A Friar's Bloodfeud: (Knights Templar 20) (34 page)

‘Did you do it to her? If you did, tell me now and I’ll end your life quickly right here.’

Pagan’s head was at the wall, but there was no fear in his eyes as he shook his head. Surprise, yes, but no fear. ‘I am used
to the idea of death, Sir Knight. Your blade doesn’t scare me. I swear I had nothing to do with the death of that child. I
couldn’t have hurt a hair on her. Not a woman.’

Baldwin felt a thrill of revulsion run through his soul. He had a sudden vision of Pagan lying at his feet, the blood pumping
from a slash in his throat, and the thought made him feel physically sick. Yet it was this room. It had all the atmosphere
of a place of torture, and such places reminded him only too clearly of the hideous injustice committed against his companions
in the Order.

‘It’s just a workshop,’ Simon said.

Baldwin released the man and sheathed his dagger. ‘I am sorry, Pagan. I should not have done that. It was … just a feeling
I had. I am sorry.’

Simon was quite right, too. It was a smithy, nothing more. There was the forge. There was the anvil, the tools, the foot bellows
to pump air to the fire, now well rotten. ‘It is only rarely used now?’

Pagan shrugged. ‘I don’t think anyone has used the place in ten years or more. When was Kells? I forget. I have never used
it myself. I once made a horseshoe, the one you saw. I would not have made a good smith.’

Simon grunted. He could understand that. While Baldwin and the smith’s son talked, he wandered around the place.
There was a fine black dust all about, and he ran his fingers in it, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger. It was rough
to the touch, and smelled metallic. At one point there was a tall, straight tree-limb supporting the roof with another series
of staples set into it, some hung with more tools like the ones on the anvil. All were rusty and darkened with the iron filings
and dust. He moved on, and saw a little rag on the floor.

It was nothing, just a shred of bright green material, but it made him pause in wonder for a moment, and then he realised
why: it was relatively free of the dust that lay all over everything else. He stooped to pick it up, and found that there
was a crust of black stuff on the underside. Immediately he knew what it was, and even as he called Baldwin, his eyes were
on the supporting timber in front of him.

This was farther from the anvil, and had no tools hanging from it, but there was one staple, set up high. It had one face
that was bright and uncrusted.

‘She was here,’ he said.

Robert Crokers set the bowl at the bitch’s head and she looked up at him appreciatively.

By some miracle, bearing in mind the barbaric wound inflicted on her, only two pups had been stillborn. She herself had lost
some blood, and he wondered whether there would be a fresh gush, as he’d sometimes seen in other animals giving birth. When
that happened, it meant that the mother was sure to die, and he only prayed that she would be safe.

And so she was. After giving birth to four healthy little squirming, mewling blind and bald lumps, she set to cleaning herself
and them while he stood by watching them with delight. In that moment he had felt his heart swell with pride, as though these
were his own creation. It must be how a father felt, he thought, on seeing a child for the first time. An awe and awareness
of how unimportant he was; his only purpose was to serve these little scraps of flesh.

The pups looked much like rats, they were so small, pink and blind. It was impossible to look at them and see that they would
one day grow to be like her. For now all he could do was hope that they’d show even a small portion of the intelligence she
had. She’d always been a good worker, and the fact that she’d been so badly hurt spoke volumes of the
way that she’d tried to protect her master and his land. He reached down cautiously to touch one, and stopped when he heard
the low rumbling snarl.

‘You’re right, little girl. They’re yours, not mine. I’ve no place here.’ He smiled and backed away from her. She watched
him for a moment, then appeared to give a mental shrug and set to cleaning them again.

That was when he heard the hooves.

‘You still say you had nothing to do with the woman’s death?’ Baldwin rasped. He grabbed Pagan’s arm.

‘What are you talking about?’

Simon held the cloth to him. ‘Whose dress did this come from?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Lady Lucy of Meeth. She wore a dress like this. And this has her blood on it.’

‘I should think it was used as a gag,’ Baldwin said. He was tempted to punch Pagan, to beat the truth from him. ‘And the staple.’

Pagan shook his head. ‘What of it?’

‘It’s been hammered in only recently,’ Simon said. ‘So when you said no one’s been in here for ten years or so, that was a
lie.’

‘I don’t know who could have been here. I haven’t been inside in ten or more years. I lived at the manor until we were thrown
from there, and then I lived with my master Ailward and his family, until Ailward’s death. Then I came back up here to sleep,
but only to my room. Not here to the smithy. Why should I?’

Simon grunted. ‘Baldwin, that’s one thing Isabel and Malkin told us, you remember? That Pagan used to live with
them until Ailward died. And Lucy died before him, if we believe what Perkin has said.’

Baldwin slowly released Pagan. ‘True. But who else could have come up here?’

‘Ailward could have,’ Simon said. ‘He knew of this place because he knew his grandfather’s armourer. And he knew that no one
was living here now. So it would be secure.’

‘Perkin,’ Baldwin said. ‘You say that the man Guy just near here is a charcoal burner? Was he burning coals when Ailward died?
Charcoal burners often take their families with them. Does this Guy?’

‘Yes his family was with him in the week before that.’

‘So if Lady Lucy was here, no one would hear her screams?’ Baldwin said.

‘I suppose not,’ Perkin said nervously. The sudden burst of anger from these two men had shocked him. It shouldn’t, but he
hadn’t expected such raw ferocity.

‘Ailward and Walter,’ Simon breathed.

‘I want to speak to this Walter,’ Baldwin said. He took one last look about the room and swept out.

Hugh heard them first. It was a part of him, this wariness. In the past it had been so that he could protect his flock from
wolves or foxes, keep the lambs safe from buzzards or crows or magpies; now it was the in-built defence against predators
on two legs that sent him scurrying towards the door when he heard hooves.

There were two men on horseback cantering down the track, and he peered round the door frame as they pelted towards the bridge
over the river that led to Iddesleigh.

‘Who was it?’ Friar John asked in a whisper.

‘I don’t know,’ Hugh admitted. ‘Men hurrying down that way …’

‘They came from up there?’ John asked, pointing.

‘Yes.’

‘I was there not long ago. It would be a good place to watch Fishleigh, Sir Odo’s house.’

‘Why would someone watch there?’ Hugh said.

Humphrey cleared his throat. ‘It was said in Monkleigh that Sir Geoffrey sought to take over the whole of the lands east of
the river. If he was launching an attack, he might set men up here to see when Sir Odo’s men were marshalled …’

Hugh nodded. ‘True enough.’ But now he was feeling a strange sensation. The noise of horses pounding past had set off a series
of connections. It wasn’t anything to do with horses, though, he felt. No, rather it was a set of noises at night. People
… The priest, Matthew! That was it! Constance had seen the priest outside in the lane, and he had thought there could be
no harm in it because he was a priest, and had slammed the door shut. ‘The priest …’ he murmured.

‘What?’ Friar John asked.

‘Nothing. I have to go. See what’s happening there,’ Hugh said.

It was well past noon when Baldwin re-entered the inn.

‘Jeanne, I am sorry to have been so long. I think that we are making some progress,’ he explained as he walked into their
little chamber.

His wife was sitting on their bed, breastfeeding Richalda. ‘I am glad to hear that. I don’t want to stay here alone too long.
Emma is driving me mad.’

‘What’s she up to now?’

‘She would try a saint. She keeps walking out, inventing errands. I have no need of her running to the farm to ask for milk
for me to drink, but she feels the need to go. Earlier she went to seek a biscuit for me, and then it was a blanket for Richalda.
I don’t know what’s got into her.’

‘Nothing,’ Baldwin said. ‘It’s just because she’s hungover, I think. She is leaving here to go and vomit.’

‘Possibly,’ Jeanne said, wiping her breast as Richalda sat up and smiled at Baldwin. ‘What are you going to do now?’

‘We are off to question the man who was with Ailward on the day he died … the man who was carrying the body of Lady Lucy
with him,’ Baldwin said, and explained briefly what they had learned. ‘I do not know how this man Walter will respond when
I speak to him. He may be entirely blameless, although if he is not guilty of murdering that poor woman, I fail to understand
what he was doing up there on the moor with a man from the other manor. He must have known that his master Sir Odo and Sir
Geoffrey were at daggers drawn.’

‘You will be careful?’ she asked quickly.

‘Against one man? When I have Simon and Edgar at my side? I have little to fear,’ Baldwin said. He kissed her. ‘Why is Emma
taking so long? I don’t want you alone. You should have her with you.’

‘At least she was good enough not to disturb our sleep last night,’ Jeanne pointed out.

‘True enough.’ Baldwin hesitated, wondering again where she might have been, but dismissed the thought as he hurried out to
re-join Simon and Edgar. He busied himself making sure that his horse was ready again, and when he glanced up he saw again
that curious expression of amusement on his servant’s face.

It troubled him as he tested the girth of his saddle before swinging himself up into the seat. Edgar was not usually given
to levity.

It was quick, it was easy.

Surprise was the most important element in a good battle. Don’t give them time to think or plan, just get in and take what
you need. Sir Geoffrey led his men along the road from the rear of the house, up from the river, the line that that idiot
sergeant would least expect, and by the time the force had come into view and the sergeant and his man-at-arms had realised
that these were not men from Sir Odo, it was too late; the Monkleigh men were in among them. One rode up to the door and dropped
from his horse to go inside and seek spoils, while others herded the two men from the place, forcing them out of the way.

Walter was petrified, Sir Geoffrey saw. Well, good! He knew what a raiding party like this could be capable of, and he had
every right to be fearful. The other man, what was his name, that sergeant? Crokers? He had no spirit at all. He stood with
his body downcast, and as the men circled and stamped about the place he simply looked up with a sort of pleading expression.
Pleading, indeed. He was caught up in the theft of Lord Despenser’s property, and Sir Geoffrey was here to recover it.

‘You two are not to come back here,’ he commanded from his horse. ‘This land belongs to my Lord Despenser, and if you return
as trespassers I will have you captured and gaoled. My gaol can be an unpleasant place. So go! Leave this place and don’t
return.’

Walter nodded quickly. He started to move, but only made a few steps when he realised that the sergeant wasn’t with him.

‘This land belongs to Sir John Sully,’ Robert declared, ‘and in his name I deny your right to appropriate it!’

‘Go home, boy! This is not your land, it’s not your fight, and it’s none of your concern. This land was taken from Ailward’s
family long ago. It is time to return it to the proper owners.’

‘It is theft!’

‘Don’t try my patience!’ Sir Geoffrey roared. His sword was out, and he spurred his destrier forward. ‘See this? This sword
was made for me by my lord. I will not have you nor any other man denying his authority here. Understand?’

Robert looked up sulkily. He opened his mouth, felt the tip of the sword’s blade tickle under his chin and swallowed hurriedly.
Then he closed his eyes. ‘This land is owned by Sir John Sully, vassal to Lord Hugh de Courtenay, and this act is theft!’

‘Oh, just get him out of my sight,’ Sir Geoffrey snarled. ‘He makes me want to puke!’

Walter relaxed. He saw that they’d be able to escape now, and he wanted to get back to Fishleigh and safety. ‘Come on, Robert.
We’ll soon be back.’

It was at that moment that there was a hideous shriek from the house. A man swore, and there was the sound of growling, a
squeal, a series of hacking sounds, and then nothing.

As Walter watched uncomprehendingly, a man appeared in the doorway with a sack in one hand, a bloody corpse in the other.
‘Does he want his dog, too? I saved the puppies,’ he laughed, a high, lunatic giggle, and swung the sack against the house’s
wall.

Robert gave an incoherent gasp, and lurched forward. Then he pulled out his dagger and ran at the man – but
Robert was no killer. He was too calm and gentle to have learned how to stab, slash and kill.

Sir Geoffrey lifted his sword high over his head and brought it down on Robert’s head.

Nicholas le Poter ached all over. Sitting here at the side of the altar, his backside was sore, his arms had a loose, heavy
sensation as though they were slowly being pulled from their sockets, and his neck was a mass of tense, corded muscles that
felt as though they were going to snap at any time from the terrible weight of his head. On top of that, his back still seemed
to be on fire, and now he had a headache from his dismal thoughts.

He hadn’t dared sleep. Not even here, not while the priest was here to protect him. No, he couldn’t, it was too dangerous.
While Sir Geoffrey’s men were after him, he could be cut down or dragged from this place at any time. He had no false illusions
about their abilities.

The first thing Matthew had done was take away his dagger. ‘I’ll not have you causing bloodshed in here,’ he had said.

‘What if they come to kill me?’

‘It’s a risk you’ll have to take. But you will not remain here with that knife about you.’

At least with the guards from Sir Odo’s here he was probably safe. They were all rough, powerful men. Plainly Sir Odo had
himself thought that he was in danger and wanted to protect him – if only to irritate Sir Geoffrey.

Last night he had nodded for a few moments at a time, but never long enough to become refreshed. He was dog-tired now, like
a man who’d been training for too long in one session. Before, when he’d felt like this, he’d been able to
take a hot bath, but there was nowhere for him to go if he wanted to be safe. If he was found outside this place, he’d be
killed in a moment.

He could abjure: tell the coroner that he would swear to leave the realm by whatever route the coroner dictated, and then
head for the sea to find a ship to take him away. All his property was forfeit, of course, but at least he would live. The
only alternative was to remain here until his time ran out and the coroner could legally remove him to be held ready for the
justices of gaol delivery. And then he’d be hanged. There was little doubt of that.

There were some he could count on, perhaps. Some of the men in Sir Geoffrey’s camp were his mates. They wouldn’t want to see
one of their own get topped just because of politics. Sweet Jesus, even if he had killed the girl, there was no need for him
to be thrown to the likes of Sir Edward. And most of Sir Geoffrey’s men must realise that Sir Geoffrey was the man who’d done
it. Not him; not Nicholas. If Sir Geoffrey could throw
him
to the wolves, who would be next?

No, there were some who would help him, like Adcock. Adcock had helped him up, had sent him on his way when Sir Geoffrey had
told him he was going to be killed. There were others there like Adcock. They had told him that they’d support him if he tried
to oust Sir Geoffrey, after all. Their loyalty must be worth something …

With a terrifying vision of the truth, he felt his bones freeze. His teeth chattered together, and his left arm gave a nervous
twitch that made the cross shake.

Not one of them had done anything more than give him verbal support. Any of them could deny speaking to him. To cover their
arses, they’d all act like his chief prosecutors, just to make sure that they were safe themselves.