A Friar's Bloodfeud: (Knights Templar 20) (22 page)

Sir Geoffrey eyed him doubtfully, but Baldwin did not see any guilt, only a little surprise. ‘Well, if you have questions
for the coroner, you will be able to ask him before long.’

Baldwin looked back at the body on the rude stretcher. ‘I think I may do that.’

‘Do,’ Sir Geoffrey said.

Glancing up at him, Baldwin thought he had a little of the stillness of a snake preparing to strike. Rather than provoke him
further, he would have left the room, but Sir Geoffrey was blocking his path.

‘There is one thing you should consider, Sir Baldwin,’ he said quietly. ‘Bear this in mind. If I was going to murder, I would
not be foolish enough to hide the body on my lands just when I was going to expose that very area to the gaze of all my villeins.
If I killed, I would leave the woman’s body somewhere else. Perhaps on a neighbour’s lands, if I sought to do him a foul turn.’

‘You have many enemies?’

Sir Geoffrey showed his teeth. It could have been a smile, but it could equally have been a snarl. ‘What do
you
think?’

‘What are you talking about?’ Simon demanded as soon as they had remounted and ridden away from the hall. ‘You said in there
that Constance and young Hugh were both dead, but you implied …’

Baldwin brought his horse nearer Simon’s. ‘Simon, Edgar and I have seen men burned at the stake. You’ve seen bodies brought
out from burned-out cottages, too. A man doesn’t simply burn away.’

Edgar nodded. ‘A man takes cartloads of wood to be completely immolated, Simon.’

‘But what else could have . .?’

‘If Hugh was hurt, he would find a place to hide until he was well, wouldn’t he?’ Baldwin said. ‘And then he would return
to exact vengeance.’

‘He could have escaped that place only to die alone somewhere else,’ Simon said with a gasp. His grief was rising again. It
felt like panic. The idea that his man could have been injured, and had run off like a stabbed hog to die in a lonely, miserable,
cold place far from anyone he loved, was more than Simon could bear. He closed his eyes and didn’t quite catch Baldwin’s next
comment. ‘What?’

‘Wake up, Simon!’ Baldwin snapped. ‘This is the first
chance we’ve had to discuss this. We’ve had people with us up until now. I wasn’t going to talk to you about it at Hugh’s
ruins, but I am sure that Hugh did not die there. The question is, did he die at all, or was he free to escape?’

Edgar shrugged. ‘Obviously he was free.’

‘What are you saying?’ Simon protested. ‘How could you think that he would choose life when his woman was dead? He couldn’t
have lived.’

‘Clearly he did,’ Edgar said flatly. ‘He sent a messenger to me.’

Simon’s jaw dropped. ‘He … how do you know this?’

‘The messenger was from a friar who met him somewhere round here. He told me that the friar was agitated, but that he had
been told to pass on the message. If Hugh is in the hands of a friar, I should think he would be well enough.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘I did not even think of that. I simply assumed that the messenger came from the vill.’

‘My first thought was, who there could have known where I was,’ Edgar said. ‘There were some who could have known where Simon
was, but not me, I thought. That was why I asked.’

‘And it was a good thing you did,’ Baldwin said. ‘So let us assume that he is alive and recuperating. That means we have an
urgent task.’

‘Why assume that?’ Simon said, reluctant to accept this leap of faith. ‘He may have died.’

‘If he had, I think the friar would have told someone,’ Baldwin said. ‘A friar need not fear the local politics. No, I think
the fact that they are still silent and apparently hidden means that they are both alive. So we have the job of finding the
killer before Hugh tries to.’

‘I would have no difficulty with Hugh finding the
murderer and killing him,’ Simon said, and spat into the road. ‘He deserves whatever Hugh does to him.’

‘I agree,’ Baldwin said, but now there was an unusual note in his voice, a tone Simon had only rarely heard before. Baldwin
swung his arm and winced at the pain in his shoulder. ‘But we have to remember that Hugh has been known to get things wrong
before, Simon. I don’t want to have to protect him after he’s killed the wrong man.’

Humphrey was happy that he’d done all he could now, and he was about to pack his meagre belongings when the heavy pounding
at the chapel door made him stiffen and wait, considering what he could do.

The only thought in his mind had been of escape, and he was almost ready to leave. He’d done it before, and he was more than
ready to slip off again. It wasn’t the best weather for it, of course, but at least he could depart at night and find a new
post somewhere, anywhere, and begin again. There was no point in hanging around here any longer. He was convinced of that.
If he did, he might be hanged.

‘Who is it?’

‘Father, it is the Keeper of the King’s Peace, Sir Baldwin Furnshill. I understand you saw the body of a young woman on Sir
Geoffrey’s land today. May we speak to you?’

Humphrey closed his eyes and swore to himself. God was playing games with him now. So near to escape, yet he was in danger
again. He stared at the altar and the plain cross accusingly, his lips pursed in anger. ‘Oh, very well,’ he said, and slipped
the bolt open, stepping into the chill daylight.

The men before him were alarming. The Keeper, of course, was worrying enough. Any man whose job involved tracking down and
arresting felons was not the sort of person
Humphrey wanted to be involved with, not with his past. Still, he managed to smile coolly and eye the three with what he hoped
looked like calm disinterest. ‘You wanted to speak to me about the young woman?’

‘Yes. What can you tell us about her?’

‘I did not know her, if that is what you mean. She was the widow of a knight at Meeth, I understand. That was what Perkin
told me, anyway.’

‘Perkin?’

‘One of the peasants. He was the man who found Ailward after the football.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘You mean the sergeant who died?’

‘Yes. He was killed up on the moor near Iddesleigh. I reckoned it was because of the camp ball. Perkin was running up to the
goal when he saw Ailward. It was because Ailward appeared there in his way that a man from Fishleigh was able to knock Perkin
down and take the ball, and it was because of that tackle that Monkleigh lost the game. Not many forgave Perkin that loss.
And I doubt he forgave Ailward for distracting him.’

Simon listened with rising anger. This was all nonsense. The man was talking about some game of camp ball, while he wanted
to learn about his man. He pushed his way forward. ‘What of the …’

‘Simon, please wait,’ Baldwin said. He glanced at his friend and gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘We have to try to get to the
bottom of all these stories before we can hope to learn what became of Hugh. There must be a connection between them all.’

‘Hugh?’ Humphrey repeated, looking from one to another. ‘Who’s he?’

‘He was the servant of my friend here,’ Baldwin said.
‘And his wife and child were killed up beyond Iddesleigh a few days ago.’

‘Oh, the man who died in the fire,’ Humphrey acknowledged.

‘You agreed with that conclusion?’ Baldwin said.

‘The coroner said it was an accident, didn’t he?’ Humphrey said.

‘I believe so,’ Baldwin said without emphasis. Then he added, ‘A coincidence that the coroner was here for Ailward’s death
just when this man and his family were killed too.’

‘And now another woman’s dead too,’ Simon snapped. ‘What is happening here, priest?’

Humphrey licked his lips and glanced from Simon to Baldwin. He was in two minds, but there seemed little point in trying to
conceal anything from them. It wasn’t as if the matters had anything to do with him – and he would soon be gone anyway.

‘Everyone thinks she was killed by Sir Geoffrey. He and his men are vassals of Despenser, and you know
his
reputation. Lady Lucy had land and could perhaps be bullied into giving it up, while your man was one of several who were
beaten up and told to go.’

‘He wasn’t “told” anything,’ Simon spat. ‘He was slaughtered with his family.’

‘It was meant as a message, I think,’ Humphrey explained. ‘Others have been used in the same way. There is a man called Robert
Crokers over the way there, who is sergeant to Sir Odo of Fishleigh. He had his home burned too. That was the same day as
your man.’

‘A message …’ Simon mused, his eyes narrowing as a thought came to him.

Baldwin peered with keen interest. ‘You are sure? He was attacked the very same day?’

‘Yes. A party of men went to Robert’s house in the late afternoon. It was the very day that Adcock arrived to replace Ailward.
They rode off as Adcock got there, and forced Robert out before setting light to his house. Your man died later that night,
so far as I can tell.’

‘Why attack my man?’ Simon asked. ‘What would be in it for this man Geoffrey?’

‘He wants more lands for his master, I suppose. The more he has, the better it reflects upon him, and the more authority he
has himself.’

Baldwin and Edgar exchanged a glance. ‘That makes some sense,’ Baldwin said slowly. ‘But we have heard this from many others
in the area since we arrived. Is there no one else who could have a desire to take lands? Or is it possible that someone could
have wanted to attack Hugh and his family with a view to making everyone
think
that it was Sir Geoffrey who was responsible? There are too many possibilities.’

‘I don’t know. All I can say is, it fairly shook me to my sandals to see that poor woman in the bog up there – and the knight
was remarkably keen to get her out of sight. I’ve never seen a woman like that … soaked in black water … poor woman!’

‘What of the dead sergeant, this Ailward? What can you tell us about him?’ Baldwin enquired.

‘He was a hard taskmaster, but a bailiff has to be, doesn’t he? Sergeant or bailiff, it’s all the same thing. They are there
to make the land pay for the lord. The vill has to have enough food to live on, but all the rest is for the lord, and sometimes
it’s hard. Ailward was a brawny fellow, fast with his fists or his staff, but to his credit, I think he was a kindly
soul to those who actually had little. He talked hard, and sounded a cruel fellow, but if a peasant needed money, he would
lend it. His wife adored him.’

‘How long had he been sergeant?’ Baldwin asked. He could sense that Simon’s ire was rising once more, but he shot his friend
a look that made Simon half turn away.

‘Since before I came here. Some while as a bachelor, more recently as a husband. I understand his family used to be wealthy,
but then they fell into …’

‘Yes?’

‘Well – disgrace. The war two years ago. When the king won, there was nothing left for Ailward. That is what I have heard.’

‘Another family ruined,’ Simon said bitterly.

‘Where do they live?’ Baldwin asked.

As the waves of nausea rolled through him, starting from the pit of his belly and rumbling upwards, Adcock rolled out of his
cot and fell on to the floor on all fours, retching.

The pain was exquisite; quite unlike anything he had experienced before. He felt as though his ballocks were going to explode.
This was no simple, geographically isolated ache, it was all-encompassing, from his knees to his breast. It felt as though
he was one whole mass of bruises from his chest to his thighs. Walking was impossible. Sitting on a horse with this tenderness
was unimaginable. All he could do was crouch, choking with the fabulous anguish that brightened and flared from his groin.
His head fell to the floor, for his entire soul was dragged down to his ballocks, and nothing else mattered.

‘You still lazing about?’

Adcock didn’t hear him the first time. He was entirely concentrated on his wounds, and it was only when Nick le
Poter gave him an ungentle push with his boot that Adcock collapsed, weeping with the torture of it, his eyes still firmly
closed. He opened them when the waves had subsided a little, and looked up to see his fresh tormentor.

‘So, you’ve learned what our mad master is like, have you?’

Nick was still unable to pull a jacket or shirt over the lacerations on his back, and he must continually move his muscles
to ease the itching as the bloody scabs tightened and the scars formed. At least the worst of the actual searing sensation
was gone now. One day of grief, and it was more or less all right. He’d suffered worse.

Adcock whispered. ‘I think I’d guessed already.’

‘He’s off his head. You upset him, did you?’

‘All I did was do my job. There was a mire out on the Exbourne road. You know the one? I had it drained, that was all, but
in the bottom there was a dead woman.’

‘What?’

‘Someone from Meeth – Lady Lucy? She was only young, but she’d been tortured. Even I could see that, and I know nothing about
death. She had great welts on her where someone had burned her, I think.’ He winced.

Nick saw his expression, his mind racing. ‘And we both know who could do that to someone, don’t we?’

Jeanne accepted the wine from Jankin with a graceful inclination of her head. Emma was starting to get dozy, she could see.
The maid was looking about her belligerently, like an old hen who had mislaid her corn and thought one of the cockerels in
the run might have stolen it. Soon, like a hen, she appeared to forget all about them, and instead sank back on her stool,
resting her back on the wall behind her and grumbling to herself.

The trouble which Jeanne had so often tried to explain to her was that, when complaining about a hostelry, it was usually
best to wait until she had left the place. Emma was notable for many things, but the subtlety and moderation of her voice
were not among her attributes. It was as Deadly Dave reappeared, apparently glad to have escaped from Jeanne’s husband from
the glare he threw her as he stood in the doorway, that Emma began to make her feelings known.

‘Look at this place. Little better than a sty.’

‘Emma, keep your voice down.’

‘Why? No one would hear me here. Anyway, I doubt any of them would want to dispute it. Look at the state of the place! And
the men here. Look at them. As ungodly a mob as I’ve ever seen. Only that one’s moderately clean. I can see why Sir Baldwin
chose him as a guide. I can tell you, mistress, I’ll be glad to be back home at Liddinstone.’

‘Moderate your tone,’ Jeanne commanded urgently.

‘We’re only here to look after Sir Baldwin, after all. And he’s gone off on his own already. What’s the point of our being
here?’

Jeanne clenched her jaw and, as Richalda mumbled in her sleep in her lap, took a moment to force her voice to calm. At last
she said, ‘Emma, Sir Baldwin is safe because he has his servant Edgar and his friend Simon with him. I need not fear his falling
from his mount into a ditch while there are two strong men at his side. However, he needed us on the way here. And he needs
us to be here when he returns, not lynched because …’ she lowered her voice to a malevolent hiss, ‘because you insult all
the people of this good vill.
You will be silent!
’