A Friar's Bloodfeud: (Knights Templar 20) (31 page)

‘Yes. I met him in Hatherleigh at the market, and thought that to persuade a deaf and blind old man that I was a coadjutor
sent to help him in his cure of the souls of the vill would be no difficult task. I was right. I could help him, and I did.
There was so much to do, and I think I helped some of the people of the parish to find their way to God …’

John’s voice was light with amusement. ‘So you thought that you’d help him? And now you’ve run away.’

‘I’ve stolen nothing!’

‘True. So why bolt?’

Humphrey closed his eyes and shook his head. His hands were as cold as stone now, with the tight thongs binding them, and
his head felt heavy. ‘I realised that the woman’s body was going to make my life difficult.’

‘Lady Lucy?’ John asked quietly. ‘The lady found in the mire?’

‘Yes. I went there to give her the
viaticum
, say some prayers for her, but then, when I saw her, I knew that there was no life for me here. As soon as the coroner found
her dead, he’d be bound to start to make inquiries, and I would be uncovered.’

‘Isaac would protect you,’ John said with a frown.

‘Isaac is dead. I went out and when I went back he was still. Calm, tidy, but dead. He just stopped.’

‘So! You had no sponsor, no patron, and you thought you would be best occupied in escaping again?’

‘What else could I do? I know Matthew suspects me. I shouldn’t be surprised if he’s already sent to the bishop and demanded
to know where I was sent from. He never trusted me.’

‘And yet you didn’t steal from the church. That speaks well of you,’ John said.

‘I’m no thief. I only ran because I had to.’

‘Why should the lady’s appearance lead to suspicion against you?’ John wondered.

‘Someone might remember me running from the convent.’

‘Yes,’ John agreed. ‘So you said.’

Hugh had thrust the stick in the fire and now it glowed white when he blew out the flames.

‘It’s the truth,’ Humphrey said more desperately, staring at it.

Hugh said nothing, but eyed his stick as he began to thrust it nearer Humphrey’s face.

It was enough. He couldn’t bear to look at it. Closing his eyes and averting his head, he screamed, ‘All right! I confess!’

John snapped, ‘What?’

‘On the Gospels, this is true! I killed a man at the convent. A brother monk. I didn’t mean to, but he was evil to me, he
was foul and cruel, and I only meant to strike him … when he was on the ground I realised what I’d done. I had to run.
If the coroner was to see me and understand that I had run away, news would soon get back to the bishop or the convent and
I would be gaoled for my life. I couldn’t bear that, so I took myself off before the coroner arrived. I swear it! It’s the
truth!’

Nothing happened. Neither of the other men said a word.
Opening an eye Humphrey found himself looking up into Hugh’s scowling face.

Hugh contemplated him for a long moment, then touched the orange-glowing ember to a rushlight hanging over Humphrey’s head.
It hissed and sparked as it took light, and every sound made Humphrey’s flesh creep.

‘Thought so,’ Hugh said.

The food was late, and when it arrived, the walk from the kitchen to the house had allowed much of it to grow stone cold.
Sir Geoffrey picked up his trencher and studied the congealing mass without speaking for a moment before hurling it at the
servant’s head.

‘Christ Jesus! Get me
hot
food!’

‘This place appears to be falling apart. I don’t think our lord would be impressed to hear what’s been happening,’ Sir Edward
said languidly. He was sitting at Sir Geoffrey’s left hand, and he wore a smile of such smugness that Sir Geoffrey longed
to wipe it away with a mailed fist. He’d lost some of the initiative.

‘It wasn’t Odo,’ he said. ‘That self-satisfied old cretin couldn’t see further than the end of his nose. He’s been in too
many mêlées since his youth, and the constant banging of weapons against his helm has addled his brains. But that new Keeper,
he was a pest and a problem. Do you know of him?’

‘I’ve heard tell, I think, but only the usual gossip. He’s clever enough, and could make a good representative to the next
parliament. If the good king sees the necessity of receiving more advice, of course,’ the coroner said with amusement.

‘You should always assume the worst.’

‘I do just now,’ Sir Edward said. ‘I fear some prime land is being threatened. If you cannot evict this Sir Odo from his holding
on this side of the river by negotiation, surely our master would expect you to do so by force. That is why you have all these
men here, after all.’

Insolent puppy! This man was half his age and he thought he could talk to Sir Geoffrey like a young squire?

Curbing his anger, Sir Geoffrey spoke quietly. ‘If I attack now, while the Keeper is in the vill, he could be a dangerous
witness. It would only reflect badly on our lord were I to attempt such a foolish act. Better by far to try to be cunning.
It is better to use your mind rather than other men’s bodies.’

‘Oh, quite. How many men are there in the place this side of the river, by the way? A sergeant and I suppose some guards?
If you want, I could go and knock them off myself. Present you with some land so that you can give it to our lord. He would
be most grateful.’

Sir Geoffrey eyed him coldly. What if the fool were killed or unhorsed by more competent men-at-arms from Sir Odo’s forces,
and brought back to the manor on the back of a cart? That would give Sir Odo a wonderful success. His master’s liege lord,
Hugh de Courtenay, would be able to screw a marvellous reward after such an unprovoked attack.

There was no point in such actions. Speed was of the essence, people always said, but when you grew older you began to realise
that things would always come your way anyway. All you needed was to be sure of what you wanted, how you could get it, and
then stick to your plan.

Just now Sir Geoffrey knew that he had achieved maximum disruption to Sir Odo’s household. Especially after tonight. For all
the anger he had felt, for all the sour rage
he’d expended at the men who had stood in his path and prevented him from taking back the sanctuary-seeker, he had guaranteed
that Sir Odo’s men were spread about the whole countryside. They were at Robert Crokers’s hall, at the church at Iddesleigh,
at Fishleigh and other little farms, not to mention all the gallopers who would have been stationed at every junction and
viewing point from here to Iddesleigh and down to Monk Oakhampton, in all likelihood.

And that was the point. He had managed to push Sir Odo into setting his men to patrol and guard, when they all wanted to be
at home wrapped well against the chill air. It was freezing outside again, and the thought that men might stay out until dawn
to watch for an attack that wouldn’t happen was a joy to contemplate. He could keep them on tenterhooks for two or three days
like this, occasionally making a showing as daylight gave way to darkness, guaranteeing that the men would have no sleep,
no ease. Only constant patrols.

Later, perhaps at the end of the week, when men were beginning to desert their posts no matter what Sir Odo wanted, that would
be the time to attack. He could send some men in to Crokers’s and secure the crossing at the river, while a second party went
to the church and dragged that dishonourable cur le Poter from sanctuary and all the way back here to be hanged. Just a little
time and the fellow would fall into his hands. And then no one else would think of removing the master of the manor and taking
his place for a long time.

‘I think we’ll leave my plans as they are,’ he said icily.

Sir Edward smiled thinly. ‘I should go to my rest, then. I have a long day tomorrow.’

‘Vain, conceited coxcomb!’ Sir Geoffrey muttered under his breath. Then: ‘Where’s my food?’

Baldwin woke to a morning that was crisp and clear, with the only clouds showing over Dartmoor in the distance. By some miracle,
Emma had not entered to trouble them in the middle of the night, and Baldwin had enjoyed his best night’s sleep in many a
month.

Pulling on some clothes, he walked out into the main hall and squatted at the fire. The boy must have been in already, because
there was a fresh faggot on the previous night’s embers, and already a crackling and hissing spoke of warmth to come. Smoke
was issuing from both ends of the faggot, and Baldwin prodded it hopefully.

‘Oi, sir knight, leave the fire alone. I won’t have people play with it. It’s a bugger to light, and I don’t want to have
it go out as soon as I leave it alone!’

Baldwin grinned and left it, instead walking to Jankin and asking where his well was, or his spring.

‘We have a well at the back. Wait a moment and I’ll send a boy for a bucket for you,’ the innkeeper promised.

‘Of course,’ Baldwin said and cast his eye over the little room. Simon was snoring on a bench in a corner, his cloak over
him, a hat obscuring his face. Edgar was nowhere to be seen, but there was nothing new in that. Baldwin knew his man would
often be awake an hour or more before dawn. Some of the restlessness of their life in that twilight period between the collapse
of the Knights Templar and their arrival back safe in England had never entirely left him. He liked to rise before the sun
and walk for a little even in the coldest weather.

There were a few others dotted about the hall, but one face was conspicuously absent. ‘Jankin, where is my wife’s maid?’

At once Jankin grew shifty. He smiled, but his eyes avoided Baldwin’s face. ‘The maid?’

‘Don’t be daft, man! The ugly bitch with a breast like a mountain. When she beetles her eyebrows you could crack a nut in
them. Where is she?’

‘I couldn’t say for sure, sir.’

Baldwin was inclined to feel alarmed. The woman was a miserable drain on his emotions, it was true, and she had caused more
arguments and rages in the house than any servant before or since, but he didn’t like to think that she could have come to
harm. ‘She was insulting your men at the bar last afternoon and evening.’

‘Oh, that wasn’t insulting. They’ve heard worse, Sir Baldwin. No, that would all have been taken in good part. Ah – here she
is!’

Baldwin spun on his heel to see her walk in. She wore her customary glower again, her features slightly flushed, and Baldwin
wondered if she was severely hungover. She stared at Baldwin as though daring him to make a comment. ‘This place is miserable.
Not even a decent pit to crap in,’ she said, and shouldered her way past Jankin.

He looked at Sir Baldwin for a long moment. ‘Was she already your wife’s maid when you married?’

Baldwin said, ‘What makes you ask that?’

‘I thought so.’

It was past the third hour of the morning by the time the men began to gather in the yard near the church. Sir Geoffrey had
sent a party of six of his men on horseback, and Sir Odo three of his own. However, Sir Odo also had the menfolk of Iddesleigh
on his side should there be trouble. He had no cause to fear any action by Sir Geoffrey.

Coroner Edward was the man whom Baldwin wanted to study. As soon as he saw the man, he knew he had met him before. ‘He was
at the tournament at Okehampton,’ he said, pointing him out to his wife.

Jeanne peered. ‘Good looking for a fair man,’ she said musingly. ‘It is fortunate that I prefer my men dark, husband.’

‘That may be a problem soon,’ Baldwin grunted. He ran a hand through his greying thatch. ‘Even my beard’s more white than
dark now.’

‘Not to me, husband.’ Jeanne smiled, and kissed his chin.

‘Come! I must accompany them. Will you stay with us or go back to look after Richalda?’

Jeanne pulled a face. ‘I’ll go back. Emma looks as though she had a night of debauchery and no sleep. I wouldn’t trust her
with our daughter for long.’

‘Good! And now I must go from the look of things,’ Baldwin said as the party began to move in the direction of the church.
‘Simon?’

The bailiff nodded and dropped the stick he had been whittling, crossing the grass to join them. He looked as though he had
rested, but not enough. His eyes had dark sacks beneath them, and he appeared to have aged by ten years in the last couple
of days.

‘Old friend, are you …?’

‘I’ll be fine. Let’s get this over with.’

The men at arms all dropped from their horses and tied them to any available ring, post or sapling, while the crowd of villeins,
some children, and a pair of low, skulking dogs, walked over the yard to the door.

By shoving unmercifully, Baldwin was soon at the front of the press of people. He entered the church a short distance
behind the short, square figure of Sir Odo, and as he walked in caught sight of Edgar, smiling widely, leaning against the
farther wall. The reason for Edgar’s delight was unclear to Baldwin. It looked irreverent, given the present circumstances,
and he was tempted to give a signal to register his disgust – but then he was pushed forward until he was at the side of the
coroner. ‘Sir Edward.’

‘Yes?’

The man gave him a supercilious look that started at Baldwin’s faded boots and gradually rose over the stained and marked
old tunic to his face. In Coroner Edward’s eyes there was amused contempt – until he met Baldwin’s gaze.

There had been times when Baldwin had been interrogating witnesses or felons when all means of persuasion had failed and the
men had stood resolutely silent. At times like that Baldwin would lower his head a little and fix his victim with an unblinking
stare. He could do it by considering the man’s offences, assessing his worth as a witness, or even, on one notable occasion,
by trying to remember what it had been that his wife had told him not to forget to buy that day, but it always succeeded.

Today it served to cow the coroner.

‘I am Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, the Keeper of the King’s Peace. I am here to assist in the capture of the murderers of the
family of Hugh of Drewsteignton, Ailward the bailiff of Sir Geoffrey, and Lady Lucy of Meeth.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ Coroner Edward said. He essayed a smile. ‘Perhaps we can talk later? I have a sanctuary-seeking fellow
in here to talk to.’

‘You will wish to interrogate the man, of course.’ Baldwin stood aside, but he walked to the altar and stood there in clear
view of the coroner. He folded his arms and
contemplated the proceedings as Sir Edward surveyed the scruffy and injured man-at-arms.

‘You are Nicholas le Poter?’

‘Yes.’ Nicholas had both hands clutching at the altar cloth. If he were to let go, his sanctuary could be rendered null and
void.

‘And you are guilty of the murder of Lady Lucy of Meeth?’

‘No! I’ve killed no one.’

‘Really? Then you would like to surrender yourself to my authority so that we can evaluate your evidence.’

‘I can’t stay in the hall under him,’ Nicholas declared, pointing with his chin at Sir Geoffrey. ‘He’ll kill me the first
chance he has!’

‘You have no choice,’ the coroner said softly. He motioned to two men at his side. ‘Take him. He’s asked to have his case
…’

Baldwin was about to step forward when he felt a movement behind him. Before the coroner could complete his sentence, Matthew
was at Nicholas’s side, a great staff in his hands.

‘This man still claims sanctuary.’

‘He wants to prove his innocence, Father. Let us take him away for you.’

Matthew shook his head. ‘You can offer him the opportunity to abjure the realm, if you wish, and you can come here and speak
to him for thirty days, but you will not take a man from the sanctuary offered to him by this most holy house. You will not,
sir!’

Sir Edward set his head to one side a little. ‘So be it,’ he sighed after a short reflection. ‘Which will it be, man? Abjure
and live, or submit to the court?’

‘I need time to think about it! I want more time!’

‘You can wait until God’s kingdom comes, as far as I’m concerned,’ the coroner said. He bent down to one knee, his elbow on
the other, and peered up into Nicholas’s face. ‘Why, he is crying! Is this guilt?’

It was delicious. This strong, hardy man-at-arms was actually weeping! Well, there was little more to do for now. Especially
with the Keeper and the priest refusing to allow a sensible resolution to the problem. No, the Coroner was content to let
matters ride for a while. All he need do was wait. It would take only one more failing to demonstrate that Sir Geoffrey had
lost his grip of the manor, and then Sir Edward would be able to take control, after a few words in the right ears.

Coroner Edward smiled to himself, stood and walked from the church, dismissively thrusting the local villeins from his path
as he went.

Outside he studied the land more closely. Always important to know the lie of the neighbouring lands when you ran a good-sized
manor like Sir Geoffrey’s.

Baldwin and Matthew stood before Nicholas as the people gradually left the church. Matthew held up his hand and roared quickly
before they could all depart that he was about to begin a Mass, and a few men and women from the vill shrugged and turned
back, but all the men-at-arms were gone before Matthew could even go to robe himself for the service.