A Friar's bloodfeud

Chapter Forty-One

Simon wanted to go to search for his man as soon as the crowds had left. ‘I only found him again this afternoon!’

Sir Geoffrey heard his anguished tone. ‘With any luck your man will have found Sir Odo and killed him already. The devious, lying, duplicitous bastard deserves death after all the grief he’s caused.’

‘And you are a saint?’ Baldwin sneered. ‘I suppose when you tried to chase Robert Crokers off his land, that was a kindly gesture to the poor man?’

‘That was different. That bastard Odo had told me that we could run the manor there to our mutual advantage, and it seemed a good enough …’

‘So you were prepared to steal from your master,’ Baldwin noted. ‘You knew it was a part of the estate he had taken, yet you retained it.’

‘I expected rewards, and I would naturally have shared them with my master,’ Sir Geoffrey said loftily.

‘It will be interesting to see whether he agrees with you when your little investment comes to his ear.’

Sir Geoffrey looked less happy at that thought. Bad enough to have to explain the ruin of his manor without Lord Despenser learning about the disputed parcel of land.

‘And there is still the matter of the murder of Robert Crokers,’ Baldwin reminded himself.

Simon put his hand on Baldwin’s shoulder. ‘I have to go. You know why.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘Take Edgar. He knows these lanes quite well already.’

Edgar was first at the stables, and he grabbed his horse and saddled and bridled him while Simon was still looking for his saddle. It was often the way, Edgar had noticed, that men who were otherwise entirely sensible would all too often lose track of where their horses had gone in a stable. For him it was entirely natural to see to his horse first. A warrior would always see to his mount’s comfort before his own, because he would depend on the beast for his life. He had also spent too many years avoiding capture, while he and his master wandered about the continent as renegade Templars, not to know exactly where all his equipment was at all times.

When his own horse was prepared, he hurried to help Simon, and soon both were ready. They mounted, and Edgar took the lead, cantering up past the church, then taking the left turn down towards the river. They crossed it, and were soon on their way to the old hall at Fishleigh. As they approached it, Edgar slowed his mount, patting the horse’s neck and studying the hall closely.

‘They aren’t alarmed,’ he said.

‘Why should they be?’

‘If a crazed peasant had run in demanding the head of the master, I’d expect either a lot of noisy fighting, or hilarious celebrations,’ Edgar mused, and nodded to himself. ‘I think Hugh must have found Sir Odo as he fled.’

‘Where will he be, then?’ Simon said despairingly.

‘On this road. We didn’t see any sign of them up towards Iddesleigh, so they must have gone south instead,’ Edgar said imperturbably. He urged his horse into a trot.

‘What’s that?’ Simon demanded when they had covered perhaps another quarter mile. ‘There’s something in the lane — a horse!’

Edgar said nothing. He had seen the little bundle just beyond the horse, and he clicked his tongue. His mount hurried onwards and Edgar slipped from his saddle as Simon joined him. ‘Here he is!’

‘Oh God! He’s not …’

‘He’s breathing too loud for a corpse,’ Edgar said shortly. His hands were at Hugh’s head. ‘Yes, there’s a lump the size of a goose’s egg here.’

‘What could have happened?’ Simon wondered, leaving Edgar. A short way beyond he found another body. ‘Sir Odo, too!’

Edgar left Hugh for a moment, and reached down to Sir Odo’s body. ‘He’s dead. It’s clear enough what happened, Bailiff. Sir Odo was riding along here at full tilt, and Hugh was in his path. His horse tried to avoid Hugh, stumbled, and fell, hitting Hugh as he went. Sir Odo also fell and broke his head.’

Simon looked at him for a long moment. ‘You think so?’

‘I will do by morning,’ Edgar assured him. ‘Would you gather up Hugh? We shall need to carry him back.’

‘Of course,’ Simon said, and marched back to Hugh’s body.

Edgar watched him go, and as Simon bent to pick up Hugh, Edgar took the rock from beside Sir Odo’s corpse, and hurled it as far as he could into the furze that lined the road.

‘What was that?’ Simon snapped.

‘Just a fox or something,’ Edgar said calmly.

It was another three days before Hugh could hope to be mounted on a horse, and Simon did not, for the first time in his life, grudge him all the rest he needed. Jeanne helped him nurse his servant back to health, and when Hugh was at last able to stand and hobble about with a staff, Simon felt as pleased and rewarded as a man watching his son take his first steps.

Emma was not pleased by the recovery, apparently. Jeanne confided in Simon that she thought her maid had rather liked Hugh when she thought him dead, but now that he was on the path to health, she was happier remembering all the disputes and quarrels she had had with him.

‘She can’t even bear to be near him now,’ she said.

It was Edgar who explained the truth. ‘I don’t think Emma will return with you, if you give her permission, my lady.’

They were all sitting in the inn’s hall. It was smokier than usual, because of a green log that was too fresh, but as Jankin had explained, they had used almost all the stores of firewood this year, it had been so cold.

‘Why would she want to leave me?’ Jeanne asked, bemused. ‘She has always been happy with me. We’ve been together for ages.’

‘I think you may find she’s discovered a new interest.’

‘You are talking in riddles, man!’ Baldwin snapped. ‘You are as confusing as when you kept laughing to yourself while we …’ His face hardened. ‘You don’t mean she’s …’

Edgar grinned broadly. ‘If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me!’

‘Who?’ Baldwin demanded.

‘It’s Deadly,’ Edgar said, and then he couldn’t restrain himself, but burst into laughter. ‘You remember how flushed she was, how tired-looking? I found her in the arms of Deadly in the hayloft that night. Snoring fit to wake the dead, and as naked as the day they were born … it was a terrifying sight!’

Baldwin winced. ‘I can live without the details, thank you.’

‘Am I not to be allowed love?’ Emma said. She stood in the doorway, her face scowling and flushed as red as St George’s cross.

Baldwin was suddenly very still.

‘Emma, of course you are. I wouldn’t dream of stopping you from finding love — I am as happy as I could be with my husband, and if you have found a man whom you love, that would make me more than happy. But are you sure?’

‘He asked me to marry him, and we exchanged our vows,’ Emma said firmly.

Baldwin licked his lips anxiously and gazed at his wife.

‘That is wonderful,’ Jeanne said, although her tone betrayed a certain doubt. ‘But you have not known him for long.’

Edgar sniggered. ‘But you have known him very well in a short time.’

Baldwin glared at him furiously.

‘Madam, would you release me? I once knew love, and left him because you were coming here to marry. I don’t want to lose another.’

Baldwin held his breath. Jeanne looked at him and he tried to keep the hope from his eyes.

‘I shall miss you, Emma,’ Jeanne said.

And Baldwin felt as though the sun had suddenly burst through the ceiling and lighted the whole room with a roseate glow.

Perkin grunted as he pulled at a beam. It wouldn’t move, and he shook his head in disgust. ‘Hoi! Beorn! Get off your arse and help with this thing, will you?’

Already black with the soot that lay all about, Beorn wiped a hand over his forehead and snorted, hawking and spitting as he rose and walked through the fine ash to his friend. ‘Why you want to move that one?’

‘Don’t start, Beorn. Just help me with it, will you?’

‘It looks the wrong one to start with. I’d go for one of those on top.’

‘This is the one I want to move, all right? Just help me pull it out of the way.’

‘If you’re sure.’

‘Christ’s balls, just pull!’

Beorn smiled accommodatingly, and bent his knees. He gripped the section of wood and grunted that he was ready. Perkin took the end again, and the two strained. There was a creak, and the beam shifted slightly.

‘That’s it! Come on, a little more!’ Perkin gasped.

‘I really don’t …’

‘Just bloody pull!’

Beorn shrugged, pulled, and the beam squeaked, then moved, and Perkin found himself falling backwards as it came out.

‘I told you!’ he said, and smiled. His smile grew glassy as there came a slight rumbling noise.

Beorn was already moving backwards. ‘And I told you so.’

‘Oh, bugger!’

The farther wall of the house suddenly sprang a crack. Where the beam had lain, a second had fallen on to the old cob wall, and where it had struck, the wall was slowly but surely collapsing.

Perkin took some quick steps backwards. ‘I didn’t think that would …’

The roar of falling stones and timbers drowned his words. He stood, staring dumbfounded, his mouth gaping as a hole appeared in the wall before him.

Beorn walked to him and clapped a hand on his shoulder. A small cloud of ash burst upwards, and he narrowed his eyes against it. When it was somewhat dissipated, he sniffed with an air of satisfaction. ‘I reckon they’ll soon see the advantage of it, Perkin. Takes a genius to see that a house needs a new door. I wouldn’t have seen that myself.’

‘What’s all the noise? I heard a … Christ in a wine barrel, what’s happened here?’

‘Now, Emma, don’t you worry,’ Perkin said quickly. ‘Look, there was this bit of an accident, and the wall …’

‘She’s stepping towards you,’ Beorn said warningly.

Perkin held his hands before him. ‘Emma, please, it was just one of those … Emma!’

‘Just one of those things, eh?’ Emma asked. She bent and picked up a small lump of blackened timber. ‘I’ll show you one of those things, I will …’

Perkin took a look at the lump of timber in her hands and gave up any ideas of diplomacy. He darted back, and dived through the new hole in the wall.

Beorn looked at her. ‘Could you ask Davie to get his arse in here and help me?’

Emma nodded. She scowled at the hole Perkin had created, and tossed the timber through it, pretending not to hear the thump and cry of anguish. She wouldn’t let them know how happy she was here. They didn’t need to know that. She glowered at the men outside, before smiling at her Davie.

This place was perfect for her. Hugh’s old home was no good to him, but she would change this into a marvellous little house. When the new roof was up, she’d clean all the soot and grime from it, and Davie could start to fence in the pasture, and then they could spend a little of the money which Jeanne had given them on purchasing some good animals, an ox, some pigs, maybe some lambs too. They’d soon have this little place thriving.

Or she’d know the reason why.

Lady Isabel watched him all the time with suspicious eyes, but he didn’t care. He knew what she was feeling, because he knew perfectly well what it was like to love and to lose a love. She had lost her man; she wasn’t the only person in the world to have lost.

Although she sat still and her eyes were still regularly brimming with tears, he could give her his sympathy, but not his compassion. Why should he? He served her with her food, and she and Malkin took their meagre shares and began to eat.

It was an unspoken rule now that he would not speak to them. Nor would Isabel knowingly make any comment while he was within earshot, but he didn’t care. Her words would have been barbed, and he was happier to live in this silence.

She had been hoping that Sir Odo would return to her, apparently. When she heard from others that Sir Odo was dead, she had been disbelieving at first, then furious and almost lunatic, but that all changed when she heard the actual details of his death. She had flatly refused to entertain the concept that he might have been fleeing from Fishleigh without her. That, she asserted, was impossible. And since that was, the whole manner of his death was also impossible. Someone had made it up to fool her, and she wouldn’t swallow it. No, he had been going to come and fetch her at last. They would share their misery at losing their son, and could comfort each other.

Malkin knew the truth, of course. No one in their right mind could doubt the truth behind Sir Odo. He was the man behind all the violence, and the cause of the deaths, including his own son’s.

She’d never been happy about Odo coming to visit her mother-in-law, Pagan knew. It was a question that Pagan’s mind would turn to every so often, whether or not Ailward had told Malkin that he was Odo’s son, not Squire Robert’s, but he doubted whether he would ever learn the answer. And in fact the speculation was enough. He didn’t need to know, and he didn’t want to know.

No, he had only ever loved the once, and it was enough for him. When Squire Robert died, he had felt the pain more than anything else he had ever known, and the only thing that kept him sane for many years was the knowledge that he was doing his duty by guarding Robert’s son Ailward. Except Ailward was not his son.

But Robert had thought he was, and that in some way was as good as Pagan could have hoped for. If Ailward was good enough for Robert to treat as his own son, Malkin’s son would be enough for Pagan too. He would serve the child as he had served Ailward.

For love.