A Friar's Bloodfeud: (Knights Templar 20) (30 page)

‘You are candid, sir.’

‘I am a knight of Sir John Sully, and he is a loyal vassal to Lord de Courtenay. I am loyal too. I dislike this new fashion
for men to sell their service for money. In my day, we took our oath because we loved our lord, and we served him faithfully
to death.’

‘Still, it might be as well to moderate your language with strangers, sir.’

Sir Odo threw him a look in which the grin smothered the shrewdness. ‘You think so? Sir Baldwin, since you’re known for avoiding
any discussion of politics, other than stating that you’re the king’s man because you owe him allegiance, I think I can speak
openly in your presence.’ He nodded towards Simon. ‘And every servant of Lord Hugh de Courtenay knows of the Puttock family.
If I can’t trust Lord Hugh’s father’s favourite steward’s son, whom can I trust?’

‘Thank you, Sir Odo,’ Simon muttered. He felt more than a little out of his depth in this discussion. Sir Odo was a plain-speaking
man, and a bluff, honest character, but in Simon’s experience so were almost all leaders of warriors. They tended to have
that skill of speaking to a man as though he were an equal, no matter what the actual difference in position. It was that
which led men to trust them and follow them into battle.

‘You’ve been praised often enough by our lord,’ Odo said. ‘So you see, Sir Baldwin, I feel no concern when I speak openly
in front of you, and I do want to see if there’s anything we can do to resolve matters here.’

They were at the inn’s door, and they walked inside. There was one table on the right that was inhabited by two young
men discussing the attractions of a maid, but when the two knights stood before them, and Edgar jerked his thumb, they soon
took the hint and vacated their seats.

‘So, Sir Odo,’ Baldwin said when they were all seated with great earthenware cups filled with wine before them. ‘Tell me more.’

The most part of Sir Odo’s story told them little that was new. Sir Geoffrey was an acquisitive soul and sought to take over
Sir Odo’s lands ‘on this side of the river – at first, anyway. No doubt he’ll want the whole of Fishleigh as soon as he can
get his hands on it.’ If he could take Lady Lucy’s lands as well, he would have a great swathe of land east and north of Sir
Odo, which would make it all the easier to subdue any possible revolts, and incidentally make it easier to swallow up any
other manors he desired … ‘all in the name of his master, of course,’ Sir Odo said drily, and tipped his head back to
finish his wine.

Baldwin poured him more. ‘So I can understand why he should have killed Lady Lucy, if you are right. She was a barrier to
his advance.’

‘There are stories that she was tortured?’

Baldwin nodded.

‘I dare say he tried to make her hand him her lands. When he failed, he killed her. A savage, brutal man.’

‘Clearly. What of the land between here and the river? Madam Isabel and Malkin feel it is theirs and yet you hold it.’

‘I do.’ Odo grimaced for some little while, then tilted his head and nodded. ‘It was theirs, and when they lost it, Sir Geoffrey
had it along with his other lands. I bought it from him. Ach! I’m not proud to take advantage of the situation, but I have
a duty to Lord de Courtenay. That land
creates a buffer between Monkleigh and Fishleigh. I thought it made sound sense to purchase it, and Sir Geoffrey was keen
enough to take my money. Now I realise he put my money straight into his own purse. He intends to win back the land for his
own master.’

‘I can understand that,’ Simon said, ‘and I can see how he might have sought to remove Lady Lucy. I suppose Ailward could
have possibly tried to win back his lands in the future, so Sir Geoffrey had him killed: but I can see no reason why he should
have killed Hugh.’

‘Hugh?’ Sir Odo asked, perplexed.

‘My friend’s servant, who used to live a little way up here,’ Baldwin said.

‘Ah, yes. I heard of that. The fire?’

‘That was what the coroner said,’ Simon said without conviction.

‘Sir Edward?’ Sir Odo gave a humourless laugh. ‘Oh, yes. He’d agree to whatever Sir Geoffrey suggested to him. They are close,
those two. But then, both serve the same lord.’

‘Despenser?’ Baldwin confirmed.

‘Yes. And the coroner knows where his loyalties lie.’

‘Why would he seek to remove Hugh?’ Baldwin asked with a frown.

‘If I’m right and he wants all my lands this side of the river, the first thing he’d do would be to launch raids on the outlying
farms and properties. Well, on the same night he attacked my man Robert Crokers, and then your man up here. Didn’t kill Robert,
but then he probably thought that a man who was so high in my household would be too much of a provocation to me. It would
force me to react. So he took your man instead. He left a message for me at Robert’s,
and killed someone else to show he wasn’t scared. Both parcels of land are close to his estates.’

‘So it would be easy for him to get an armed force to them without being seen,’ Baldwin noted.

‘Of course. I’ve been on edge ever since,’ Odo said, drinking more wine and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I’ve
a chain of men with horses at different places between all the outlying farms, just in case of another attack.’

‘That was how you arrived today?’ Simon asked. ‘I wondered where you had sprung from.’

‘A messenger arrived to tell me that Sir Geoffrey set off from his hall earlier this evening. At first I was convinced he’d
gone to ruin poor Robert’s house again, but there was no sign of his men there. So I thought to myself that he must have been
heading this way instead, and we lashed our brutes to get here as quickly as we could. Just in time, too, from the look of
it!’

‘It was in very good time,’ Baldwin said, but there was no warmth in his tone.

Hugh sat back on his heels. ‘Want to know what you meant.’

‘I can’t even remember seeing you there.’

He didn’t believe the man. ‘I was hedging. You told me to look after her. That night, she died.’

Humphrey’s face suddenly paled. ‘
Pater Noster
,
Domine
…’

‘You can say one thing for him,’ John said idly, lifting a rabbit leg and dropping it into the pot with the others. ‘He’s
certainly had training. He knows all the right words.’

‘Of course I do,’ Humphrey spat. ‘What do you think I am? An impostor?’

His bluster didn’t upset John. ‘Yes.’

Humphrey gaped. His work had been faultless, surely. It was impossible that anyone could have spotted his deceit.

‘You see,’ John said, ‘your error was in assuming that all parish priests are dullards. They aren’t. In particular, Matthew
at Iddesleigh is a very good and conscientious priest. He knows his Latin, he serves his flock as well as he might, he works
his lands alongside the peasants, and he knows the church and the politics of the bishop’s court. Perhaps if you had known
more about that, he wouldn’t have noticed you. But you didn’t, so he did.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You knew too much, but your Latin was very rusty. It still is, I think. You can recite it, but it’s not your strength. Your
congregation wouldn’t notice the difference. Tell me, did Isaac?’

‘This is nonsense!’

‘Perhaps he did and didn’t want to embarrass you. I have no doubt he would have prayed hard for your miserable, devious, lying
soul. But there we are. It was as plain as the buckle on your belt there that you weren’t trained for the priesthood. No,
I agreed with Matthew as soon as I saw you.’

‘Agreed with what?’

‘That you were a friar or a monk. And you’ve run away.’

Simon watched Sir Odo mount his horse. ‘Thank God we’ve met him,’ he said. ‘At least we know we have a strong ally.’

Baldwin nodded, but his mind was not entirely with Simon. The bailiff recognised the look in his eyes. It was that slight
distraction that meant that Baldwin was already beginning to see through the immediate problems to the core of the matter.

‘Well, Baldwin?’ he asked.

Baldwin knew his friend well enough now not to mind when he broke in upon his thoughts. ‘Sir Odo is clearly anxious about
Sir Geoffrey, and from what we’ve seen, so should he be.’

‘It was a stroke of good fortune for us that he is,’ Edgar commented.

Simon glanced at him. ‘Because his men were there in good time?’

Edgar nodded. His face was set to the south and west.
‘That’s the way he came, wasn’t it? I wonder where the messenger was stationed. The lad must have been a fleet rider to be
able to get to Sir Odo and rouse him in time for Odo to ride out to his man’s lands before coming here. We were not so slow
ourselves in riding here from the chapel, were we?’

‘He probably knows all the short cuts,’ Simon said. Then a thought struck him. ‘That may be how the men who attacked Hugh
got to him, too, by using some quieter paths that didn’t pass near the road.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘Except the horses did come from Iddesleigh itself. I saw that in their hoofprints. They must have gone to
Hugh’s house under cover of the party at the inn, and then come back here quietly and ridden home when all was dark.’

‘An easy ride,’ Edgar agreed. A fast ride in the dark over rough land was never appealing to a horseman. A good, solid roadway
like this was safe.

‘Sir Odo’s men are all about the church,’ Simon noted. ‘Even if Sir Geoffrey returns, I don’t think he’ll be able to break
in there without raising the vill.’

‘It would be a foolish man who’d try that,’ Baldwin said. But even as he spoke, his eyes went to the church.

Seeing his look, Edgar gave a contented smile. ‘There is one sure and certain protection if you are fearful, Sir Baldwin.
Send Madam Jeanne’s maid to guard the man. Not only would you guarantee that Sir Geoffrey would never dare attack, you would
also ensure that the man would speak to you of anything you wanted as soon as you returned to see him.’

‘Thank you,’ Baldwin said coldly. ‘If I were to take your advice, our only witness would be dead by morning if he
had to gnaw through his own wrists to manage it, so cruel is the punishment you suggest.’

It was already late when Adcock appeared in the chapel’s doorway. As the door opened, all the candles began to dance and smoke.
He shot a look around, and pushed the door quietly shut behind him.

This place was proving to be a hell on earth. All Adcock had ever wanted was to be left to arrange for the good management
of the land and the animals on it, but instead here he was, installed in a manor which was a hotbed of thieving and banditry.
The serfs avoided him, seeing him as a henchman of the Despenser. None of them pretended to be an expert of politics at anything
higher than the most local level, but all of them knew of the reputation that the Lord Despenser was earning. They had heard
how he extorted and tortured people in order to enrich himself.

Adcock walked painfully to the earthenware stoup at the wall and crossed himself, then slowly made his way up the nave to
the altar.

‘What is it, Sergeant? Couldn’t sleep?’

‘Perkin? What are you doing here?’

‘Watching over old Isaac. He deserved a mourner, if only one.’

‘He would have understood. There’s a lot of work on at this time of year.’

Perkin yawned. ‘When is that not true?’

Tentatively Adcock approached the body and Perkin, who squatted near the head. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’

‘Why would you want to? You hardly knew the man.’

‘He was a good man, though. We both know that. He served this vill well in his time, and it seems wrong to me
that there is no official party here to watch over him as he lies in his own chapel.’

‘That young priest should be here with him,’ Perkin said bitterly.

‘This will be a terrible shock to him, I expect,’ Adcock said.

‘You think so?’

Shocked by his tone, Adcock looked up sharply. ‘You mean the priest had something to do with this man’s death?’

‘He was old. He had nothing more to live for, I believe. He’d done all he could.’

Adcock grimaced and shifted uneasily. His cods still felt as though they’d been broken. ‘What is happening here? I hoped for
a period of quiet to get the land sown so that we could win the best harvest ever – and all I have found is death and despair.’

‘It’s a hard life, and this is a hard vill,’ Perkin said. ‘But you’ll be all right.’

Adcock had a sudden vision of his Hilda, the sun was behind her so he could see her whole form, the smile on her face still
brighter than the sun itself … and he knew that he would never dare to bring her here to this manor. Better that they
should live apart than that she should come and be leered at by the men under Sir Geoffrey. They were little more than brutes,
all of them.

‘Nicholas le Poter was all but killed by Sir Geoffrey,’ he said. ‘Whipped just because he took the piss out of a messenger
from Sir Odo.’

Perkin looked at him. ‘He was no friend to us who live here. If Sir Geoffrey took the skin off his back, not many of us would
care.’

‘You didn’t see what happened to him,’ Adcock said,
thinking again of that terrible kick that had all but emasculated Adcock himself. In reality that was a part of the reason
for his being here: to be safe from any further attack from Sir Geoffrey. The other part was despair. He had sealed Nicholas
le Poter’s death warrant when he told Sir Geoffrey that le Poter had suggested the draining of the mire, and the knowledge
was destroying him.

‘I’ve seen what’s happened to others often enough,’ Perkin grunted.

‘Where is the young priest? He should be here too.’

‘He’s run away.’ Perkin looked at him and sighed. ‘The damned fool. It’s going to cost him his neck.’

Jeanne was already asleep when Baldwin walked into his room. Simon and Edgar were still in the inn’s main hall, drinking without
speaking for the most part, although now and again Edgar would murmur a word or two about life at Crediton.

Emma was, thankfully, nowhere to be seen. Baldwin gave a quick frown, wondering where she could have got to. He hadn’t seen
her since Sir Odo had left, when he was sure she had been at the bar, talking and joking with a small clique of drinkers.
One man had stood glowering at Baldwin – oh yes, David, the man who had led them to the mire where Lady Lucy had been found.
He had some reason for disliking Baldwin and Simon, he supposed.

Emma would probably annoy someone else through the night with her snoring or her moaning and complaining. Baldwin could hope
so, anyway. Certainly he would sleep all the better without her in the room … urged on by the temptations of the devil,
he began to move a chest across the doorway to prevent her entering. Only the sudden change in
Jeanne’s breathing stopped him. He realised that he might wake her now by dragging the chest, and if he didn’t, the blasted
maid certainly would when she found the door barred against her. She’d be likely to pound on it and wake the entire house.
Finally, as he was removing his sword and tunic, Baldwin started to chuckle to himself. In his haste to ban Emma, he hadn’t
noticed that the door opened outwards. Pulling the chest before it would achieve nothing.

It was a sign of how tired he was, he told himself as he sank onto the bed as gently as possible so as not to waken Jeanne.

His wound was giving him some grief again. That damned bolt from behind had so nearly killed him, it seemed perverse now to
complain about the pain, yet he could not help himself. It was a constant grumbling ache at the best of times. Now, with his
whole body exhausted after the ride here and the efforts he had expended since arriving, it was more of a pernicious anguish.

The thought that they were likely never to bring a murderer to book for the crimes committed against Hugh was a sore grief.
Yet Baldwin was not sure that there was any possibility of seeing justice brought to bear against the Despenser’s man down
here. And he was growing to agree with all those with whom he had spoken that surely it was Sir Geoffrey who had the urge
to remove Hugh, who had the opportunity, and who had been about the place that day. As for his allegation that another could
have killed Lady Lucy and dropped her body in the mire – Baldwin was in two minds. It was unlikely that a man would have dropped
the body in the mire to throw suspicion on Sir Geoffrey unless he knew that the mire was soon to be drained. Who could have
known that in advance? Clearly the sergeant of the
manor would have known. Perhaps Baldwin should speak to him. Then again, would Sir Geoffrey have allowed the mire to be emptied
if he knew that the lady’s body lay within?

As he lay back, the questions circled in his mind, but he could get no nearer an answer. All he was growing convinced of was
that Sir Geoffrey would be enormously difficult to bring to justice.

Baldwin wondered how Simon would cope with that. It was a dreadful conclusion to reach, but if the culprit was Sir Geoffrey,
the man was practically unassailable. Lord Despenser would protect his own.

It was a deeply unsatisfying conclusion, but he could see no alternative. He only prayed that Simon would not be irrational.
He would speak to Edgar in the morning. If it looked as though Simon was going to burst out into righteous indignation and
assault Sir Geoffrey, Edgar and he would have to prevent him by force.

There was no point having Simon getting himself killed as well.

Humphrey eyed the glowing tip of the blackened stick in Hugh’s hand. It approached him with the relentlessness of a viper
slowly stalking a mouse, and Humphrey felt like a mouse as he sat absolutely still, the warmth from the glowing point beginning
to make him sweat.

‘I have no patience with liars,’ Hugh said quietly. ‘Speak.’

‘I know nothing! Nothing. But I saw Matthew the priest at Iddesleigh, and he told me that your wife was once a nun, that she
had taken her vows when she was too young, and had fled here.’

‘So?’ Hugh demanded.

‘I am the same. I was a monk, from the little priory of Otterton.’

‘I know it,’ John said, nodding to himself as he stirred the pot. ‘A pleasant little place, but draughty rooms for guests.’

‘I was sent there when I was a lad. My father thought I was wayward and too clever for his household. My older brothers were
to have the estate and the glory, and all I had was the Church. So I went to the priory and began my novitiate. I soon realised
that it was a harsh, cruel life. I couldn’t live under the rules there. It was too much. But when I spoke to the prior, who
was generally a decent old soul, he told me that I’d taken the vows and that was an end to it. So I ran away.’

‘And that was all?’ John asked.

‘It’s all I will say.’

Hugh took the stick away, studied the point, and then began to blow on it. ‘What of my wife? You warned me to look after her.’

‘All I meant was that the priest knew of her, knew of her secret. Good God, man, don’t you understand? I am a runaway too.
If they drag me back, I’ll
die
! I couldn’t do that, not return. They’d humiliate me, make me lie on the threshold of the door to the church before each
service, keep me locked in the gaol all the rest of the time, and only feed me on rank water and hard bread …’ He was
weeping now. ‘Sweet Jesu, I saw one man they brought back. He looked as though he was near to death, and we were made to step
on his poor body each time we entered and left the church. He lost his mind, man! Became no better than an animal!’

Hugh had blown the stick to a dull orange glow again. He nodded as though to himself, and approached Humphrey
once more. ‘And that same night my woman was killed. You expect me to believe you?’

‘I know nothing more!’

‘What were you doing at Isaac’s chapel, then?’ John called cheerfully. ‘Was it a mere matter of good fortune that you happened
upon his chapel?’