A Friar's bloodfeud

Chapter Thirty-Four

Robert Crokers set the bowl at the bitch’s head and she looked up at him appreciatively.

By some miracle, bearing in mind the barbaric wound inflicted on her, only two pups had been stillborn. She herself had lost some blood, and he wondered whether there would be a fresh gush, as he’d sometimes seen in other animals giving birth. When that happened, it meant that the mother was sure to die, and he only prayed that she would be safe.

And so she was. After giving birth to four healthy little squirming, mewling blind and bald lumps, she set to cleaning herself and them while he stood by watching them with delight. In that moment he had felt his heart swell with pride, as though these were his own creation. It must be how a father felt, he thought, on seeing a child for the first time. An awe and awareness of how unimportant he was; his only purpose was to serve these little scraps of flesh.

The pups looked much like rats, they were so small, pink and blind. It was impossible to look at them and see that they would one day grow to be like her. For now all he could do was hope that they’d show even a small portion of the intelligence she had. She’d always been a good worker, and the fact that she’d been so badly hurt spoke volumes of the way that she’d tried to protect her master and his land. He reached down cautiously to touch one, and stopped when he heard the low rumbling snarl.

‘You’re right, little girl. They’re yours, not mine. I’ve no place here.’ He smiled and backed away from her. She watched him for a moment, then appeared to give a mental shrug and set to cleaning them again.

That was when he heard the hooves.

‘You still say you had nothing to do with the woman’s death?’ Baldwin rasped. He grabbed Pagan’s arm.

‘What are you talking about?’

Simon held the cloth to him. ‘Whose dress did this come from?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Lady Lucy of Meeth. She wore a dress like this. And this has her blood on it.’

‘I should think it was used as a gag,’ Baldwin said. He was tempted to punch Pagan, to beat the truth from him. ‘And the staple.’

Pagan shook his head. ‘What of it?’

‘It’s been hammered in only recently,’ Simon said. ‘So when you said no one’s been in here for ten years or so, that was a lie.’

‘I don’t know who could have been here. I haven’t been inside in ten or more years. I lived at the manor until we were thrown from there, and then I lived with my master Ailward and his family, until Ailward’s death. Then I came back up here to sleep, but only to my room. Not here to the smithy. Why should I?’

Simon grunted. ‘Baldwin, that’s one thing Isabel and Malkin told us, you remember? That Pagan used to live with them until Ailward died. And Lucy died before him, if we believe what Perkin has said.’

Baldwin slowly released Pagan. ‘True. But who else could have come up here?’

‘Ailward could have,’ Simon said. ‘He knew of this place because he knew his grandfather’s armourer. And he knew that no one was living here now. So it would be secure.’

‘Perkin,’ Baldwin said. ‘You say that the man Guy just near here is a charcoal burner? Was he burning coals when Ailward died? Charcoal burners often take their families with them. Does this Guy?’

‘Yes his family was with him in the week before that.’

‘So if Lady Lucy was here, no one would hear her screams?’ Baldwin said.

‘I suppose not,’ Perkin said nervously. The sudden burst of anger from these two men had shocked him. It shouldn’t, but he hadn’t expected such raw ferocity.

‘Ailward and Walter,’ Simon breathed.

‘I want to speak to this Walter,’ Baldwin said. He took one last look about the room and swept out.

Hugh heard them first. It was a part of him, this wariness. In the past it had been so that he could protect his flock from wolves or foxes, keep the lambs safe from buzzards or crows or magpies; now it was the in-built defence against predators on two legs that sent him scurrying towards the door when he heard hooves.

There were two men on horseback cantering down the track, and he peered round the door frame as they pelted towards the bridge over the river that led to Iddesleigh.

‘Who was it?’ Friar John asked in a whisper.

‘I don’t know,’ Hugh admitted. ‘Men hurrying down that way …’

‘They came from up there?’ John asked, pointing.

‘Yes.’

‘I was there not long ago. It would be a good place to watch Fishleigh, Sir Odo’s house.’

‘Why would someone watch there?’ Hugh said.

Humphrey cleared his throat. ‘It was said in Monkleigh that Sir Geoffrey sought to take over the whole of the lands east of the river. If he was launching an attack, he might set men up here to see when Sir Odo’s men were marshalled …’

Hugh nodded. ‘True enough.’ But now he was feeling a strange sensation. The noise of horses pounding past had set off a series of connections. It wasn’t anything to do with horses, though, he felt. No, rather it was a set of noises at night. People … The priest, Matthew! That was it! Constance had seen the priest outside in the lane, and he had thought there could be no harm in it because he was a priest, and had slammed the door shut. ‘The priest …’ he murmured.

‘What?’ Friar John asked.

‘Nothing. I have to go. See what’s happening there,’ Hugh said.

It was well past noon when Baldwin re-entered the inn.

‘Jeanne, I am sorry to have been so long. I think that we are making some progress,’ he explained as he walked into their little chamber.

His wife was sitting on their bed, breastfeeding Richalda. ‘I am glad to hear that. I don’t want to stay here alone too long. Emma is driving me mad.’

‘What’s she up to now?’

‘She would try a saint. She keeps walking out, inventing errands. I have no need of her running to the farm to ask for milk for me to drink, but she feels the need to go. Earlier she went to seek a biscuit for me, and then it was a blanket for Richalda. I don’t know what’s got into her.’

‘Nothing,’ Baldwin said. ‘It’s just because she’s hungover, I think. She is leaving here to go and vomit.’

‘Possibly,’ Jeanne said, wiping her breast as Richalda sat up and smiled at Baldwin. ‘What are you going to do now?’

‘We are off to question the man who was with Ailward on the day he died … the man who was carrying the body of Lady Lucy with him,’ Baldwin said, and explained briefly what they had learned. ‘I do not know how this man Walter will respond when I speak to him. He may be entirely blameless, although if he is not guilty of murdering that poor woman, I fail to understand what he was doing up there on the moor with a man from the other manor. He must have known that his master Sir Odo and Sir Geoffrey were at daggers drawn.’

‘You will be careful?’ she asked quickly.

‘Against one man? When I have Simon and Edgar at my side? I have little to fear,’ Baldwin said. He kissed her. ‘Why is Emma taking so long? I don’t want you alone. You should have her with you.’

‘At least she was good enough not to disturb our sleep last night,’ Jeanne pointed out.

‘True enough.’ Baldwin hesitated, wondering again where she might have been, but dismissed the thought as he hurried out to re-join Simon and Edgar. He busied himself making sure that his horse was ready again, and when he glanced up he saw again that curious expression of amusement on his servant’s face.

It troubled him as he tested the girth of his saddle before swinging himself up into the seat. Edgar was not usually given to levity.

It was quick, it was easy.

Surprise was the most important element in a good battle. Don’t give them time to think or plan, just get in and take what you need. Sir Geoffrey led his men along the road from the rear of the house, up from the river, the line that that idiot sergeant would least expect, and by the time the force had come into view and the sergeant and his man-at-arms had realised that these were not men from Sir Odo, it was too late; the Monkleigh men were in among them. One rode up to the door and dropped from his horse to go inside and seek spoils, while others herded the two men from the place, forcing them out of the way.

Walter was petrified, Sir Geoffrey saw. Well, good! He knew what a raiding party like this could be capable of, and he had every right to be fearful. The other man, what was his name, that sergeant? Crokers? He had no spirit at all. He stood with his body downcast, and as the men circled and stamped about the place he simply looked up with a sort of pleading expression. Pleading, indeed. He was caught up in the theft of Lord Despenser’s property, and Sir Geoffrey was here to recover it.

‘You two are not to come back here,’ he commanded from his horse. ‘This land belongs to my Lord Despenser, and if you return as trespassers I will have you captured and gaoled. My gaol can be an unpleasant place. So go! Leave this place and don’t return.’

Walter nodded quickly. He started to move, but only made a few steps when he realised that the sergeant wasn’t with him.

‘This land belongs to Sir John Sully,’ Robert declared, ‘and in his name I deny your right to appropriate it!’

‘Go home, boy! This is not your land, it’s not your fight, and it’s none of your concern. This land was taken from Ailward’s family long ago. It is time to return it to the proper owners.’

‘It is theft!’

‘Don’t try my patience!’ Sir Geoffrey roared. His sword was out, and he spurred his destrier forward. ‘See this? This sword was made for me by my lord. I will not have you nor any other man denying his authority here. Understand?’

Robert looked up sulkily. He opened his mouth, felt the tip of the sword’s blade tickle under his chin and swallowed hurriedly. Then he closed his eyes. ‘This land is owned by Sir John Sully, vassal to Lord Hugh de Courtenay, and this act is theft!’

‘Oh, just get him out of my sight,’ Sir Geoffrey snarled. ‘He makes me want to puke!’

Walter relaxed. He saw that they’d be able to escape now, and he wanted to get back to Fishleigh and safety. ‘Come on, Robert. We’ll soon be back.’

It was at that moment that there was a hideous shriek from the house. A man swore, and there was the sound of growling, a squeal, a series of hacking sounds, and then nothing.

As Walter watched uncomprehendingly, a man appeared in the doorway with a sack in one hand, a bloody corpse in the other. ‘Does he want his dog, too? I saved the puppies,’ he laughed, a high, lunatic giggle, and swung the sack against the house’s wall.

Robert gave an incoherent gasp, and lurched forward. Then he pulled out his dagger and ran at the man — but Robert was no killer. He was too calm and gentle to have learned how to stab, slash and kill.

Sir Geoffrey lifted his sword high over his head and brought it down on Robert’s head.

Nicholas le Poter ached all over. Sitting here at the side of the altar, his backside was sore, his arms had a loose, heavy sensation as though they were slowly being pulled from their sockets, and his neck was a mass of tense, corded muscles that felt as though they were going to snap at any time from the terrible weight of his head. On top of that, his back still seemed to be on fire, and now he had a headache from his dismal thoughts.

He hadn’t dared sleep. Not even here, not while the priest was here to protect him. No, he couldn’t, it was too dangerous. While Sir Geoffrey’s men were after him, he could be cut down or dragged from this place at any time. He had no false illusions about their abilities.

The first thing Matthew had done was take away his dagger. ‘I’ll not have you causing bloodshed in here,’ he had said.

‘What if they come to kill me?’

‘It’s a risk you’ll have to take. But you will not remain here with that knife about you.’

At least with the guards from Sir Odo’s here he was probably safe. They were all rough, powerful men. Plainly Sir Odo had himself thought that he was in danger and wanted to protect him — if only to irritate Sir Geoffrey.

Last night he had nodded for a few moments at a time, but never long enough to become refreshed. He was dog-tired now, like a man who’d been training for too long in one session. Before, when he’d felt like this, he’d been able to take a hot bath, but there was nowhere for him to go if he wanted to be safe. If he was found outside this place, he’d be killed in a moment.

He could abjure: tell the coroner that he would swear to leave the realm by whatever route the coroner dictated, and then head for the sea to find a ship to take him away. All his property was forfeit, of course, but at least he would live. The only alternative was to remain here until his time ran out and the coroner could legally remove him to be held ready for the justices of gaol delivery. And then he’d be hanged. There was little doubt of that.

There were some he could count on, perhaps. Some of the men in Sir Geoffrey’s camp were his mates. They wouldn’t want to see one of their own get topped just because of politics. Sweet Jesus, even if he had killed the girl, there was no need for him to be thrown to the likes of Sir Edward. And most of Sir Geoffrey’s men must realise that Sir Geoffrey was the man who’d done it. Not him; not Nicholas. If Sir Geoffrey could throw him to the wolves, who would be next?

No, there were some who would help him, like Adcock. Adcock had helped him up, had sent him on his way when Sir Geoffrey had told him he was going to be killed. There were others there like Adcock. They had told him that they’d support him if he tried to oust Sir Geoffrey, after all. Their loyalty must be worth something …

With a terrifying vision of the truth, he felt his bones freeze. His teeth chattered together, and his left arm gave a nervous twitch that made the cross shake.

Not one of them had done anything more than give him verbal support. Any of them could deny speaking to him. To cover their arses, they’d all act like his chief prosecutors, just to make sure that they were safe themselves.

He was so torn between rage and the sense of deep frustration that he had failed utterly at all he had attempted, that he felt he must burst. And then he felt the sobs welling up with the tears, and he abandoned himself to the numbing terror. He had no idea what he should do, to whom he could turn, or where he might run to. All he could think of was the marginal safety of this church, and the fact of the altar cloth in his hands. They were real, they were substantial. With the tears falling from his cheeks, he bent to the cloth to sniff it, and took in the clean odour of the fresh air from when it had been left to hang in the open to dry. It smelled like freedom to him, sitting uncomfortably there on the cold church floor.

A freedom he might never know again. He screwed the thin material in his hands with his returning grief, and to his horror heard a slight ripping sound. There was a moment of agonised suspense, and then he looked at the cloth.

He had torn it. He felt as though he had savaged his hopes of safety.

Baldwin rode into Fishleigh’s court with Simon and Edgar at either side.

The place was rather like a castle without the curtain wall. Set on top of a good-sized hillock, it had a ditch dug round it to make attack more difficult, and the entrance was reached by a small drawbridge. Once over it they were in among the bustle of the great house.

Servants were everywhere, fetching and carrying stores from one outer building to a large undercroft beneath what Baldwin took to be the great hall. A number of men-at-arms were present, all of them apparently set upon readying their weapons. Rasping could be heard from all sides as blades were whetted and honed, axes had their heads run over the great stones, and bills were taken from their short hedging handles and thrust upon long staves so that they could be used to slash at horses or their riders.

‘This is an encampment readying itself for war,’ Simon breathed.

‘I fear so,’ Baldwin said. He glanced about him with some anxiety. ‘I can see no sign of the master. Where is Sir Odo?’ he asked a man nearby.

A boy was sent scurrying to the stables, and after a few minutes the genial figure of Sir Odo was hobbling towards them, his scarred face twisted into a grin.

‘Sir Keeper, and Bailiff Simon as well? We are glad to see you, gentles. Would you take some wine with me?’

Once in the hall with him, Baldwin was able to tell him what they had learned up on the moor.

‘So you think that one of my men could have had something to do with this?’

‘We know that a man called Walter was up there with Ailward. A witness says he saw what looked like blood on the ground near the two, and later the same day when he went up there, he found Ailward’s body. This man Walter may know something of what was happening. It may be that there was a strip of red cloth on the ground, nothing more than that. But if it was the woman from Meeth …’

‘I quite understand. I shall have him called to me here and you shall question him.’

‘So you are his master?’

‘Yes.’

Baldwin walked towards the door and peered out at the compound. ‘You are expecting Sir Geoffrey to attack you and your lands?’

‘He knows he has to. If he wants to iron out matters with his lord, he’ll have to mollify the man somehow. One way to do that would be to take some extra lands. From anyone.’

‘The land on which his manor stands once belonged to Ailward’s family?’ Baldwin asked, returning to the seat where a cup of wine waited for him.

‘That’s right. Until Ailward’s grandfather died, his was a moderately wealthy family. The Irish campaign put paid to that — and then his father’s headstrong rush to join Mortimer again … he was killed up in the north, you know?’

‘We had heard. Some skirmish at Bridgnorth.’

‘That is right. A great waste. He was a good man.’ Sir Odo shook his head reflectively. ‘You know, I think that Ailward could have made a good, competent squire. He had the physique for it. Strong torso, heavily built, with good arms and legs. He could ride like a knight, and had the grace with a lance to charm a princess.’

‘His wife is a lovely woman,’ Simon commented.

‘Yes. He liked the better things in life. He was very badly affected by the loss of his manor. Very morose and dejected … and then to be forced to become a menial … it was a hard fate for a man who had hoped for so much.’

Simon said, ‘Did he resent you too?’

‘Why would he do that?’ Odo asked with frank surprise.

‘Because you had a part of his inheritance.’

Sir Odo laughed. ‘On the contrary, that was all he was able to salvage. I made an arrangement with Sir Geoffrey that we would share that part of the manor. It is fruitful, that area within the river, and half the money went to Ailward. I kept nothing. But Geoffrey thought that we were sharing the profits.’

‘Why did Geoffrey agree to that?’ Baldwin demanded. ‘Surely he could have simply added it to his existing lands and pleased his master …’

‘But not to his own profit,’ Odo said slyly, tapping his nose. ‘I appealed to his greed. So no, Ailward liked me and trusted me. As he should have. I always helped him.’

‘Do you think that he could have been capable of killing Lady Lucy and throwing her into the mire on his land just to lay the blame for the murder on Sir Geoffrey?’ Baldwin asked thoughtfully.

‘He would have been capable, I suppose. If he wanted to do that, though, wouldn’t he have picked a place where she would have been easier to discover? Why choose a bog? She might have stayed there for ever, just as so many sheep and horses do each year. And who would have killed him?’

‘Walter and he were there together. Could they have argued about the course of action they were about to take, perhaps come to blows, and Walter killed him?’

Simon took up the idea. ‘So Walter took her body on his own shoulder and walked along the waste lands, round the back of Sir Geoffrey’s lands, and then dropped her into the mire?’

‘It is scarcely likely, is it?’ Baldwin said reluctantly.

‘No. Not unless they had an ally in Sir Geoffrey’s camp,’ Simon mused. ‘Someone who would know the best way to avoid being seen so near to the house.’

‘Any of the peasants would know all the less frequented routes, surely?’ Sir Odo said.

‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin said. ‘Could you have Walter brought here so that I may question him, please?’

With a good grace Sir Odo nodded and left them, adjuring them to be comfortable while they waited.

‘You have had an idea?’ Simon asked.

Baldwin nodded. ‘The assumption we made originally was that Sir Geoffrey had intended to torture Lady Lucy to make her pass over her lands to him — but it now appears that Sir Geoffrey never pushed his master’s claim to the whole of Ailward’s inheritance too strenuously — Sir Odo still keeps a hand on some parts. I just wonder: if Sir Odo could have taken over Lady Lucy’s lands, it would have been as beneficial to him as it would have been for Sir Geoffrey, surely?’

‘I suppose so,’ Simon said. ‘What of the other men? Ailward could have allied himself with anyone, I reckon. He was bitter and vengeful after losing his entire estate. Walter was probably involved, since he was there on the moor with Ailward and, perhaps, Lady Lucy’s body, if Perkin was right. Nicholas le Poter could have been connected to them as well. Three men: Ailward, Walter and Nicholas, all of them working together.’

‘A fair hypothesis.’ Baldwin nodded.

They were no nearer the truth, he thought, and walked to the door, his mind whirling with possibilities. But even as he began to see another possible explanation — only dimly, but there, like a path that was glimpsed through the fog only to be concealed again in a moment — his attention was caught by the shouting from outside the manor.