A Friar's Bloodfeud: (Knights Templar 20) (24 page)

‘Stealing a part of his manor, sharing the profits with Sir Odo. That’s what you’ve done, isn’t it? Creating a nest which
you and he are feathering!’

‘I don’t know what you’re …’

‘Then you’re more thick than I thought,
old man
!’ Nick spat. ‘That land where Robert Crokers is bailiff, that was all part of Ailward’s manor when you came here. You didn’t
know that? Sweet Jesus, and I thought you were clever, once!’

A boot thumped into his flank once more, and he hiccuped with the pain. Straw stabbed his back and he tried to scream, but
before he could the boot returned and caught his belly. The breath exploded from him like water from a fountain, and he choked,
gasping for air.

Then he felt the nick as a sharp blade drew blood from his throat. A little rasp and then, oh, such a smooth cut, just like
a razor sticking in a cheek. He could feel the marvellous edge slip into his flesh, and he suddenly stiffened, convinced that
his master was about to slit his throat for him. He could hear Sir Geoffrey’s rough breathing like a lover’s lustful panting,
could feel the warmth where the breath brushed his cheek.

‘That’s enough for me! You don’t belong here, le Poter. I think you should go away, and quickly. You won’t get far, though,
because the hue and cry will soon find you. I’ll see to that. You run off, fellow, and see how far you can get. I’ll have
the men after you as soon as they’re back from their work, and I don’t think they’ll be happy to think that you could have
done that to her and brought disgrace on all of us. No, they won’t like that one bit. If I were you, I’d hurry to get away.’

Abruptly the knife was whipped away, and suddenly he was released. He fell back on to the rushes, the stems a fresh torture,
and could do nothing for a long while but sob.

‘This is all a waste of time!’ Simon muttered viciously. ‘What’s the point? We know who was responsible ultimately, and that’s
Despenser.’

‘Who would be as guilty as the murderer here,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘However, we don’t know who it was who gave the order to murder
Hugh that night, just as we don’t know who it was who actually rode out to his house.’

‘We know that bastard knight has the men to do all he wants, and that he craved the land for his master,’ Simon said. ‘He
invaded Hugh’s farm to scare all the other locals into supporting him. He doesn’t care about the folks under his command,
he just enjoys power. And perhaps some other things, too. Did you mark his manner when we were in his solar?’

‘He was restrained,’ Baldwin said.

‘Restrained, my arse! He was angry that we’d entered his hall, but he was humble in the face of the girl’s body,’ Simon spat.
‘That child was beautiful in life, I’d guess, and this is a quiet, dull, empty sort of place. Not like Exeter where a man
can find a woman any time of the day. No, a fellow like Sir Geoffrey would learn to desire a woman, then grow more and more
frustrated if she didn’t reciprocate his feelings.
And how could a youngster like her reciprocate his feelings? She was little more than a child.’

Baldwin shot Simon a look. ‘You feel strongly about that young woman.’

‘Why in God’s name shouldn’t I? How could a man gaze on her pretty face and not wonder what she would look like in life, how
she might smile at a sally, how she might sigh and lie back at the sight of her lover, or how she would scream to see the
weapons of torture brought nearer and nearer …’

‘Simon, she was a widow, and now she is dead. It is our duty to learn who murdered her. No more than that.’

‘A lot more than that, Baldwin. She is dead, and the same man killed her who killed Hugh and Constance and the boy!’ Simon
shouted. He flung an arm back up the track towards Sir Geoffrey’s hall. ‘That so-called chivalrous knight in there did for
her. You heard the priest – Humphrey said that all in the area know Geoffrey is guilty. He led the attack on the man at the
other farm …’

‘Robert Crokers,’ Baldwin muttered.

‘Yes, and then he took his men up to Hugh’s place, and did … that.’

‘What of the woman?’

‘Probably took her some while before.’

‘But where would he have kept her while he subjected her to torture? There would have to be a place somewhere near here where
he felt he could do that to her with impunity.’

‘In the hall itself, I expect,’ Simon grunted. His anger had drained from him, leaving him morose and dejected. If Hugh’s
killer was a knight like Sir Geoffrey, then there was little chance that Simon could ever bring him to justice. Yet Simon
burned with the desire for revenge. He would avenge his servant … his friend.

‘His hall?’ Baldwin said. He glanced about him as though seeing nothing. ‘In his hall with all his servants? I doubt whether
his men-at-arms would care too much, from what I have seen of them, but I doubt whether it would be possible for him to conceal
the torture of a young woman. No, if he had brought her here, I think that many of his servants, all those who had been born
in this area and knew her and her family, would have reported his crimes to others. It would be impossible for him to keep
such an act secret.’

‘Even when his crimes are known and discussed widely, the local people dare do nothing against him,’ Simon growled.

‘That may well be true,’ Baldwin said.

‘Perhaps there was a small house nearby?’ Simon muttered. ‘He owns half this vill.’

They were approaching the little cluster of buildings that Humphrey had indicated included the home of the dead man Ailward,
and Baldwin glanced about him with interest. He was aware of Edgar moving forward to trot at his side, as always aware of
potential threats before Baldwin had noticed them. Realising Edgar had seen something, Baldwin peered more closely and saw
the figures in among the trees. They looked like men who were hiding from the little force, but scared people could try to
defend themselves. It only took one arrow, as Baldwin knew too well, to end a life. His own had nearly been cut short by one
late last year.

‘Come,’ he said. ‘Let’s find Master Ailward’s widow.’

It took him some time to come to. The water on his face brought him round again, but only to a slow, painful wakening, and
then suddenly he felt the stabbing at his
back, and Nicholas le Poter gave a low groan and threw himself over on to all fours, choking and coughing.

‘I had to wake you up! Nick, you have to go!’ Adcock whispered.

‘I can’t move! My back is too bad.’

‘You
have
to. You can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous. You heard what he said. If you stay here, you’ll be killed.’

Gradually Nicholas felt his strength returning. He couldn’t move quickly, not with his back the way it was, but he could at
least clamber to his feet. Pushing with his fists, he forced himself upwards, and grabbed Adcock’s arm, pulling himself up
to the sergeant’s shoulder.

‘You heard him?’

‘I couldn’t miss his words,’ Adcock said. ‘Go! He’ll set his hounds on you else.’

‘He wouldn’t dare.’

‘He will have you killed, man! You have to run. I don’t care what he thinks, but all the locals will blame anyone from this
hall for her murder, and if you fit the picture, you’ll be executed for it.’

‘I can’t!’

Nicholas shook himself away from Adcock. He didn’t trust the sergeant entirely. The lad was too new to the place. There were
others he could turn to …

There was no one. Nicholas curled his lip at the realisation that he was alone here. The men he might have trusted in a battle,
the men who were his comrades, would reject him now. They weren’t fools. They’d look to their own interests, and that would
mean aligning themselves with Sir Geoffrey.

He was still considering when he heard a shout. Running to the window, he put his hands on the inner edge of the frame and
stared out. There, up at the line of the trees, he
saw a man from the hall. He was laughing, and as another man shouted to demand what he’d seen, he reached down and picked
up a rabbit by the hind legs.

The sight made Nicholas grin, because a slingshot that killed a rabbit was proof of a good aim, but then his amusement faded.
The man up there had been a drinking companion for some months, but now he wondered whether, if there was a good price on
his head, say a mark or two, that man, Stephen, would think twice about putting his sling into action against Nicholas. There
was no need to consider the thought for long. Stephen would put a bullet into his head as quickly and as easily as he had
the rabbit’s.

It was a thought which plagued him as he rolled his spare belongings into a parcel and hurried from the hall. As the light
faded, and what warmth the sun had brought quickly dissipated, he stood wondering where he could go and what he could do.
It was scary, this feeling of confusion. He hadn’t had it before. Usually he knew exactly what to do and when. Only hours
before he had been a powerful man, sure of his place in the world … and now? Now he was nothing more than a wandering
vagabond, at best. At worst, he was a target at which any man might loose an arrow. He was entirely alone. There was no bed,
no home, no fire nor friend. He had nothing, absolutely nothing. All was lost. And the worst of it was, he hadn’t
done
anything.

Not that it would help him. Many a man hadn’t done anything, yet still ended on the gallows tree. As would he, if he remained
in this area. There must be a place somewhere for him to go.

Then he remembered Sir Geoffrey’s expression as he ordered Nicholas to be held so that he might flay the flesh
from his back; his expression this afternoon as he said he would hunt Nicholas down. There was no possibility of mercy from
Sir Geoffrey.

And then he felt a bolt of revelation. It was Sir Geoffrey who had done it! Sir Geoffrey had taken the woman and tortured
her and killed her. No one else in the hall would dare to do that. Only the master. And now he was blaming Nicholas for the
crime he himself had committed!

Well, Nicholas wouldn’t wait to be chased. He wouldn’t be another man’s quarry. No, there was one place where he would be
safe – he’d go there now. And from there he’d declare his innocence and Sir Geoffrey’s guilt to the whole world.

Perhaps this was how he could take over the vill. If Sir Geoffrey was shown to be a molester and murderer of women, it might
assist Nick’s own ambition.

‘Speak to me about it,’ Friar John said gently.

He had helped Hugh back inside their rough shelter, and now Hugh sat cross-legged on the floor, his back to a wall. The fire
which John had lit glimmered and reflected from Hugh’s face, and changed his appearance from moment to moment: sometimes he
looked like an avenging angel, or devil, while at others he was more like a man composed of complete despair. John wasn’t
sure which emotion would set the seal on Hugh’s life, but he felt certain that one or other of them would become Hugh’s driving
passion. Revenge or desolation and hopelessness. There was no middle way for him.

‘I can’t think why she’d have not called to me,’ Hugh said. ‘She’d have known I’d have got to her, and I could have maybe
saved her.’

‘Friend, perhaps she was sure that you could achieve nothing. It was her greatest gift to you, setting her own life as nothing.’

‘She couldn’t have,’ Hugh said. ‘Not thinking they’d kill her boy. She must have realised that little Hugh would die too,
and she’d never have left him to suffer without doing something.’

John closed his eyes and considered. ‘My friend, some people find extraordinary strength in the most dire circumstances. Perhaps
she knew that her boy was already dead, and she knew she must also die, but sought to protect you? Or even maybe she thought
her son was safe? She thought she might save both of you.’

Hugh tried to recall exactly what had happened that night. The memory was so
indistinct
. He clenched a fist with frustration, desperate to call to mind a tunic, a face, a shock of hair … he had seen so little,
though. There was scarcely anything before he was knocked to the ground. ‘Who could do that to her?’

‘It is not her alone, I fear,’ John said hesitantly. ‘There is another, a Lady Lucy from Meeth, who was also captured. I heard
today that she too is dead.’

‘I know of her,’ Hugh admitted. ‘Heard that she’d gone missing. Nothing more than that.’

The friar shook his head slowly. It seemed dreadful to think that his own Lucy could be dead and unremarked in a place like
this. ‘Is there anyone in the vill, or in a neighbouring parish, who had a grudge against you or your lady?’

‘None!’ Hugh said emphatically. He was monosyllabic at the best of times, but now the use of words was a torture to him. He
had the same thoughts running through his mind: she had saved him; she had died without calling for his help. He
began pounding his fist into the ground, heedless of the pain.

‘There is no one whom you could have upset?’

‘Me? No.’

‘Then what of her? Could she have unwittingly angered someone?’

‘No. I can’t believe that. She was always kind.’

‘Perhaps it was a misplaced love for her, then?’

‘There were too many men there,’ Hugh said with a firm shake of his head.

‘Perhaps the land, then? Could another have desired the land itself?’

‘The land?’ Hugh scowled at the fire, and John was reminded of a picture he had once seen of Satan eyeing a new soul.

‘I have heard of attempts to push one man or another from his land if it is worthwhile, so that another can steal it and enrich
himself,’ John said.

‘But why kill her and leave me alive?’ Hugh demanded.

‘Perhaps they thought you were dead?’ John said with a shrug. ‘Or they didn’t want to kill you, only her?’

‘Why?’ Hugh rasped.

John remained silent for a long moment as he reflected on his own words. It would be a curious thing if someone had intended
to kill the woman and leave her husband alive to avenge her. Why should anyone do that, leaving himself open to being attacked?
‘No, that is nonsense. No one would do that,’ he said at last, shaking his head. ‘Come, Hugh. You should rest again.’

‘How can I rest, knowing that the men who killed her are still alive and walking about?’ Hugh said. He glanced at his fist.
It had been bleeding for some while, and he gazed at it with surprise. He had felt nothing.

Adcock was relieved that he had at last persuaded Nick to save himself, but now he sat back on his palliasse and considered
his own position. If only he could do the same as Nick and run. If he were to do so, however, Sir Geoffrey could demand his
return.

But there was no need for him to sit back here and wait for Sir Geoffrey to come back and bully the nearest man, now that
Nick was gone. Adcock stood and pulled a shirt on, wincing as the movements made his belly surge and the pain from his cods
rose up almost to his throat, so he thought. It was so intense he wanted to be sick, and he had to physically swallow back
the bile before he could walk to the door.

From here he had a view of the yard behind the hall. Opposite were the stables, with the top of the yard open, giving on to
the open land behind. There were some scattered buildings, the kitchen, a brew-house, storerooms, but apart from them the
way was open to the east, and that was the way Adcock went now, rather than risk meeting Sir Geoffrey at the front of the
house.

The walk was easy enough usually, but today, with his ballocks so painful and swollen, each step was a trial. Adcock walked
up the shallow incline towards the top of the hill, and there he stopped, staring about him. To the south, he could see Beorn
and Perkin at the mire still, while north and east all was clear. He continued east, eyes on the ground, walking slowly and
carefully.

‘Not enough work to do?’

Sweet Jesus! Adcock thought. The last man I wished to see.