A Friar's Bloodfeud: (Knights Templar 20) (28 page)

He came closer, and Jeanne hurriedly made her way to the church. She had entered the yard at the eastern point, and she walked
round to the southern door and opened it. Behind her she could hear the desperate rasping breath of the man.

The priest was already inside. ‘Lady Jeanne. How pleasant to see you again. I am just preparing for the evening’s …’

He was silenced as the figure lurched in after her. Wide-eyed, fearful, he pushed past Jeanne and fell to his knees in front
of the priest. ‘Sanctuary! Sanctuary!’

Jeanne gasped at the sight of his shirt. It was dripping with blood, which in the candlelight looked almost black. The colour
had seeped into the thin linen material making it appear bright and clotting! ‘Who did this to you?’

Matthew frowned as Nicholas le Poter bowed his head and began to weep. ‘I am innocent! Sir Geoffrey seeks to accuse me of
murder. He says I killed Lady Lucy, but I had nothing to do with her death! I never saw her until they pulled her body out
of the mire. It was nothing to do with me. I accuse Sir Geoffrey of killing her. He wanted to take her lands!’

‘Man, be silent. Before anything else, we must wash your back,’ Matthew said soothingly. He looked up at Jeanne, who nodded.

‘I shall fetch some help from the inn. They must have water and cloths there. I’ll bring some men, too.’

‘I’m not sure we need …’

She curtly shook her head, then bent to the sobbing man. ‘Who is after you now?’

‘Sir Geoffrey. He has all his men with him and they mean to kill me.’

‘No one will harm you here,’ she said.

Nicholas looked up at her. His eyes were raw, and filled with the pain of his run all the way from the chapel to this church;
his feet felt as though they were beaten to raw meat with the pace of his flight, and his lungs were sacks of loosened flesh.
It was all he could do to take in air.

‘No harm? No harm? After the way he burned out and murdered the poor man in the cottage here? I’m dead. It’s just a matter
of how long it takes him to pull me from the altar.’

Matthew stiffened. He lifted Nicholas and pulled his arm about his own shoulders, grabbing Nicholas’s wrist in one hand, and
putting his left arm about Nicholas’s waist to support him. ‘No one will pull you from my altar, man,’ he declared sharply.
‘This is God’s house, and any damned heretic who seeks to pollute my sanctuary will find God’s vengeance is swift!’

So saying, he led Nicholas up to the altar and set him at the side, pressing a fold of the altar cloth into his hand. ‘Lady
Jeanne? A pot of wine, too, please. I have a feeling this poor fellow will need it before long.’

Baldwin entered the chapel silently.

It was a small place, only the one room, perhaps twelve feet by twenty, with a door to the left which no doubt led to a small
chamber where the priest would sit and sleep. For the rest, it was an empty space with some patterned tiles set into the floor,
and a small, low table at the far end for an altar. The cross wasn’t gold, but it was a good pewter, maybe, and had been polished
until it gleamed like silver. Over the table was a good quality altar cloth, with gold threads stitched into it. All in all,
it was a pleasant little chapel, and the pictures on all the walls livened the atmosphere.

Still, it was very quiet, and he began to be aware of a certain unease.

At the wall to his left was a large chest, and he walked to it and threw it open. Inside was all the paraphernalia of a priest,
from his robe to his alb, with a book laid on top. He shut the lid again, glancing at the room anew. ‘Hello?’ he called, but
there was no reply.

On hearing his shout, Simon opened the door and peered in. ‘Where’s the priest, then?’

‘A good question, Simon. Out, perhaps, seeing a parishioner …’ Baldwin stopped speaking suddenly. He strode to
the altar, where he had noticed a parcel wrapped in a large square of cloth. Unwrapping it, he found a shirt, some bread and
some dried meat. ‘What is this? A pack made up for a journey?’

Simon was at the inner door and now he called to Baldwin. ‘I think I’ve found the priest.’

Baldwin caught his tone of voice and crossed to his side. ‘My God.’

The coroner arrived at the hall in a bad temper.

He had expected the lights to be on and a welcome from his host, since he had obeyed Sir Geoffrey’s commands – or, rather,
suggestions. They were of equal rank, after all.

But there was no knight, no men-at-arms, only a couple of old fools who seemed to know nothing. Their master was gone out,
and all the others had gone with him. How thoughtful of Sir Geoffrey!

‘Damn his eyes. I ought to have gone home and not buggered about here. What’s the point?’ he muttered to himself, and a good
deal more besides. He demanded wine, and the servants fetched him some in a hurry, as though they feared him almost as much
as their master. So be it! If they were so easily cowed, that was fine by him. He sank the first jugful; then, as the level
of the second began to fall, he started to feel rather more optimistic.

He was here as the king’s representative, and if Sir Geoffrey had some scheme afoot which would allow him to fleece the locals,
so much the better. So long as he paid his friend the local coroner. And he would! Oh yes! If he’d been committing murder
for his own advantage, he would soon come to appreciate that it was in his best interests to look after his friends. Especially
if he wanted
those friends to help protect him from the consequences of his actions.

And still more especially if he didn’t want his friends to try to remove him from this lucrative little manor and take it
for themselves.

Sir Geoffrey was soon inside the little chamber with them, Edgar ever present behind him.

‘Who can have done this?’ he gasped.

‘A good question,’ Baldwin commented. ‘You have the coroner on his way already, I believe? It is good. He will need to speak
to everyone in the area.’

‘Who’d kill a priest like old Isaac?’ Sir Geoffrey said with a shake of his head.

If he had not been so suspicious of the man, Baldwin might have been inclined to take his words at their face value. As matters
stood, though, he was not of a mood to trust Sir Geoffrey. He moved about the corpse, gazing intently at the old man’s body.
‘There is no apparent wound. Perhaps …’ He pulled open the dead mouth and stared in at the yellowed teeth and tongue.

‘What are you doing?’ Sir Geoffrey demanded with distaste. ‘You defile the man’s body!’

‘I am seeking to learn how he could have died,’ Baldwin said impatiently. ‘It wasn’t an obvious poison, Edgar. No marks on
the flesh, and he has not bitten his tongue in agony. If anything, I’d say his ending was happy.’

‘
Happy!
’ Sir Geoffrey snorted disdainfully. ‘How can a man’s death be happy?’

‘If he has lived many good years,’ Baldwin said ruminatively, ‘and he has enjoyed them, and he has known that at the completion
of his time on earth the good Lord would
take him to His bosom, then I think you could say his end was happy.’

‘He’s been murdered by that man le Poter. I expect this poor priest refused to offer sanctuary to a killer of widows. When
the priest denied him, he turned on him.’

‘And felt so remorseful that he set the dead man on his bed like this, with his arms crossed, I suppose?’ Baldwin demanded
contemptuously. ‘If you have a brain, Sir Geoffrey, please begin to use it. Besides, where is the wound that ended his life?
Simon, could you help me to turn him over?’

Reluctantly, Simon took hold of the frail old shoulder and pushed.

‘See?’ Baldwin said delightedly. ‘No wound. Plainly this was no murder, but a simple death of old age. May all our deaths
be as gentle.’

‘What is that?’ Sir Geoffrey asked, eyeing the pack which Simon and Baldwin had left on the floor by the doorway.

‘That? Only a parcel I found near the altar.’

‘It’s Nicholas’s shirt. He
has
been here. Perhaps he sought to rob the church as well as kill the priest. He is entirely evil!’

‘He is a man like any other,’ Baldwin remonstrated. ‘He entered, he found the priest dead, and he fled.’

‘Why should he bolt if he had nothing to hide?’

‘A man may have nothing to hide and yet still be wary of allowing himself to be caught by a posse bent on his destruction,’
Baldwin said dismissively.

‘You suggest my posse was …’

Baldwin looked at him for a long moment, then turned on his heel and left the chapel.

Humphrey tried to yawn. It seemed the natural thing to do, after waking from sleep, but even as he opened his mouth the pain
shot from his temple to his jaw, and he hiccuped in pain.

‘Oh! Oh! God in Heaven,
ow
!’

‘Think yourself lucky, friend. You could have been struck with a knife instead.’

Opening an eye cautiously, Humphrey found himself staring at a rock.

The voice continued conversationally. ‘Of course, if you had been killed outright, it might have saved you a not inconsiderable
amount of grief for the future.’

Humphrey winced. The voice was educated, and that could well bode badly for the future. ‘Um. We are all here in this miserable
existence for our allotted time. We can all expect sadness and pain.’

There was a chuckle. ‘Ah, but a man who pretends to be a priest? He can be made to suffer dreadfully, can’t he?’

Humphrey tried to move his arms and found that he was effectively bound. A thong or cord tied him at the elbows, and his ankles
were similarly restrained. He lifted his head and turned to face his gaoler. ‘I
am
a priest.’

‘No, I don’t think so. And nor do many others about here. Especially Matthew, who felt sure you were out to take advantage
of poor Isaac. In fact he thought you were probably after the silver from the chapel. I’m surprised you didn’t bother to take
all the altar trappings. The cloth would be worth a few shillings, and the cross too.’

‘I am no thief!’ Humphrey declared, managing to affect a tone of righteous indignation that he scarcely felt. He was glad
now that he hadn’t tried to shove the chalice in his pack when he left. It had been tempting, God alone knew.

‘Oddly enough, you apparently are not.’ Friar John stood
and walked to a small cauldron that sat over the fire. He stirred the pottage and sniffed at it appreciatively. ‘And yet you
are not a priest, either, are you? So my interest in you is greater than it would normally be.’

‘Why do you say that? I can speak the Pater Noster as well as any, and I can …’

‘Oh, yes – so I have heard.’

‘Then there is no reason for you to keep me tied up like this, Brother. Release me and let me go on my way. If you’re so attached
to your supper that you won’t share it with another poor sinner, then set me free so that I can pick up what I may from other
people who are more gracious and charitable,’ Humphrey said with a note of indignation. He felt he had pitched the tone just
right, and even this daft old sermon-gabbler would see the justification in his demand. There was no point in keeping an innocent
man here. ‘Come, there is no harm done, apart from my broken head, and I won’t demand compensation for that. Clearly you thought
that there was a draw-latch trying to break into your …’

He remembered where he was all of a sudden, and peered about him in the gloom.

‘Ah, you are perhaps wondering what a shod friar is doing down here?’ John asked amiably. He looked over at his prisoner and
smiled gently. ‘That, you see, is the interesting point and the reason why you must remain here as my guest for a little while.’

‘I will not!’

‘Oh, you may shout all you want, Humphrey, but you won’t be released. Apart from anything else, I want to know what you are
doing out here, so far from your little chapel. Did Father Isaac see you putting your hand into a pot of money that you should
not have?’

‘Of course not! I told you, I am no thief!’

‘So you did.’ John turned his attention back to the pottage. ‘I do hope you are not, my friend, because if you are, I shall
see it as my duty to turn you over to the secular authorities. I understand that they can be a little unkind so far from the
city.’

‘Brother, no … please!’

‘I will wait. There is no hurry.’

‘But I cannot stay here like this, Brother! Please, set me loose so that I can continue on my way.’

‘I should like to – but I fear that my companion would become most upset if I released you.’

‘But why?’

‘Because he wishes to remain hidden for a little while. He must be unseen.’

‘I’ll not tell anyone!’ Humphrey gabbled quickly. He had suddenly realised who this friar must be: a member of an outlaw gang.
This associate of his must be another outlaw, and perhaps the fellow would seek to silence anyone who saw his face, or who
knew where they had their camp. Sweet Jesus! It was enough to make a man weep! He’d done nothing, and now his life was to
be cast aside just because he had come here to a quiet building to seek shelter for a night.

‘Oh, no!’ John said affably. ‘How could we permit you to go without experiencing our hospitality?’

The Keeper was thoughtful as he climbed back on to his mount. He glanced across at Simon, who was watching Sir Geoffrey with
a cold, flickering suspicion in his eyes. ‘Simon? Are you all right?’

‘It’s possible that he’s the man who got Hugh killed,’ Simon said.

He was calm enough, but Baldwin could feel the waves of rage. ‘Simon, do nothing foolish. You have no evidence. If we can
find it, I swear, I shall see him in court myself.’

‘I don’t want him in
court
– I want him dead, if he killed Hugh.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘I can understand that. I swear to you, I shall help you if it is at all possible.’

Edgar joined them and sat easily on his horse with his customary half-grin. Simon shot a glance at him and looked away. He
was aware that Edgar had been a close friend of Hugh’s, so he knew he must miss him, but just now the man’s expression was
almost sardonic. Yes, there was a cold gleam in his eyes, and Simon was sure that he’d be the first to make Hugh’s killer
pay, but just now he scarcely seemed to care that Hugh was dead.

When he turned away, he caught a glimpse of the hound master. The man was scowling at a pair of his brutes, who were sniffing
and nuzzling at the ground. Simon jerked with his chin in the direction of the hounds, and Baldwin nodded. ‘They’ve got his
scent.’

‘Sir Geoffrey! Sir Geoffrey!’

The knight came from the chapel and stood glaring about him, seeking the source of the call.

‘Sir, I think they have him again!’

Sir Geoffrey ran to his horse and climbed up as the first of the hounds began to bay. As the other beasts took up the call,
Simon and Baldwin were soon caught up in a fresh chase. The mass of men and horses began to mill about the chapel’s yard,
and then, as the hounds set off northwards, they leaped the low fence and set off in pursuit.

Over the fields they pounded, and Simon ignored a growing soreness on his left inner thigh from all the riding
he’d done recently as he gave himself up to the pleasure of pursuit. The wind caught at his hair and it whipped about like
a short mane, while his cloak tugged at his throat, snapping and cracking. There was another field, and a taller hedge this
time, and he leaned forward as he felt the rounsey gather himself and surge as he rose over it; Simon just had time to force
himself back before the beast’s legs struck the solid earth at the other side, slamming Simon back against the cantle. It
caught him slightly askew, the top raking along his left buttock, and the pain flared for a moment, but then he was concentrating
on the race again.

All was forgotten in the mad rush forward, because few if any of the men remembered what they were here for now – they were
lost in the excitement of the gallop. Simon had a moment of sudden clarity: all the men here were the same felons and cut-throats
whom Baldwin and he had been warned of by Malkin and Isabel. When they found the man they hunted he would stand no chance
against them, even if Baldwin and Simon tried to stop them stringing him up forthwith.

Those who would have restrained the posse, the local villeins, were too few, and they would hardly dare to thwart Sir Geoffrey
and his hirelings. Looking about him, Simon was aware of a quickening concern about what might shortly happen.

At a rough bellow, the horses left the straight path they had taken, and slipped right to the road again. A low fence and
hedge, wait for the horse to bunch up his muscles …
now!
The rounsey soared up as lightly as a blackbird, and Simon felt a fleeting satisfaction before they came to earth again.
This time he was better prepared and his backside
didn’t suffer. His thigh was giving him grief, though, and he had to resettle himself in the saddle as they sped along.