A Friar's Bloodfeud: (Knights Templar 20) (32 page)

As he was preparing to leave to fetch what he needed, eyeing the crowd with a certain satisfaction, Baldwin muttered, ‘You
will have to have someone guard this place, Father. They may come back.’

‘Yes, of course. Um.’ His mind was more on the prayers and service to come than on the felon sitting miserably at the end
of his altar, and Baldwin doubted that he would remember Baldwin’s words for the time it took a leaf to fall to the ground.

‘No matter,’ he murmured to himself as he went to join Simon and Edgar. But just before he had reached them, a thought struck
him. He turned away and out into the crisp air. Long plumes of steam rose from the horses and men who remained in the churchyard,
but the coroner was nowhere to be seen.

‘Where is Coroner Edward?’ he demanded of a peasant pushing a small two-wheeled cart.

‘Him? Back to the hall, I reckon.’

‘What of the inquest?’

‘Oh, he held that before we came out here.’

Baldwin looked at him, at first appalled, then furious. ‘That prickle held the inquest without us? Without me? When I’d told
Sir Geoffrey that I wanted to be present? Who was there?’

Perkin drew the corners of his mouth down. ‘Some of the vill’s freemen, and others from the manor itself.’

‘You were there?’

‘Yes. I was there.’

‘I shall want to speak to you.’ Baldwin glanced at his burden. On the cart was a linen-wrapped body. ‘You are here to bury
someone?’

‘Our priest,’ Perkin said. ‘He died yesterday. I was bringing him for burial.’

‘Take him on to the church. I shall await you here.’

Humphrey woke with his head a screaming agony. For a long moment he remained with his eyes screwed tightly shut, petrified
by the thought of what he might see when he opened them. Visions of Hugh with a sharp knife already smeared with blood – his
blood! – sprang into his mind, and he whimpered at the thought of imminent death. ‘Don’t, please don’t …’

‘Don’t what?’ Hugh demanded.

Opening his eyes cautiously, Humphrey saw that Hugh was at the far side of the room. The pain in his head came from his having
banged his bruised skull against a rock lying on the ground. He gazed at the rock reproachfully, then pushed himself up and
sat with his back to the wall. His head still hurt abominably, and he felt dizzy, but he would recover. ‘What will you do
with me?’

Hugh glanced at him. He was like a man who had a single focus to all his thoughts and nothing else could intrude on them for
long. ‘What?’

‘Will you kill me?’

‘I don’t know. I can’t have you letting people know where I am, though,’ Hugh said distractedly.

‘Where is the friar?’

‘He’s outside making sure we’re safe and no one’s trying to find us.’

‘Oh.’

‘What would you have done? Were you thinking you could stay here for ever?’

‘Hmm? What, there at the chapel? No, I suppose not. I think I did mean to rob Isaac and the church when I went to him in the
first place. But then I grew to like him, and the people down here. It’s a good little vill, Monkleigh. There are some arseholes,
but most of the peasants are as good as any. I started to think that if I robbed the church, all I’d be doing would be taking
money from them. The Church would demand compensation for any thefts from the place, and those fines would fall on all the
poorest people in the vill. Fines always do.’

Hugh grunted agreement.

‘What will you do?’ Humphrey asked at last.

Hugh looked up at him, then out through the door, and lastly up at the sky overhead.

‘I … I don’t know,’ he admitted brokenly. ‘Someone killed my woman, and I want revenge – but how can I learn who killed
her?’

‘You were lucky to remain alive,’ Humphrey said without thinking.

‘Lucky?’ Hugh spat. He jumped to his feet and strode to Humphrey. ‘I saw her die, and her son, and they knocked me down and
left me for dead.’

‘I didn’t mean to insult you, friend,’ Humphrey said desperately.

The raised voice had alerted John. He stood in the doorway, his gaze going from one to the other. When he
spoke, his voice was calm. ‘Hugh, there’s no need to lose your temper with him.’

‘I know!’ Hugh said, spinning on his heel and leaving the cowering priest lying at the foot of the wall. ‘It’s just …
why
did
they leave me alive?’

‘As a symbol? You were a living message to others that they should be fearful. Some men have minds that work in that way.’

Hugh tested his leg. It was all but mended now, and he grunted with satisfaction. ‘They’ll regret it.’

‘Now, Hugh,’ John said, entering the room and sitting near the fire. ‘What do you plan to do?’

‘I want to find the man who had Constance killed.’

‘And I want the man who killed Lucy of Meeth. Perhaps they are the same?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Then we can work together to find him.’

Sir Geoffrey slammed the door and walked out into the open area before the hall when he heard the riders thundering down the
lane towards him. At first all he could see was the steam rising as a form of heat-haze in the lane, beyond his old hedge.
Then there were the two leather caps of his bodyguards, whom he had sent in order to make sure that none of the men tried
to desert, then the horses breasted the entrance, and he could see them all. There in the middle was Sir Edward with his hair
moving from side to side as the wind caught the short strands. A vain man, Sir Geoffrey thought, and vain men always had their
weaknesses.

‘And?’

‘I almost had him,’ Sir Edward said with a bitter shake of his head. ‘I had him in the palm of my hand, and the priest
defended him. The damned knight from Furnshill stood up to me as well and it seemed sensible not to force the issue. Especially
with Sir Odo’s men all around.’

‘I understand,’ Sir Geoffrey said, and turned on his heel.

‘Wait! What do you mean by that?’ Coroner Edward demanded. He had dropped from his horse, and now he stepped up to Sir Geoffrey
in a hurry. ‘Are you suggesting something?’

‘I dare say many would be scared to think that they could be bested in a church,’ Sir Geoffrey said harshly. ‘All you had
to do was bring him back here so that we could judge him here, on our land. And if we found he was guilty, we could have hanged
him here.’

‘You don’t have the right!’

‘I can impose a death sentence if the coroner is present to hear it, and I can hang a man if the coroner is there to witness
it. Don’t tell me my rights, Sir Edward! I have been here longer than you! I know the ancient rights of this manor, and I
know your job too. I was a coroner before you were born!’

Sir Edward blinked. He had not anticipated such a storm of rage over losing the man. ‘He is in the church. He will be permitted
to abjure, if he wishes.’

‘Abjure
my arse
! I want him here to answer our questions. I want to know why that girl was in the mire in the first place.’

‘Really?’ Sir Edward said, and he cocked an eyebrow. So far as he could see, Sir Geoffrey was building up an alibi and creating
an environment in which his own determination to discover the culprit could not be in doubt. It was clever, the coroner thought,
but hardly clever enough. ‘You know that Keeper? He has the reputation of a man who sees the
truth no matter how well hidden. He is supposed to be honourable.’

‘All men are honourable until they need money,’ Sir Geoffrey snapped.

‘What will you do now?’

‘Cause that poor soul to be returned to her manor to be buried, and then I shall do what I should have done yesterday.’

‘What is that?’

‘Attack Sir Odo’s places this side of the river with all my men. I’ve had enough of this flouncing about in case someone is
offended.’

‘You cannot mean that? You’ll start a war on Sir Odo’s lands?’

‘You’ve realised nothing, have you?’ Sir Geoffrey spat. He turned, thumbs stuck in his belt, and stared at the coroner. ‘You
think I’m devious and manipulative, and I’ve set up all this machinery just so that I can take the spoils … but what if
it’s shown that I am little better than a felon and a cutpurse? Oh, I will win the king’s pardon, no doubt, but that will
be some while away. And in the meantime I’ll be an outlaw. You think I want that? Someone has been acting with great skill
and determination to make me look like a murderer. The death of the woman from Meeth, the murder of the family in Iddesleigh,
the murder of my own damned sergeant – all done to point to my guilt. Can’t you even understand that?’

Sir Edward nodded slowly. ‘And you think that this was all Sir Odo’s doing?’

‘I’ll spring a surprise on him that he will never forget. He wanted to make me outlaw? I’ll return the gift with compliments.
He will regret the day he sought to put the blame for these deaths on me!’

‘So you are Perkin?’ Baldwin said.

The body had been deposited in the church with Matthew, and now they were at the inn with quarts of ale before them all. Simon
was glaring balefully at the fire, and for some reason Edgar was looking amused. Baldwin had hissed at him to wipe the grin
off his face, but to no avail.

Perkin sat uneasily in this company. ‘Yes …’

‘Stop fidgeting, man!’ Baldwin growled. ‘I’m not going to hurt you, but I want to hear from you all about the death of Ailward,
and of Lady Lucy, too.’

Simon leaned forward. ‘But first, what can you tell us about the murder of the man up the way from here? Hugh Shepherd, his
wife and their boy were all killed. Do you know anything about that?’

Shaking his head, Perkin said, ‘If I knew anything, I would tell you, on my oath. It was one of those nights when I was .
. . tired. I had been working hard all the day, and when I finished I went to my friend Beorn’s house and drank with him.
He had some ale that had to be finished so he could put another brew on. There was rather more than I’d expected, or it was
stronger than I was used to, and I slept well that night. It was last Saturday, I think?’

Baldwin looked up at Jankin, who nodded.

Perkin continued: ‘We all saw the men riding off in the late afternoon, and we wondered where they were going, but they set
off down towards the river. Of course we know now where they were heading: to Robert Crokers’s house. Sir Geoffrey and Sir
Odo have been bickering about that bit of land for some while. Sir Geoffrey claims that it’s part of the old estate and should
have been passed to him when the lands were taken.’

‘Taken from Ailward’s family?’ Simon confirmed.

‘Yes. Poor Malkin and Lady Isabel have nothing left, really. They lost house, lands, livestock, the lot. Sir Geoffrey argues
that the plot where Sir Odo installed Robert Crokers was actually part of the confiscated estate and should be passed to him,
but Sir Odo claims that the land was held in fief from his lord, Lord de Courtenay. Both rattle their swords, but neither
wants a war.’

‘Did you hear the men come back?’

‘No. As I say, I was at Beorn’s house.’

‘Did you know of any man who could have sought to harm Hugh?’ Simon pressed.

‘No. He was a miserable cur, though – never smiled, except when he looked at his wife or the boy. That was no surprise – she
was a woman to be proud of. But apart from the normal ribaldry, no one made any comments. I don’t know of any arguments with
him. Both of them kept themselves to themselves, I think. He wasn’t sociable.’

That was true enough, Baldwin told himself. ‘What of Sir Geoffrey? He had his men at Robert’s place earlier that same day
– could he have gone from there up to Hugh’s and attacked in the evening?’

‘Yes, but I can’t understand why he’d attack just the man Hugh. There are others up here whom he hates more.’

‘Very well, then,’ Baldwin said, after glancing at Simon. ‘What can you tell us about the other dead man? Ailward?’

‘That really rattled me,’ Perkin admitted, and as he spoke his frame shook like a nettle in the wind. ‘I’d seen him only a
little while earlier, and suddenly there he was, stretched on the grass, dead.’

‘Someone said that there had been a camp ball match that day?’

‘Yes. It’s an annual game we hold here between Monkleigh and Iddesleigh. Been going on for donkey’s years. Everyone joins
in; we play from one end of Furze Down to the other. First to get the bladder in the enemy’s goal is the winner. And we’d
have won this year, if it wasn’t for bloody Walter. He was up there on the hillside when I got above the stream, and he just
knocked me down and grabbed the thing.’

Baldwin could easily imagine the sight: twenty or thirty men haring along, one gripping the ball, and another thirty-odd hoping
to take it from him. Camp ball was so dangerous, had caused so many brawls and arguments in his own manor, that he had been
tempted to ban it from his lands, but there too the sport was ancient, and although he had seen the most appalling injuries,
men and girls still wanted to play. ‘Was that when you found the body?’

‘No,’ Perkin said. He looked away uncomfortably. ‘I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, you understand?’

‘Of course,’ Baldwin said. He allowed a little steel to enter his voice as he added, ‘But I must have the truth about the
whole circumstance.’

‘There was something about it. When I was knocked down, I saw Ailward standing a little way distant. He was a Monkleigh man,
but he made no effort to save me. He just stood and watched as Walter knocked me down and threw the bladder away. It troubled
me.’

‘And?’

‘When Walter stopped me,’ Perkin said more slowly, ‘he grabbed me about the waist and legs, and threw me bodily to the ground.
I was flying, and while I flew, I thought I saw some signs that looked odd – like blood on the heather. It was just a fleeting
glimpse, though, nothing definite.’

‘Where was this?’

‘Near to where Ailward was standing.’

‘Take us there,’ Baldwin said.

It was about noon when John returned at, for him, a fast amble. Since staying here to look after Hugh, he had found his own
feet were improving no end. Being able to rest with them warming by a fire at first made his chilblains protest, but later
made them subside. The old cracks from too much walking that stabbed so cruelly were binding again, and soon he thought he
might be able to move with less of the crabbed, sailor’s gait that had grown so habitual since he left Exeter.

The house was quiet, and for a moment he was aware of a fear that Hugh might have executed their captive, but as soon as he
entered, he saw Hugh scowling ferociously at the man as he ate voraciously from a bowl of the soup left over from the night
before. John saw that Hugh had untied his arms and legs, and was relieved. He had been concerned that the man could lose all
feeling in them if they were bound tightly for too long.

Humphrey glanced up as he entered, and in his eyes there was a little fear, but then his attention went to the doorway behind
John, and as it became apparent that there was no one outside his brow cleared and he met John’s eye with gratitude.

‘So you sought to torture the poor fellow with your cooking?’ John tried jovially.

Hugh set his head to one side. ‘
You
made it.
I
just heated it.’

‘I think I have good news for you. There is a Keeper of the King’s Peace here, and a Bailiff Puttock. They say that they were
called here to seek your murderer.’

Hugh gazed up at him with hope filling his soul. ‘Sir Baldwin and my master? They’re here?’

‘And actively hunting down the murderer, yes.’

It made Hugh glad, but it was also an anticlimax. He felt as though the responsibility for finding Constance’s murderer was
taken from him, and that was a relief … and a curse as well. She was
his
wife, her murderer was
his
enemy. It would be easy to rest now, to allow Sir Baldwin and Simon to find the killer, but Hugh had to do it. It was a matter
of honour.