’s family?’ Simon confirmed.

‘Yes. Poor Malkin and Lady Isabel have nothing left, really. They lost house, lands, livestock, the lot. Sir Geoffrey argues that the plot where Sir Odo installed Robert Crokers was actually part of the confiscated estate and should be passed to him, but Sir Odo claims that the land was held in fief from his lord, Lord de Courtenay. Both rattle their swords, but neither wants a war.’

‘Did you hear the men come back?’

‘No. As I say, I was at Beorn’s house.’

‘Did you know of any man who could have sought to harm Hugh?’ Simon pressed.

‘No. He was a miserable cur, though — never smiled, except when he looked at his wife or the boy. That was no surprise — she was a woman to be proud of. But apart from the normal ribaldry, no one made any comments. I don’t know of any arguments with him. Both of them kept themselves to themselves, I think. He wasn’t sociable.’

That was true enough, Baldwin told himself. ‘What of Sir Geoffrey? He had his men at Robert’s place earlier that same day — could he have gone from there up to Hugh’s and attacked in the evening?’

‘Yes, but I can’t understand why he’d attack just the man Hugh. There are others up here whom he hates more.’

‘Very well, then,’ Baldwin said, after glancing at Simon. ‘What can you tell us about the other dead man? Ailward?’

‘That really rattled me,’ Perkin admitted, and as he spoke his frame shook like a nettle in the wind. ‘I’d seen him only a little while earlier, and suddenly there he was, stretched on the grass, dead.’

‘Someone said that there had been a camp ball match that day?’

‘Yes. It’s an annual game we hold here between Monkleigh and Iddesleigh. Been going on for donkey’s years. Everyone joins in; we play from one end of Furze Down to the other. First to get the bladder in the enemy’s goal is the winner. And we’d have won this year, if it wasn’t for bloody Walter. He was up there on the hillside when I got above the stream, and he just knocked me down and grabbed the thing.’

Baldwin could easily imagine the sight: twenty or thirty men haring along, one gripping the ball, and another thirty-odd hoping to take it from him. Camp ball was so dangerous, had caused so many brawls and arguments in his own manor, that he had been tempted to ban it from his lands, but there too the sport was ancient, and although he had seen the most appalling injuries, men and girls still wanted to play. ‘Was that when you found the body?’

‘No,’ Perkin said. He looked away uncomfortably. ‘I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, you understand?’

‘Of course,’ Baldwin said. He allowed a little steel to enter his voice as he added, ‘But I must have the truth about the whole circumstance.’

‘There was something about it. When I was knocked down, I saw Ailward standing a little way distant. He was a Monkleigh man, but he made no effort to save me. He just stood and watched as Walter knocked me down and threw the bladder away. It troubled me.’

‘And?’

‘When Walter stopped me,’ Perkin said more slowly, ‘he grabbed me about the waist and legs, and threw me bodily to the ground. I was flying, and while I flew, I thought I saw some signs that looked odd — like blood on the heather. It was just a fleeting glimpse, though, nothing definite.’

‘Where was this?’

‘Near to where Ailward was standing.’

‘Take us there,’ Baldwin said.

It was about noon when John returned at, for him, a fast amble. Since staying here to look after Hugh, he had found his own feet were improving no end. Being able to rest with them warming by a fire at first made his chilblains protest, but later made them subside. The old cracks from too much walking that stabbed so cruelly were binding again, and soon he thought he might be able to move with less of the crabbed, sailor’s gait that had grown so habitual since he left Exeter.

The house was quiet, and for a moment he was aware of a fear that Hugh might have executed their captive, but as soon as he entered, he saw Hugh scowling ferociously at the man as he ate voraciously from a bowl of the soup left over from the night before. John saw that Hugh had untied his arms and legs, and was relieved. He had been concerned that the man could lose all feeling in them if they were bound tightly for too long.

Humphrey glanced up as he entered, and in his eyes there was a little fear, but then his attention went to the doorway behind John, and as it became apparent that there was no one outside his brow cleared and he met John’s eye with gratitude.

‘So you sought to torture the poor fellow with your cooking?’ John tried jovially.

Hugh set his head to one side. ‘You made it. I just heated it.’

‘I think I have good news for you. There is a Keeper of the King’s Peace here, and a Bailiff Puttock. They say that they were called here to seek your murderer.’

Hugh gazed up at him with hope filling his soul. ‘Sir Baldwin and my master? They’re here?’

‘And actively hunting down the murderer, yes.’

It made Hugh glad, but it was also an anticlimax. He felt as though the responsibility for finding Constance’s murderer was taken from him, and that was a relief … and a curse as well. She was his wife, her murderer was his enemy. It would be easy to rest now, to allow Sir Baldwin and Simon to find the killer, but Hugh had to do it. It was a matter of honour.

‘Are you well?’ John asked.

‘I’m fine. Be all right in a while. Leave me.’

John nodded, understanding his confusion, and went to Humphrey. He glanced at the man’s wrists, where the thongs had cut into the flesh. It was fortunate that Hugh had removed them when they had, or else this man could have lost his hands.

There was no longer any point in keeping him captive. He had admitted to his crime, and although it was shocking, it was not so rare. When so many men worked for the Church, occasionally anger would flare and a man would die. Jealousy or rage could consume an entire community. Yes, John could sympathise with this man.

‘What would you do, Humphrey?’ he asked. ‘Stay here, or move on to another place where you’ll have to scrape a living again?’

‘I don’t know. I can’t remain at the chapel now, so I suppose I’ll have to wander again,’ Humphrey said mournfully.

‘You can keep moving, I suppose, but it would make for no life,’ John guessed.

Humphrey shook at the memory. The nights he had spent on the run … Once he had been lying under a hedge, mournfully reminding himself of his miserable fall, when he had noticed a shrew or a mouse in the stubble of the field not far from him. He watched, entranced, while the little figure scraped and muzzled about the ground searching for gleanings. Every so often it would rise to its hind legs and sniff the air as though convinced that there was someone watching it, but not sure who or where.

And then Humphrey all but leapt from his skin as a silent, pale, wraithlike figure swooped down and took it. He could have died in that moment, the way his heart thundered in his breast. It was so sudden, so terrifying!

The barn owl took off again, effortlessly rising through the cool night’s air, and he watched it go with genuine terror, expecting a similar shape to appear at any moment and haul him away to hell.

There were very few nights when he had managed to make use of a rick, hayloft or barn. After a month he was rancid and exhausted. His bones ached, his feet were worn, and he was close to collapse. That was when he had arrived in Hatherleigh and seen Isaac for the first time.

‘There may be a better way,’ John said. ‘Perhaps we could persuade the bishop to give you a trial at the chapel?’

‘He will give me a trial,’ Humphrey said bitterly.

‘It is possible with the support of a local magnate and other priests in the area that you may receive a happier hearing than you might expect,’ John said. ‘It is worth trying, I should think. Better than living as a felon for the rest of your days.’

‘Perhaps.’

John turned his attention back to Hugh. The morose figure was cross-legged on the floor near the fire. ‘Have you eaten yet?’

‘I’m not hungry.’

John crouched at his feet and fixed him with a firm eye. ‘If you want revenge and justice, my friend, you will need to keep your strength up. Now eat, while I tell you what I saw and heard in Iddesleigh this day!’