A Friar's bloodfeud

Chapter Forty

Baldwin and Simon watched the flames roar skywards. Edgar was helping a few others to keep the two sides apart, while men ran about the place fetching and carrying buckets of water from the well to try to douse the flames. Hugh was standing morosely staring at the blaze, remembering the fire at his own house.

‘There is little chance of putting that out,’ Baldwin said.

‘Old thatch that’s had a good chance to dry is never easy to put out,’ Simon said.

The clouds of smoke, thick, greasy, and greyish green even in the darkness, roiled about the area. Invariably when it sank down and engulfed all the men, it made them choke and splutter, it was so thick and foul.

They had seen the fires as they hurried down the road, hoping to prevent bloodshed, and both had known that they were too late before they had caught sight of the house. ‘At least there are few dead,’ Baldwin said.

‘So far,’ Simon replied. ‘There are some bad wounds in among that lot.’

They had brought all the men from the bar at Iddesleigh with them, in the hope that they might compose a force to thrust between the warring factions, but by the time they reached the hall most of the men were already separated. The fighting took second place to watching the manor burn for those who had no direct investment in the building. When Baldwin and Simon arrived, Sir Odo’s men had more or less taken the place, and he and a few others were impounding their prisoners against a fence, having taken their weapons from them.

‘Sir Odo, this is an outrageous abuse,’ Baldwin said as he met the knight.

‘It was an outrageous abuse when that man decided to invade my lands,’ Sir Odo said. ‘This was just an attempt to persuade him to leave me alone. He sowed, and he has reaped the harvest. It’s the behaviour of the Despensers that makes the country so dangerous today. If more men stood up to their bullying, the realm would be safer.’

‘You think this is safer?’ Baldwin demanded, waving at the fires and the bodies on the ground.

‘It’s better than giving up everything, every time the Despensers or their men decide they want to grab another piece of territory,’ Sir Odo said.

‘Is that all this was? An attempt to stop him taking your lands? Or was it to stop Despenser — or, for that matter, Lord Hugh de Courtenay — ever learning that you’d kept back parts of the lands he had taken from the widow of Squire Robert?’ Simon asked.

‘That is an unworthy thought,’ Sir Odo said.

‘It would be a deeply dishonourable act,’ Baldwin said.

Sir Odo glanced at him, then shrugged. ‘Well, I cannot help what you two think to yourselves, but bear this in mind, lordings. My action here has protected Lord Hugh de Courtenay’s lands. While he is thought to be a bold and courageous defender of his property, he is more likely to be safe from the Despensers’ attempts to rob him as they have so many others.’

‘Don’t seek to threaten me into supporting you,’ Sir Baldwin hissed. He stepped nearer Sir Odo. ‘I shall tell the truth about this night, Sir Odo, and you will be named as guilty in this.’

‘Guilty of what, Sir Baldwin? Is there any proof that I have done something wrong? There is no one here who is likely to accuse me, is there? Do you have any evidence that I am guilty of taking lands or anything else? No! So I should forget your sourness. You have done what you came here to do: you have found the murderer of your man’s family. You have found the murderer of Ailward, too, I expect, and of Lady Lucy. At the same time, you have helped me to thwart an attempt by a lackey of the Despensers to steal lands from our lord. I should stick to that story. It’s believable, after all. Who knows? It might be true.’

‘Sir Baldwin? Get this oaf off me!’

Baldwin turned in time to see Sir Geoffrey being walked up the track towards him, gripped by Pagan.

‘Sir Baldwin, I found this man scurrying away up behind the hall. Thought I ought to bring him home again.’

‘Thank you, Pagan,’ Baldwin said, and as Sir Odo moved imperceptibly towards Sir Geoffrey, Baldwin drew his sword and put it between Sir Odo and his prey. ‘There will be no more bloodshed, Sir Odo, unless you want to challenge me?’

Sir Odo shrugged, smiling broadly. ‘If you say so.’

Pagan was not finished, though. ‘Sir Baldwin, I brought this man to you because I want him to hear the truth. I murdered Ailward on the day of the camp ball match. I confess my crime, but I also denounce Sir Odo and accuse him of the murder of Lady Lucy of Meeth and the murderous attack on Hugh’s family.’

It was not practical to try to hold a court in the middle of the night, and Baldwin demanded that all returned with him and Simon to the church. There, in the nave, in full view of as much of the Iddesleigh congregation as could be mustered at short notice, Sir Odo swore that he would return to be tried the next day. He gripped the Gospels with a firm hand, and he stared at Baldwin as he spoke, loudly and clearly, and then he passed the book back to Matthew with a small bow and spun on his heel.

The people parted as though miraculously. None remained barring his path, which was normal, and showed the correct reverence for his position, he thought, but there was something in the air that grated on his nerves. It was less as though this was a mark of respect for his status, than as though they loathed to share the same space with him. They would not touch him in case he polluted them.

Idiots! They couldn’t understand. How could they? He’d been in the service of other men all his life, and he had wanted fortune. If he’d been luckier, he could have won it, but as things were, it was impossible. He was always in the pay of his masters. The first, the very first chance he’d had of winning his own rewards had been when he’d met Lady Lucy. And he would have been honourable with her, if she’d let him. He would have married her, and allowed his son to take all the money when he died — but she’d have none of it. That look of terror and horror had never left her face, not from the moment when he killed her steward to the last moments when he’d left her in the smithy. She had loathed him.

Outside he stood a few seconds and stared about him at the men standing silently. Then he gave a dry chuckle and walked to his horse. Peasants couldn’t understand because how can property comprehend how another piece of property might be fought over? If you have never owned or desired, you cannot see how a man might be pushed to extraordinary lengths to protect his possessions, or to acquire more.

He sprang on to his horse, whirled the beast’s head about, and rode off along the lane to his hall. There was not much time. He had to collect all his movables, pack them, and clear off urgently. Probably best to head for Tiverton. He seemed to remember someone saying that Lord de Courtenay was up there.

‘Can I tell you what happened?’ Pagan asked as Baldwin and Simon led the way back to the inn.

Baldwin glanced at Simon and Hugh. ‘I suppose so. You will have to explain yourself tomorrow anyway,’ he said.

Pagan walked into the inn and sat at the table with the others. Baldwin and Simon sat opposite him, Hugh and Edgar stood behind him, and Sir Geoffrey perched himself on an upturned barrel nearby, arms folded while he glared at Pagan with loathing. Villagers from Monkleigh and Iddesleigh filled the room, while Perkin and Beorn were up at the bar with a pale and shaken Adcock.

Poor lad. He’d hardly got over the shock of being savagely attacked and injured by that idiot Sir Geoffrey when he’d been overwhelmed by the desire to kill. He’d lusted for Sir Geoffrey’s blood as a youth might lust for a wench. And now the reaction was upon him. He was himself again, and the idea of what he had so nearly become was a terrible burden.

‘I killed Ailward, sir, because I saw what he had done. He and Sir Odo had captured Lady Lucy, and they took her up to my father’s smithy, because they knew that no one ever went there any more. They could do all they wanted to her without fear of discovery. Her screams would go unheeded.

‘I didn’t realise at first, of course. I only found out on the day of the camp ball game, when I saw Ailward. He was smothered in black mud, up to his groin. I had no idea what had happened, and when I asked, he told me! He had murdered the child and taken her to the mire and thrown her in. She was guilty of refusing to marry Sir Odo. For that they killed her.

‘I was disgusted by what I heard. I went to my father’s old smithy, and found it reeking still of burned flesh. They had slaughtered her in the most revolting way so that when her body was found, people would assume the Despenser family had committed this evil act. I came across Ailward on my way back to the house where I lived with Lady Isabel, and my rage knew no bounds. I knocked him down and left him for dead. I would do it again. He murdered that poor child, and he did it in my father’s chamber. Yes, I would do it again.’

‘But he was your master’s son!’ Sir Geoffrey exclaimed. ‘I thought you were so loyal to him and his seed!’

‘I was. I am. I would lay down my life for his child.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘Tell me, Pagan, was it your mistress’s choice that you should move back to your old home when Ailward died, or was it yours?’

Pagan allowed a half-smile to curl his lips. ‘How did you guess that?’

‘I was very slow,’ Baldwin admitted. ‘But then I started to think. It seemed curious that you should move back to your home just when the women would ideally require a man in their house to guard them. Unless you thought that they would be safe enough on their own. And then I heard Sir Odo had visited the women.’

‘He went there often enough after dark,’ Pagan said. ‘It was much as it had been before, when Squire William was fighting. He often took his son with him when he was fighting, so he could teach him the way of war. As soon as they went, Sir Odo began to pay court to Lady Isabel, and she was so lonely and scared, it’s no surprise she succumbed to his wit and perseverance. But then, when Squire Robert was dead, I think she repented and felt guilt. It was eight and twenty years ago that Robert first went north with his father William, and the two won renown and some fame, under good King Edward, the Hammer of the Scots, although they were not lucky with the spoils of war. The Scottish never seemed to have much to steal. Although he didn’t know it, Robert lost more than his money in fighting for the king. It cost him dearly, and he wore a cuckold’s horns from then on.’

‘So Ailward was Sir Odo’s son?’ Simon asked.

‘Aye. Ailward was Sir Odo’s. He was always aware of it. Sir Odo would ever make conversation with him if he saw the lad out and about, and I think that after Squire Robert died, my lady Isabel must have told him the truth, because his manner changed after that. He grew more arrogant, more froward. It was hard to contain myself sometimes, with the way he spoke to me. And then he told me what he had done with his father to Lady Lucy.’

‘What did he do?’ Baldwin asked.

‘It was his father who captured her. He had known this lady for some years, and I suppose he always desired her. He was a bachelor, she was a young and beautiful woman … It is not hard to see what thoughts began to fill his mind. Lady Isabel was still feeling the guilt that her behaviour had produced. She feels it every day, or used to until Ailward’s death. Now she only hopes for Odo to visit her again.’

‘He did yesterday,’ Baldwin grunted.

‘I know. Now that one avenue is closed, he is prepared to consider the other again.’

‘So he desired Lady Lucy,’ Simon pressed.

‘Aye. And she did not reciprocate. She spat in his face once, I heard, because he pressed his suit too strongly. She was a spirited woman. Then came a time when Sir Odo decided he would have her. He drew his sword, killed her guard, and captured her, expecting her to wither in his arms and accept his hand, but she wouldn’t. She rejected him entirely, and I think that was when his love turned to loathing. He knocked her cold, and carried her body to my house, tying her there and keeping her out of the way of all others. It was easy enough. He knew what he would do with her, because the news of the Despensers’ treatment of Lady Baret was being bruited abroad at the time, and he knew that Sir Geoffrey would take the blame for any act of cruelty towards a widow. So he killed her.’

‘What then?’ Baldwin asked gently.

‘Then, he told his son and a man-at-arms, Walter, to go and take the body to Sir Geoffrey’s land. Ailward told me all this. He thought it was a splendid idea: to put the blame firmly on to the Despensers’ man, and to quietly take over Lady Lucy’s manor while everyone was disputing Sir Geoffrey’s role in her death.’

‘How would he take the land?’

‘There was no heir, and her husband was a knight of Lord de Courtenay. It would take a little persuasion, but Sir Odo planned to have Lord Hugh de Courtenay take over the lands and make him the master of them. Lord Hugh may well have agreed. In the meantime, the disputed land where Crokers died would be made over to Ailward, because Lord Hugh and Despenser did not know of it. Ailward would have an inheritance, and if Sir Geoffrey was accused, he might somehow regain his old territories.

‘That was what he told me, his old servant, knowing that I was devoted to his father and his grandsire, but he didn’t realise how I would feel about him using a young widow and killing her in order to win so much. He told me gleefully how he and Walter had carried her body to the mire, weighted her down, and thrown her into the foul waters. Later, he said, a man at Sir Geoffrey’s manor would suggest that the mires were drained, hoping for advancement, and the body would be found. It could hardly be kept secret; from that moment Sir Geoffrey would be in difficult waters.’

Baldwin felt sickened. This behaviour was anathema to a man raised to the concept of chivalry. That a knight could consider such treatment of a widow was almost inconceivable, but there was no doubting Pagan’s words. ‘So you killed him?’

‘He was telling me all about how he had thrown her in, and he wanted me to go and help him clean my house. My home. The place where my father brought me up. I grew so angry to hear of how he had defiled my home that I lashed out at him. There was a rock, and while he spoke, I picked it up and hammered and hammered at him. He died.’

Simon and Baldwin exchanged a look.

‘For my part,’ Simon said, ‘I think you have done well to execute a murderer’s accomplice. If a man were to kill my daughter like that, I would like to think that a man like you would be there to do the same.’

Baldwin nodded, thinking of his own little daughter. If his wife was widowed, a recurring fear of his, then what would happen to them? A man such as Ailward deserved his end. As did Odo. Tomorrow he … ‘Where is Hugh?’

Hugh hurried down the road, limping slightly with the effort. He had taken a staff from beside the inn’s doorway, and it helped him as he made his way along the road towards Fishleigh.

‘Friend Hugh, I do hope you aren’t thinking of attacking a knight in his hall?’

Hugh turned and scowled at the friar. ‘Leave me.’

‘I can’t, Hugh. If you attack him, it’d harm your immortal soul,’ John said sadly. ‘How could I, a friar, live with myself if I were to let you do that to yourself?’

Hugh gritted his teeth and set off again.

‘Hugh? Look, there’s no point in going and killing him. He’ll be in court in the morning, and there he’ll be convicted.’

‘And released when he pays amercement. He’ll be free for ages. When the justices get here, they’ll take his money and make him innocent.’

‘Perhaps. Perhaps others will prevail and he’ll be hanged.’

‘That’s if he’s here.’

‘Hmm?’

Hugh stopped and turned to face him. ‘You don’t think he’ll be there. Do you? He’ll be on his horse tonight. You know that too.’

‘I fear it,’ John confessed.

‘I won’t let him. I want him dead.’

John said no more. The two men trotted on side by side, and it was only when they were in clear view of the hall that they began to slow their pace. ‘What now?’ John said.

‘He won’t come north. Means going through Iddesleigh; that’d be dangerous. He’ll go to Hatherleigh, and on from there.’

‘You are sure?’ John smiled. So was he.

Sir Odo had everything he could pack quickly in two saddle-sacks tied behind the saddle. The sacks clanked and rattled, for he had taken all his best plate. It would be easy to pawn when he needed ready cash. Hopefully his master’s lord would take his case to heart and protect him, but only if he reached Lord Hugh before news of this little matter could reach his ears from an unfriendly source.

He clapped spurs to his beast, and was off in an instant, pelting through the open gateway, out into the night, and immediately turned south on the road to Hatherleigh. That road would take him down to the main road to Crediton and up following the river to Tiverton and the castle where he hoped to find de Courtenay.

When he was out of sight of the hall, he whipped his mount again. Speed now was crucial. He had to get out of this damned area as quickly as he could. He had to …

His horse staggered and rose, neighing wildly. At that speed there was little Odo could do to stop the animal slipping sideways, the hindquarters sliding underneath, and suddenly his own leg was under the brute, the flesh being raked by the stones in the trail, and the horse was down, thrashing madly. Sir Odo kicked himself free and looking down felt the first glimmerings of panic and fear set in. The damned creature had broken a leg!

Swearing to himself, he drew his sword and swept it swiftly over the throat, jerking himself away as the blood fountained. Only then, wiping some of the blood from his tunic, did he have time to study the damage to himself, and as he peered at the blood seeping from the long graze all along his upper thigh, he cursed again.

Hugh smiled to himself. He cut the rope they had set across the road, and he licked his lips with a fierce excitement. Stepping forward, he stood in front of Sir Odo. ‘Remember me?’

Sir Odo glanced up with a feeling of disbelief. He had thought himself alone and ruined, but here was a man. He squinted up at Hugh. ‘Do I know you? Do you have a horse I can buy? I have money here, and I need a beast urgently.’

‘I didn’t bring you down to sell you a horse,’ Hugh said.

‘Didn’t … you mean you brought my horse down?’ Sir Odo exclaimed, reaching for his sword.

Immediately the staff in Hugh’s hands whipped out and cracked against Sir Odo’s knuckles. The metal-shod tip broke two bones in his hand. Sir Odo felt them crack, and a terrible numbness overcame his hand. Then the pain began, and he clutched at the ruined limb. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Hugh Drewsteignton, or Hugh Shepherd. I used to have a little house up in Iddesleigh.’

Sir Odo felt his stomach lurch, but he tried to keep his voice calm. ‘So? I recall — your poor wife and child were killed, weren’t they? That was terrible. Wasn’t it a fire?’

‘You and your men were there, weren’t they? You killed my woman so you could blame Sir Geoffrey for starting a war between Fishleigh and Monkleigh. You didn’t want to hurt any of your own peasants, so you had my house burned, you killed my woman and son, and left me alive to accuse Sir Geoffrey.’

‘Why should I do that? It would hardly help me, would it?’

It was John who answered now. The friar stepped forward from behind Hugh. ‘You would use anything to remove Sir Geoffrey, wouldn’t you? You might as well confess, Sir Odo, because this man intends to kill you anyway. At least if you admit your crimes, I can hear your confession first.’

Sir Odo’s eyes narrowed. ‘You would help a murderer kill me?’

‘Only because of your many crimes,’ John agreed sadly. ‘Your offences have convinced me that you deserve death. There is nothing I can do to stop this fellow, clearly. Come! It is true, isn’t it?’

Sir Odo stared at him, then up at Hugh, and nodded. He spoke with a fierce rage. ‘I wanted him out, yes. He was in my way.’

‘And you had killed Lady Lucy and this man’s family?’

‘He wasn’t one of my serfs. I wasn’t going to hurt the men who generate the manor’s income when he and his woman were there instead. They didn’t matter.’

Hugh gave a groan, and covered his eyes with a forearm. ‘Didn’t matter? Didn’t matter?’

Sir Odo sneered at him. ‘She was a good wench, too. Wriggled like a stoat when my man had her,’ he said. His hand was slipping to his dagger.

‘Stop!’ Hugh said brokenly. ‘I’ll …’

There was a loud, dull thud, and Hugh’s eyes rolled up into his head as he collapsed like a pole-axed ox. Friar John pursed his lips and stared down at him, shaking his head. ‘Sorry, Hugh, but I couldn’t let you do it.’

‘Thank you, Friar! You were getting a little close to too late, though,’ Sir Odo said with a weak smile. He shoved the dagger back in the sheath. ‘Could you help me up, please? My ankle is …’

Friar John closed his eyes, shook his head a little, and then smiled at Sir Odo. ‘What of the confession? Did you kill Lady Lucy too?’

‘Yes. The little whore wouldn’t accept me when I wanted her to marry me, and I lost my temper. I must have asked her a dozen times, but she wouldn’t listen. I killed her, I admit it.’

‘Then may God damn your soul!’ John said, and brought the rock crashing down on Sir Odo’s head. He heaved it up and dropped it five times, until the skull was broken and bloody, and only then did he throw the rock aside and sit down, weeping.