The Mad Monk of Gidleigh

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Simon was still thinking of the two carters as he dropped from his horse and slipped in a pile of horse’s muck. He had to catch hold of the cantle of his saddle to stop himself falling, and glared at the other two, who were laughing at his antics.

‘Are we going to hunt for this body or not?’

Baldwin was smiling broadly as he swung his leg over his horse’s broad rump. ‘No. We are going to seek signs that might indicate who could have taken the body.’

‘Most impressive,’ the Coroner grunted. He spurred his horse towards the wall. ‘Except the poor bastard was killed some days ago now. All traces will have been eradicated – if there ever were any!’

‘Yes, well, any that remain might survive another few moments,’ Baldwin said mildly, adding more curtly, ‘provided a clumsy Coroner does not trample them before anyone has an opportunity to seek them out!’

Coroner Roger’s face flushed momentarily, for he was unused to being commanded by others, but he saw the merit in Baldwin’s words and urged his horse a little further away, leaving it tied with Simon and Baldwin’s own.

Baldwin had seen his quick anger, and regretted his words. He had liked the Coroner ever since first meeting him over a year ago, and respected his judgements. Baldwin would have to make some form of compensation later, he decided. For now, he stood with his hands on his hips at the point where the body was supposed to have fallen.

‘We were here only a day ago,’ Simon objected. ‘What will we see now? I thought we were only coming here to show it to the Coroner.’

‘We were, but there is something about this…’ Baldwin broke off, then looked back towards Gidleigh. ‘No signs that way, nor northwards nor west. There is only one more direction.’

He went to the wall which had sheltered the boy Henry while he guarded the corpse, sprang lightly over it, and disappeared.

Simon and the Coroner exchanged a look. ‘I don’t know what he hopes to find either,’ Simon shrugged, but he followed Baldwin while the Coroner stayed with their horses.

Baldwin pushed his way through the undergrowth until he came to a little-used path which could have been made by sheep or deer, but which Simon guessed had been man-made, from the width. Furze and ferns had grown stunted and unhealthy for about a yard, which could mean packhorses also used the track.

They carried on silently down the hill, until they came to a deep depression. There, in the bottom, they saw a dead calf.

‘A lime-pit?’ Simon asked.

‘Yes. A place to throw dead and diseased animals to dispose of them cleanly,’ Baldwin said pensively. He gazed into the hole, then glanced about him. A few tens of yards away was a pile of stones. Baldwin glanced back at the pit, then stared at the ground. He crouched and peered at some leaves and twigs, then rose and walked to the stones. Before he reached it, he bent over and once more gazed down. Then, nodding to himself, he beckoned Simon.

‘What?’ Simon asked.

‘See that?’

All about, the grass was still slightly damp from the dew, but in this area it had dried. As Simon crouched, he saw that the grasses had been bent, as though a weight had been settled upon them. He glanced up at Baldwin, then back to the ground. It was almost as though someone had swept the grass here in a thick swathe – and then bisected it with a second, narrower sweep near the top, making the shape of a crude cross.

‘What do you think of that?’ Baldwin asked with satisfaction.

‘Very impressive. What about the lime-pit? Shall we order it to be emptied?’

Baldwin said nothing, but smiled enigmatically, then made his way back to the Coroner. There he stood on top of the wall, arms on hips, gazing about him. ‘Yes, this is a good spot for an ambush. Plenty of open ground up there, for a small force to use to manoeuvre. They could swing down and take a group of travellers in flank. They would cause mayhem with men unused to war. I can see it now.’

‘Wouldn’t it be easier to spring a trap in the lane?’ Coroner Roger asked. He had joined them and now stood behind Simon, staring at the wall.

‘You have experience of war as well, Coroner. What would be the difficulty in a narrow lane?’

‘Oh, the narrowness, of course. You’d not be able to sweep past them so easily.’

‘That, I think, is the reasoning behind this spot,’ Baldwin said. ‘It offered a better chance of capturing all the travellers. In a lane, some at the rear must inevitably escape, or at least evade pursuit for some while, making the whole exercise more protracted, while here, the entire group could be rounded up in the open like so many sheep. All those who sought to escape would find themselves rushing away from the men attacking them, and what would they find?’

Simon glanced at the Coroner, who stood with a sour expression on his face as he nodded. ‘This damned wall.’

‘Yes, if you look up there in the grass, you’ll find hoofprints, like ten or twelve men at arms in a line, before they turned and charged down the slope. The carters couldn’t turn to the rear because the attackers had hurried around behind them and cut off retreat. They couldn’t go forward because there would be bound to be a man or two there as soon as the trap was sprung, and they couldn’t go up the hill because that’d be the direction the main force was coming at them from. No, the only way they could go was down the hill, and they’d end up here.’

‘As neat a trap as any I have seen.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘And one which speaks of a commander’s ability.’

‘As does the ruthlessness,’ the Coroner commented.

‘Yes. Sir Ralph’s whelp has much to explain.’

‘If it was him,’ the Coroner said.

‘Wylkyn had been a member of Sir Richard Prouse’s household,’ Simon explained. ‘And it seems Wylkyn bolted soon after Sir Richard died.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘Why should this man decide to leave what must have been a comfortable life in order to have a rough existence on the moors?’

The Coroner grunted. ‘He stole something?’

Baldwin shook his head. ‘If Wylkyn was a thief, he would have avoided this area. What on earth would have compelled him to return to the place where he committed his crime?’

‘Don’t expect me to solve a riddle like that,’ the Coroner smiled. ‘I only deal in the facts, and all I know right now is that this man was killed.’

Baldwin told the Coroner about Wylkyn’s store of herbs and potions. ‘Wylkyn aided his master by acting as physician to him. In a room at the castle, there are many plants which could cause death. I think Sir Richard took to his bed because of his gout, but once there, someone poisoned him. Perhaps it was the very medicine he used to reduce the pain in his foot, I don’t know, but I believe that if Sir Ralph and his son thought Wylkyn had willingly poisoned his master, they would seek to punish him. Kill one noble and you threaten all.’

‘Punish him by slaughtering him out here,’ the Coroner muttered. ‘It would make sense.’

‘As would someone else killing Sir Richard with Wylkyn’s potions,’ Baldwin said. ‘The other possibility is that Sir Ralph or his son killed Sir Richard, and Wylkyn got to know about it, and then fled before they could kill him too. They caught him, however, and killed him here to silence him.’

‘Who would have taken away his body, though?’ Simon asked. ‘That’s the thing that confuses me. Execute him, that I can understand – but why not hide the corpse immediately? Why do it later? Most knights like Sir Ralph or Esmon would leave the corpse hanging about as a sign to their enemies or other potential thieves. “Take my property, and this is what’ll happen to you!” is more their kind of approach, I’d have thought.’

‘Like riding down the Bailiff investigating a miner’s murder. Blatant and threatening,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘If we assume that this Wylkyn had done something to upset Sir Ralph, he would have stayed hidden away on the moors, surely. He wouldn’t approach here. Yet if this ambush was conducted because they knew that Wylkyn was here, then…’ He stopped, shaking his head. ‘This tale makes no sense. I must think about it.’

‘There’s one thing that appears consistent,’ Coroner Roger said. ‘There is flagrant robbery on the King’s highways about here. We ought to speak to Sir Ralph and make sure he realises that he’ll have to pay if we learn he was involved.’

Os kissed her once more as they parted, then he walked back to the clearing where he had dropped his axe. He was still sorry that Mary was dead – he’d miss her all his life, probably – but in her place, he had found Flora, and she was all a man could want, as well as adoring him. He would be churlish indeed if he didn’t reciprocate her love.

They had left the clearing and gone to a deserted charcoal-burner’s hut deep in the woods, where they had made their vows, and then they had lain together, sealing their contract in the oldest way possible. Now he knew he would live with her, Os was more than content: he was the happiest man alive.

Which made him more than a little concerned when he thought about how he had spoken to Esmon. It was lucky that Os had been born a freeman. If he wished, he could run away with Flora, take her to a town far from here where they could start afresh. Os was strong and willing to work and there was always a living to be earned by someone like that.

A peasant who bolted could always be chased and brought back, but Os was safe, all because he was born illegitimate. Any illegitimate offspring could have been born to a freeman, which meant that all bastards had to be assumed to be free. Everyone in the vill had a fair guess that Os was actually the son of Sir Ralph, not that the knight would ever admit the fact, so no one ever dared to suggest that he might be a peasant’s son anyway. He was safe from that.

His axe was gone. There was nothing there. He frowned, searching along from the tree where he’d been working to the farthest edge of the clearing, but there was no sign of his axe, only a heavy stirring of the grass where many horses appeared to have trampled.

‘What have you lost?’

‘Ben!’ he burst out, startled. ‘Where did you spring from?’

‘Oh, don’t mind me. What’s gone?’

‘I left an axe here.’ He couldn’t help but feel a more kindly attitude to Ben. He had disliked the boy for a long time, but felt he ought to make the effort to be friendly to him now that he was a brother-in-law.

‘Forgot it in your rush, did you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I saw you with Flora.’

Os reddened. ‘I’m sorry. We were going to…’

Ben sniffed and waved a hand. ‘I don’t want to know the details. I saw you watching one sister in the river, and now you’ve shafted another.’

‘Oh, you won’t lose your sister.’

‘I didn’t mean I would. I meant you would. Do you know who is Flora’s father? No? I didn’t think so!’

‘Huward, of course, your own father.’

Ben smiled maliciously. ‘No. Our father is Sir Ralph of Wonson. The same father as you.’

The small cavalcade rode to the inn and left their horses with the ostler at the gate. Gladly they entered the hall, roaring for ale and wine as they passed under the lintel, but when they reached the fire, the host scurried in looking worried.

‘Master Knight, I’m right sorry to–’

‘Drinks, Host! Excuses later,’ Coroner Roger stated firmly.

‘This man, though,’ the landlord said, wringing his hands.

‘What man?’ Simon said sharply. Glancing about him, he saw no sign of Alan and Saul and suddenly he recalled his anxiety watching them ride away. ‘The two carters, where are they?’

Baldwin gave a most uncharacteristic curse and clenched his fist. ‘By God’s vengeance, if he’s killed them as well, I’ll have Esmon’s head.’

The bedraggled and damp figure of Alan was soon with them, sitting near the fire so that his damp woollen clothing gave off the odour of wet dogs. His eyes were hunted; he jumped at every sound. Once the fire crackled, and although he was staring at it, he lurched to his feet and stared fearfully over his shoulder.

‘Sit, boy! Tell us what happened to you. Where’s your companion?’ Coroner Roger rumbled.

‘It was Esmon again. We were riding back, taking the little lane that comes from Throwleigh, and we met him with a small company. They got Saul, but his horse blocked the road, so I jumped off and bolted like a rabbit. One of them came after me, so I ducked into the woods to get away. He couldn’t follow me when the undergrowth got too thick.’

‘This is an outrage!’ Coroner Roger said with slow menace. ‘What of my men?’

‘They were with him. I suppose they were taken as well.’

‘They were taken as well, were they?’ Coroner Roger repeated. His voice swelled and grew as he absorbed this news. ‘Taken as well. The servants of a King’s Coroner were captured and taken by a feckless, witless boy no better than the son of an Exmouth whore AND A BRETON PIRATE!’

Simon shot him a look. Coroner Roger had always been a calm man, sometimes dry to the point of cynicism, at other occasions caustic, especially when discussing his wife (when she was not present), but Simon now, for the first time, was seeing his friend angry, and the sight was impressive.

The Coroner was not tall, and although he was comfortably padded, his constant travel all over the wilds of Devonshire had kept his body firm and muscled. Now he appeared to expand like an enraged cock-bird when its feathers are ruffled. Sir Roger’s chest swelled, his face hardened, his eyes grew flinty and unblinking, his normally smiling mouth became a thin bloodless gash in his blanched visage, and his whole body appeared to still, as though he was so furious his entire energy must be constrained by the focus of his anger.

‘Coroner,’ Simon said hesitantly. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll get the men back for you.’

‘Get them back? I’ll say we’ll get them back! And not by paying some ransom to a Godless, thieving, renegade knight whose only means of income is the robbing of his neighbours,’ Coroner Roger declared at the top of his voice. ‘That miserable dog’s TURD! I’ll cut out his heart and lungs and FEED THEM TO THE HOGS! I’ll hamstring the bugger! Aye, I’ll–’

‘You will sit, Coroner, and calm yourself,’ Baldwin said soothingly, taking the sputtering man by the elbow, ‘so that we can plan how to bring about the release of your men.’

‘Release? We’ll release them by pulling down his damned castle! You’ve heard the evidence against this knight and his mewling kitten, haven’t you? This fellow here,’ Coroner Roger said, grabbing Alan’s shirt-front, ‘says Esmon, Sir Ralph’s son, captured my men, don’t you?’

‘Yes, sir!’ Alan squeaked with alarm.

‘And he led the gang who killed Wylkyn.’

‘Yes!’

‘Who killed Wylkyn? Esmon! Who took all the men from the convoy back to the castle?’

‘Esmon.’

‘Did he release you?’

‘Yes…’

‘But?’ Coroner Roger snarled.

‘He demanded ransom from all of us.’

Coroner Roger met Sir Baldwin’s gaze. ‘Sir Baldwin. You are Keeper of the King’s Peace, with authority to pursue felons with the posse comitatus. I here declare that I believe Esmon, son of Sir Ralph of Gidleigh Castle, has feloniously captured, ransomed and murdered travellers on the King’s highway. I accuse him of seizing the servants of a King’s Coroner, and of taking them against their will to his castle. I demand that the posse be raised to force him to submit to the law.’

Baldwin nodded, concealing his true feelings. His belly was in a turmoil, and it was more because his hands would otherwise tremble like a drunkard’s that he kept one thumb hooked into his belt, the other fist resting upon his sword’s hilt. ‘I have never before been asked to assault a noble knight in his own castle.’

‘I doubt you have ever before heard of such a series of felonies committed by one man,’ Coroner Roger grated.

Baldwin nodded. He looked across at Simon, for perhaps the first time since his appointment as Keeper, doubting his own judgement. No coward, still Baldwin would prefer to avoid being forced to arrest a man so powerful as Sir Ralph or his son, but the accusations made by Alan were uncompromising. The decision was fearsome, yet he knew what he should do, no matter that it might mean his own destruction.

That was all that was uppermost in his mind, he suddenly realised in disgust. Here he was, one of a small number of men who had survived the atrocious destruction of the Knights Templar, who now trembled on the brink of a decision that could save future travellers simply because it meant that he could endanger his own position! If more people had refused to consider their own safety, he knew, his companions from the Templar Order would yet live. Fewer perhaps would have been crippled by the brutal tortures meted out to them in order to force them to confess to ludicrous accusations.

If he arrested Sir Ralph and his son, they must accuse him of crimes against them, crimes which might well be upheld by their powerful friends the Despensers, the King’s own friends. If Baldwin set his face against Sir Ralph and Esmon, his future must be endangered, and not only his own: his wife’s happiness depended upon him, his daughter’s safety too. He had to gamble with their lives.

He knew what he must do before all these thoughts had passed through his mind.

‘I shall not assault his castle until I have spoken myself to Sir Ralph and heard his response to these accusations.’ He cut off the Coroner’s interruption before Roger could draw breath. ‘In the meantime, you will sit here, Coroner, with your clerk, and write down all the accusations, the reason why we believe Sir Ralph is guilty, and his son, and when you have done so, you shall send messengers to South Tawton and to Chagford to ask for their help.’

‘I will come with you,’ Simon said.

‘I would prefer you to wait here for my return,’ Baldwin said with a pale smile.

‘Perhaps, but I’ll not leave Hugh in that nest of vipers if I can get him out.’