A Friar's Bloodfeud: (Knights Templar 20) (29 page)

The noise was deafening. In his ears was the constant swish and
whoom
of the wind, but even over that there was the clamour of a cavalry charge, the squeaking and rasping of leather against leather,
the clashing of metal, the ringing of chains, the dreadful, persistent roaring of the hooves. No one hoofbeat could be distinguished;
all was merged in a single, continuous, mind-numbing thud that seemed to last for ever. The only thing that mattered was staying
on his horse, not falling and being crushed by the men and beasts behind him. More men died in fast horse races than in murders,
he had heard once, and he could easily believe it.

He could see the buildings of Iddesleigh now. The clump of irregular houses seemed to shine in the darkness, their limewash
glowing like starlight, thatch gleaming softly grey. And then Simon saw where the hounds were leading.

Baldwin was still at his side, and Simon could see that he wore an expression of fixed determination.

The whole posse turned up before the inn, and their horses stood stamping and blowing as the hounds jumped the rotten old
fence into the churchyard, whining and pawing at the door.

Simon dropped from his mount and strode to the gate, but Sir Geoffrey was there before him.

‘You have no jurisdiction here, Bailiff,’ Sir Geoffrey stated.

‘But
I
do,’ Baldwin declared coolly. ‘I am not sure that you do.’

‘Whatever you think, this is a matter for the local court,’ Sir Geoffrey snapped. ‘He’s my man, and I’ll have him tried in
my court.’

‘He may be guilty of murder, and I’ll have him tried in the king’s court,’ Baldwin responded.

‘With all my men here you try to dictate to me?’ Sir Geoffrey asked. He set his head on one side as though contemplating Baldwin
with interest. ‘I think you don’t realise how matters are arranged here in the country, Sir Baldwin.’

‘I know well enough!’

Simon could see that Sir Geoffrey’s men were starting to encircle Baldwin. One was about to stand behind him when there was
a cracking sound, and he disappeared. In his place stood Edgar with a heavy branch in his hand, which he discarded with a
happy smile fixed to his face. The smile remained even as he drew his sword from its sheath.

Baldwin had left his own blade in the scabbard, but he hooked his thumbs into his belt as Sir Geoffrey leaned forward.

‘Out of my path, Sir Baldwin. This is my quarry. We thank you,’ he added, ‘for your help in running him to earth! But he is
ours, not yours. Leave him to us.’

Baldwin looked at all the men before him. He did not move to draw his sword, but met the eyes of all those who stood facing
him. ‘I am the Keeper of the King’s Peace. You all know that,’ he said, and then added in his loudest voice: ‘
I call on all the villagers of Iddesleigh to protect their church from attack by men from another parish. I call upon you
to support the king’s Keeper of the Peace
!’

‘You can’t do that!’ Sir Geoffrey rasped. His hand was on his sword hilt now. ‘If you think a few pissy villeins can stop
me, you’re …’

The rest of his words were lost. As he spoke, there was the sound of hooves from the south and west. Suddenly, up
the hill from Fishleigh, there appeared a force of men.

Simon eyed them doubtfully. If this fresh force was arriving to support their neighbours, even if all the villagers came out
to support Baldwin they must be cowed by such an armed host. The men reined in as they reached the church, circling the group
at the door.

At their head was an older man, slightly short, badly scarred on one side of his face, who stood in his saddle and gazed about
him as though he was surprised to see so many men already there. ‘Is this a fair? Is there a party? What can all these men
be doing on my lands without asking permission, I wonder?’

Sir Geoffrey cursed under his breath, and Simon realised that this new group must be his enemies.

‘Sir Odo. God’s blessings on you. It is good to see you,’ Sir Geoffrey said as though the words were poison in his mouth.

‘Yes,’ Sir Odo said indulgently. He had a mild manner and a happy smile on his face as he spoke. ‘I am sure it is. So tell
me, Sir Geoffrey. Is there something about my manor that I can help you with? I don’t think I have heard of so many men on
my lands since … oh, since you visited my bailiff last Saturday. He’s back home now, you know. And will stay there.’

‘This is a different matter entirely,’ Sir Geoffrey said. ‘The poor Lady Lucy of Meeth. You know she has been found? Murdered
and thrown into a mire?

‘On Sir Geoffrey’s land,’ Edgar added helpfully.

Sir Odo appeared to notice him for the first time. He gave a small frown as he took in his appearance, and then looked over
Baldwin. ‘I believe we have met, sir?’

‘At Lord Hugh de Courtenay’s castle in Tiverton,’ Baldwin agreed, bowing.

‘Of course. You are the Keeper from Crediton? And I saw you in Exeter at the last court of gaol delivery. You were a Justice
then.’

‘I was. And I am here to apprehend a man who was once in Sir Geoffrey’s household, but appears to have run to the nearest
place of sanctuary.’

‘You think he killed the widow Lucy?’

‘It is possible,’ Baldwin admitted. ‘Although we shall only learn the truth if we are permitted to question him fairly in
a court, or if he confesses.’

‘He will confess,’ Sir Geoffrey grated.

‘That is no concern of yours,’ Baldwin said.

‘He is my man!’

‘But he is not in your jurisdiction now. He is on Sir Odo’s lands. Also, he is in the church, which means he has the rights
of sanctuary. Until there is a coroner here, he is the king’s man, and I will not have him removed by you.’

‘Please, Sir Baldwin,’ Sir Geoffrey said graciously, bowing. ‘Would you stand aside that I may at least speak to him first?
Perhaps I can persuade him to come out.’

‘No,’ Baldwin said flatly. ‘I shall speak to him alone.’

‘I could make you move,’ Sir Geoffrey growled.

‘I could demand the support of Sir Odo.’

Sir Geoffrey glanced up at his neighbour, and hesitated. ‘Very well,’ he said with as much grace as he could muster. ‘If you
wish to speak to him, so be it. The coroner will be here before long, I expect. He was only a short way from here, I believe.
Surely your prisoner will be taken off your hands as soon as possible.’

‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin said. ‘And now, Simon, Edgar, let us speak to this unfortunate man.’

Nicholas watched them walk in with the terror of a man who knew he was facing death. He couldn’t stop his arms from shaking,
and as he gripped the altar cloth with his fists, kneeling at the side of it, the golden cross reflecting the light from the
candles and bathing him in a rich glow, he felt none of the calmness that the Church used to offer him.

He knew who was outside. There was no mistaking that rough, coarse voice. Anyone who knew Sir Geoffrey would recognise that
mixture of bullying and swearing. The row made by the horses and men arriving had been one thing, but listening to his old
master threatening the knight in the gateway, that was another. And finally he’d heard more horses, and that was when Nicholas
knew he was dead. He was convinced that it was a second force of Sir Geoffrey’s men. It never occurred to him that it could
be Sir Odo – someone who might save him.

But the thought of saving him was far from anyone’s mind in here, he saw as he took in the expressions on Baldwin’s and Simon’s
faces. The two men walked in, Edgar waiting near the doorway, and even as Nicholas glanced at the priest nearby, he was already
sure that these men would
see him destroyed. Foreigners wouldn’t trust his word. Why should they?

‘Father,’ Baldwin said quietly. ‘I have kept those men all outside for now, but until there is more sensible protection, do
you mind if I remain here myself?’

‘Of course not.’

Jeanne was at the rear of the nave, and she walked down to the altar now, a jug of wine in one hand, four cups in the other.
‘I hope a little wine will refresh you?’

‘Jeanne! What are you doing here?’

‘I saw this man arrive, husband. I was able to help him a little. Don’t worry, Richalda is at the inn.’

‘With Emma?’

Jeanne smiled. ‘With Jankin’s wife. She is good with children and Richalda is playing with someone her own age. For the first
time in a while she isn’t bored.’

Baldwin glanced at the priest as he took a cup from his wife. ‘The coroner will be here before long, I hope, but for now,
do you object to my questioning this man?’

Matthew shook his head and waved his hand as though to invite Baldwin to begin. Jeanne passed him a cup too, and soon the
men were all drinking from their cups, except for Nicholas. He sat with his head hanging, eyes wide with fear.

Baldwin faced him. ‘Your name?’

‘I am called Nicholas le Poter.’

‘You have come here to seek sanctuary?’

‘They’d kill me else! You can see that.’

‘They say that you murdered this Lady Lucy of Meeth.’

‘It was nothing to do with me! I don’t think I ever saw her, let alone harmed her! Sir, you must believe me! What would I
do with a woman like her? I’m just a man who lives
by his hands, nothing else. She wouldn’t even look at a man like me.’

‘She was taken on the road from her manor when she had a man with her. The person who killed her is responsible for two lives,’
Baldwin said. ‘I am Keeper of the King’s Peace, and I must learn who did this. Also, we know that Ailward was murdered, and
the family of Hugh Shepherd from near to this place. I would discover who might be responsible.’

‘You want to know who was responsible? Ask Sir Geoffrey. He could have desired Lady Lucy. Perhaps he tried to make her wed
him? And the man Hugh, he died on the night that Sir Geoffrey had led his men against Sir Odo’s sergeant, Robert Crokers.
Maybe he sent some other men up to this man Hugh’s house and killed them?’

‘Why would he do that?’

‘Because he’s terrified that he’s going to be removed from the manor! A stronger man will soon take the notice of Lord Despenser.
If someone was to replace him here, what would happen to Sir Geoffrey? There’d be nowhere for him to go. So all he can do
is try to remove anyone who shows an ounce of initiative, and then take over their ideas to increase the wealth of the manor.
He’s done it before, and he’ll do it again. I have no doubt.’

Simon rasped ‘What of the man Hugh?’

‘Him? He was up here on Sir Odo’s lands, wasn’t he? If Sir Geoffrey wanted the favour of the Lord Despenser, he’d increase
the lands he controls. If he could, he’d take this man Hugh’s lands in the name of his master. Just as he’d take Lady Lucy’s.’

‘A mere bully trying to increase his master’s estates by theft?’ Baldwin murmured.

‘It has been known,’ Edgar said.

Something in his tone made Baldwin and Simon turn. There, in the doorway, facing Edgar, was Sir Geoffrey. A short distance
behind him stood Sir Odo.

At the sight, Nicholas felt he must choke. The expression on Sir Geoffrey’s face was adequate proof of his mood: he was in
the blackest temper imaginable. There was no escaping those small, keen, grey eyes. Nicholas tried to look away at Sir Baldwin,
but he found the Keeper’s eyes too intense too, as though he trusted no one, and that by merely looking at Nicholas he had
seen through to the depths of his soul. The man with him, the bailiff, was hardly better, with his pale complexion and staring
eyes. The only man in the church who looked on him kindly was the priest – and Sir Odo. Nicholas knew why, though. ‘My enemy’s
enemy is my friend,’ he had once heard Sir Odo say, and it made good sense. That was the sort of rule that he could understand.
Now Sir Odo looked at him in a friendly manner, which was in sharp contrast to the expression he wore as he turned back to
Sir Geoffrey.

‘This is
outrageous
! I demand that you leave this man alone until the coroner is here!’ Sir Geoffrey blustered.

‘There is no need. I am only asking some questions,’ Baldwin said.

‘There is every need. The interrogation should take place in front of the jury.’

‘In your back room?’ Sir Odo asked with a cynical lift in his eyebrow.

Sir Geoffrey stared at him. ‘There is nothing out there I need be ashamed of.’

‘Of course not,’ Sir Odo agreed suavely. ‘No, no! It would be terrible to suggest such a thing.’

‘I demand that you leave this man here now. I shall post
men to guard him through the night to be sure he is held until the coroner comes. If he wishes to abjure the realm and save
us all a lot of time, he can do so then. For now he should be kept quiet and secure.’

‘I agree,’ Baldwin said. ‘I shall remain here with him.’

‘That would be much better, Sir Baldwin,’ Sir Odo said, adding simply, ‘and this is my parish, my manor. I shall decide, Sir
Geoffrey, who shall remain here to protect the man.’

‘I didn’t say “protect”,’ Sir Geoffrey snarled.

‘No. But I did,’ Odo said, this time a little more pointedly. ‘I see it as my duty to keep him safe and alive until the coroner
can question him. That is what I shall do. So, with your leave, Sir Baldwin, I shall go and seek some men who can guard this
place. You will not object to more men to back you up?’

Baldwin smiled. ‘Not at all.’

‘Do you accuse me of something?’ Sir Geoffrey asked.

‘Not I,’ Baldwin said mildly.

‘What of you?’ Sir Geoffrey said, staring straight at Nicholas.

‘Sir! What do you want me to say? That I will rather go to the gallows than denounce you? Then I do accuse you! I accuse you
of the murder of the Lady Lucy of Meeth, and of the murder of the little family here in Iddesleigh. And I will repeat this
before the coroner. I swear, sirs, I am innocent of these murders, and that man is guilty.’

At the chapel, it took Perkin and Beorn some little while to tidy the corpse.

‘What are we doing this for, anyway?’ Beorn grumbled. ‘Have we become the church’s unpaid fossors? I ought to be
home. Look! It’s dark already, and it’ll be light soon enough. I need to go and sleep.’

‘Stop your grumbling and help,’ Perkin said unsympathetically. ‘We may as well get him ready. We’ll have to get him to the
church tomorrow, no matter what time you want to sleep.’

That was the trouble, of course. The chapel had no churchyard for the dead. Its open space was dedicated to the living, for
it was where the vill’s people would gather on May days and festivals. For a serious matter, like a burial, they had to carry
the poor corpse up to Iddesleigh where the church could arrange for a funeral and interment.

Usually it was a rather tedious job, wrapping the dead body and hauling it all that way on a cart, but it was easier than
others. A travelling man had once told Perkin that in Dartmoor one parish was so vast that the poor folk of the moors had
to walk miles to the nearest church. It was easy to believe. The Church had no interest in where a man might live, nor who
his lord was. For the Church the only issue that mattered was the location of the nearest legal church. Churches owned their
own lands and protected them as greedily and passionately as any local magnate.

At least poor old Isaac had been so old and desiccated that he would weigh little to transport. And they’d be able to borrow
a cart from someone. Nobody would grudge old Isaac his last journey in comfort.

‘Where’s that little runt who was with him, though?’ Perkin asked as they finished. ‘Surely Isaac must have died a while ago.
But I haven’t seen Humphrey since he viewed Lady Lucy’s body. Have you?’

‘I know my little Anna said she saw him going up the road after our supper tonight, but that can’t be right.’

‘Why?’

‘He’d have seen old Isaac, wouldn’t he? No churchman would leave another priest lying in a room like this, would he? Stands
to reason.’

‘Yes. You’re right, of course,’ Perkin said, but doubtfully. ‘What reason could he have had for leaving Isaac like this? If
he had any other business, he’d have to send his apologies and stay here with his old master, wouldn’t he?’

‘Difficult to mistake him, though,’ Beorn said.

Perkin had a sudden memory of Humphrey’s face when they went to the chapel to ask the priest to come and say the words over
Lady Lucy’s corpse. He’d looked shocked then, and he stood in the chapel’s doorway like a man trying to block the view inside
…

But that was mad. What on earth would one priest want to conceal the death of his companion for? He must just have missed
Isaac’s body.

Perkin and Beorn finished their work, and carried the body to the altar. There they set him down on the floor to lie in front
of the cross, and stood back a moment contemplating the little huddle of cheap linen.

‘Seems unfair for him to just pass away like that.’

Beorn had a choke in his voice. Perkin nodded, unsure of his own.

‘I mean …’ Beorn coughed. ‘He baptised me, and my brothers, and all my children. He married me, he buried my old man and
my mother up at Iddesleigh. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for any of us.’

‘Even a priest has to die,’ Perkin managed. He was in the same position as Beorn. There had never been a time before Isaac.
All his life he had known the old priest. Every moment of importance, Isaac had been there in the background, his
grim, penetrating eyes watching over them just as the Church said her shepherds watched over her flock of souls. Isaac was
the living embodiment of the Church down here. The chapel itself may have been a strong building of moorstone, but the rock
was a pale imitation of the strength of his conviction.

‘I’ll … I’ll get home, then,’ Beorn said hesitantly.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll stay here with him,’ Perkin said. ‘Go on. Be off with you. I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Thank you, Perkin. I’ll come at dawn with a two-wheeled cart.’

And when it was all silent in that little room, Perkin sat next to Isaac’s body and put a hand on the cold, firm shoulder.
‘I’ll miss you, old man.’

Hugh entered with a pair of coneys over his shoulder. He dropped them on the floor before John, who stared at them.

‘Found them on the roadway. Can’t have been anyone’s,’ Hugh said defensively.

‘Clearly not!’ John said. He tried to separate them, and saw that Hugh had cut along the upper rear part of each rabbit’s
left leg. He’d thrust the right leg through the gap between tendon and bone, making a loop, and tied the two together so that
they might hang on his shoulder without falling. John unjoined them and began to skin both carcasses as Hugh settled down,
staring at their captive.

Humphrey was less imposing now. When Hugh had seen him before, he had that sort of arrogance that a priest has. That kind
of look that tells anyone else that he’s a man of importance, and you aren’t, so get out of the way quickly. He had that appearance
last time Hugh had seen him, when he had been in the road asking about Constance. When he
had told Hugh to look after her, because she deserved all the care Hugh could give her.

Not now. Now Humphrey lay back in the mess of the floor with his bound hands held before him like a supplicant. His robe was
marked and stained, and his hair was almost as wild-looking as his eyes. ‘What do you want with me?’

Hugh squatted near him and stared deep into those eyes.

‘I want to know why I shouldn’t kill you right now.’

It took some while to persuade Sir Geoffrey and his men to leave the church, and only when Baldwin and Sir Odo were sure that
the party was truly riding back towards Monkleigh did Baldwin relax a little and invite Sir Odo to join him in a jug of wine.

‘I should be delighted … but first, please let me demonstrate how little I trust my neighbour,’ Sir Odo chuckled. He beckoned
a farmer’s boy who stood nearby watching the goings-on with fascination. ‘You want a farthing? Good. Then run down the road
there, until you come to a place where you can see those men riding away. If you see any of them turn off and return this
way, come to me at the inn at once. Yes?’

The delighted boy grabbed the coin eagerly and scurried off down the road.

‘I think that answers my first question,’ Baldwin said.

‘What was that?’

‘How honourable is Sir Geoffrey?’

Sir Odo laughed aloud as he limped along the roadway to the inn. ‘Ach, he’s not so bad by his own lights. But his master is
a dangerous man, now that he’s the king’s own adviser. A man with so much power is always a threat. And if Sir Geoffrey thought
that he’d be more well-regarded if he
took another man’s land – well, from all we’ve heard, Lord Despenser is less scrupulous than many others.’