The Tolls of Death: (Knights Templar 17) (7 page)

As Father Adam lifted the cup of wine high over his head and muttered his incantation, Alex promised himself that he would personally draw Richer’s guts if the man posed any threat to Serlo. He’d kill any man who threatened his little brother.

As Father Adam broke the bread, in the cottage nearby, beyond the broad green, there was a creaking. A rat scuttled under the door and squatted, sniffing, his nose twitching at the rich odours. Soon he lowered himself again and pattered silently along the edge of the floor until he reached the palliasse. There he stopped and sniffed again, and his tongue shot out to lick at the mess on the edge of the rough mattress.

When a gust of wind blew, the door rattled and the rat hesitated, but it wasn’t that which made him pause and then scurry from the place: it was the slow and mechanical squeak from the rafter overhead.

The slow squeak of the hempen rope bound tightly about the woman’s neck.

The view here, so high on the moors, was splendid, and John never tired of it. His little Mass complete, he stood in the small churchyard at Temple and gazed about him as the tiny congregation departed homewards.

Here, staring out over the peaceful countryside, John was filled with a sense of ease, of all being well in his world. Strange to think that even a short time ago this had been such a sad place. On the orders of the Pope himself, the King had confiscated the manor and forcibly evicted those living here, for this had been the site of a flourishing little manor owned by the Knights Templar, the Order to which it still owed its name.

John was some eight and thirty years old now, so when the Knights were all arrested in France, he would have been twenty-one; that was back in 1307. The Knights were tortured to confess to their sins. Terrible they were, too – so foul, so heinous, as to deserve the censure of the whole world.

This little manor, like so many others, had been run by the Temple’s lay Brothers. A wounded Knight might arrive every so often, to be rested and refreshed ready for another battlefield, but not many came here. Most remained nearer London, that great cesspit where all the world’s malcontents eventually drifted. There the Templars had their great Temple. That was where the King had expected to find them when he was instructed by the Pope to arrest them all. However, Edward was a friend of the Knights. They’d helped him when he was younger, and he repaid them now, raising objections and dissenting from the French King’s
view that the Templars should be eradicated. Instead he gave them time to escape, and when he finally agreed to arrest those whom he could catch and was instructed to torture them all, he replied that England had no need of torture, and therefore, unlike the French, England had no trained torturers. It was illegal in the King’s realm. He refused the Pope’s offer of experts in such fields.

So for years King Edward II had procrastinated, against the wishes of God’s own Vicar on Earth until, in the end, he submitted and confiscated the Templars’ lands. Many had gone into exile. Some, it was believed, had gone to Scotland and repaid King Edward’s support by joining his foes at Bannockburn. It was rumoured that the
Beauséant
, their white and black flag, had been seen there, although John was not the only man to disbelieve that. He had known many Templars, and yes, the bastards were as prickly and arrogant as only the truly rich and wellborn could be, but that didn’t make them disloyal.

The Pope demanded that their lands should all go to the Hospitallers, but Edward had again demurred, and many, like this manor, had been held by him and parcelled out to his friends and members of his household. This one had gone to a friend of the Despensers, and because of Sir Henry of Cardinham’s loyalty during the recent wars, he had carried some authority when there was a debate about who should be installed as the priest. Luckily for John, Sir Henry had carried the day, and John won the post. That was nearly ten years ago, when he was eight and twenty, already quite an old man for his first parish, but that didn’t take away from the pride and delight he felt in possessing it.

And to Sir Henry’s credit, he had never asked anything in return. Perhaps, John thought with a grin as he made his way out of the churchyard, the fellow was softening in his old age!

He was determined to keep himself hidden down here in Temple. As one opposed to the King, it was wise to maintain a low profile. That was partly why he had grown so angry when that
silly chit Julia had admitted her pregnancy. It drew attention to the parish, would gain it a bad reputation. He could have imposed the
leyrwite
, of course – the fine imposed for women who were less chaste than they should be – but thank God, it proved unnecessary as Adam had been willing to take her. After all, imposing the
leyrwite
was no way to thank his master for this living. No, better that the silly girl took herself off to the parish where the father lived.

Mind, that was before John had realised his error with Adam. The other priest had turned out to be an equal embarrassment and threat to John’s own safety. He could deal with it by reporting Adam to the rural dean, and yet that seemed too cruel. No, John would keep that threat up his sleeve for now.

For this magnanimity, John must live with the awareness of his danger at all times, for rumours could attach themselves even to the innocent.

Especially at a time when war was brewing.

The inhabitants of Cardinham left their church with their spirits uplifted by the priest’s assurances of the wonderful life to come, during which all men and their women would be safe from hunger or cold, from fear or from sadness. The poorest today would be rich in Heaven, while the rich and powerful would be barred from Heaven’s gates. They could wail and gnash their teeth as they were herded away, down to Hell.

Bolstered by this cheerful prospect, the peasants of the parish mingled at the church’s yard before setting off homewards. Some, like those from Colvannick, had a walk of more than a mile back to their homes, and they were reluctant to set off immediately. Sunday was one of the few days when people could talk and enjoy themselves without fear of the lord’s men noting their laziness and reporting them.

Serlo took a look about him and started off on his way.

‘Something wrong, miller?’ Richer called.

‘Nothing.’

‘Yet you seem in a hurry. Where are you going? Home to your lovely wife?’

‘Leave her out of it!’ Serlo answered. People, he saw, were listening. Many would like to see him pulled down a peg or two, he knew, and he curled his lip at old Iwan the smith and Gregory, his grandson, who were taking it all in. He felt hurt that they should listen so insolently – it reminded him of when he was young, and some of the older boys picked on him, taunting him about his father’s drunkenness. In those days he was swift to burst into tears, and he was aware of a tingling at his eyes even now.

‘What are you staring at?’ he snapped peevishly. ‘An old fool, and a young one, both listening to things that’re none of their business. Go and join the women gossiping if you’re hard up for news!’

‘Anyone can listen to me,’ Richer said mildly. ‘I don’t mind. You’ve been charging people for your own benefit instead of asking for the proper tolls, haven’t you, Serlo? I think you ought to account for that missing money. We wouldn’t want a thief to profit from his stealing, would we? The castellan wants to know what you’ve been up to.’

‘Don’t tell me that Gervase and Nicholas are bothered! This is nothing to do with them! I
own
the farm of the tolls. I bought it. No, this is all because of
you
! And there’s only one reason a murderous hireling would be interested in my affairs.’

‘A …’ Richer felt his throat tighten with rage. ‘And what would that be?’

‘The same as any other
mercenary
. You’re just looking to line your own pocket!’

The slur hurt, and Richer was about to punch the arrogance from his face, but better counsel prevailed. If he was to punish the slob, better that he should do so later, when there were fewer
witnesses. ‘Miller, I am no “hireling”, as you put it, but I am loyal to my master, unlike you.’

‘And you want to sit there to toll all travellers yourself, I suppose? It’s no wonder you left no friends behind here when you fled the vill, Richer! You’ve none still, have you? Where’s your big companion now? He take a dislike to you, same as all others with a brain?’

Alexander’s wife Letitia was chatting to another woman when she overheard her brother-in-law’s rising tone and sighed inwardly. It was only with an effort that she prevented herself from rolling her eyes in despair. Serlo, she was quite sure, would be the end of her husband. The fool could make an enemy of a saint.

She sought her husband, and seeing him in deep conversation with Adam, decided to save Serlo herself from making an even greater fool of himself than usual. Crossing the yard she smiled sweetly at Serlo. ‘Brother, how are you this fine morning?’

The miller scarcely acknowledged her. ‘You never married, did you, Richer?’ he ranted on. ‘Never had the money, I suppose. It’s hard if you can’t give a woman a stable life.’

Richer’s smile returned, although it was a little glassy. ‘You think I should be sorrowful? I am happy enough. What, should I be like an old gossip who sits at the gate to a vill and charges money for others to enter? I think not! And then to defraud his master …’

‘I have defrauded no one!’

‘Only a thief would steal from travellers,’ Richer said, studying his fingers nonchalantly. ‘Or from his own master.’

‘You’re a liar!’ Serlo bellowed. ‘I’ll have your head, you black-hearted son of a lunatic and a—’

‘You are in a churchyard!’ Letitia hissed, staring frantically towards her husband. Something in her eyes must have caught his attention, for he immediately started moving towards them.

‘It is well enough!’ Richer said. ‘Let all hear who wish to! I
accuse this miller of taking gifts from people instead of the lord’s tolls.’

‘Still your mouth, you heap of dung!’ Alexander hissed as he drew near. ‘This language will have you fined in our lord’s court, I swear. You leave our vill and return filled with new ideas and expect us to listen? I say I piss on your words, and I piss on you too! If you keep up this kind of malicious villeiny-saying, you’ll find yourself in more trouble than you could imagine.’

‘You think
I
am causing trouble?’ Richer said mildly. ‘I do nothing compared with your brother! He acts as thief, this miller, and you do not seek to stop him.’

‘I am Constable here,’ Alexander said. His eyes were glittering coldly, and he glanced about him as though to measure the support he might gain from others. ‘I’ll see to this.’

But he was too late.

‘I’m no thief, you liar!’ Serlo screamed, and to Letitia’s disgust, she saw the spittle fly from his lips. He lurched forward, his fingers curling as though already feeling the gristle of Richer’s neck in them.

Richer stepped aside, but his hand was at his dagger’s hilt. ‘Call off your pet, Constable, unless you want him to feel the sting of my blade. Call him off, I say!’

As Serlo tried to leap on him, old Iwan grabbed one arm and held it in a vice-like grip; the other arm was gripped by Iwan’s son Angot. They held Serlo firmly while he roared at Richer: ‘You threaten
me
? You accuse
me
? Iwan, let me
go
, you old bastard! Richer, I’ll have your ballocks in my purse for this!’

‘Oh you will, will you?’ Richer said coolly. ‘Friend Serlo, if you try to harm me, I swear that within the hour, I’ll see you in Hell. You go back to threatening children and your wife,
little
man – leave real men alone. We deserve more capable fighters than cowards like you!’

He stepped forward, letting his hand fall away from his knife, and as he passed Alexander, he held the man’s gaze, speaking low.

‘Keep that piece of shit away from Athelina in future, understand? Otherwise all this will come straight to the attention of the lord of the manor. I swear it. Leave her alone, and leave her safe, or I’ll ruin you.’

Letitia heard his words, but did not know what he meant by them. Athelina had little to do with her or Alex, apart from living in one of the houses which Alex and Serlo owned. In any event, Alex wouldn’t have harmed her. Since losing his own mother, he had taken great care to protect other mothers so far as was possible.

Then she saw Richer’s expression as he stared at her husband. That was when she understood. Richer didn’t care about
Serlo
. His words may have been aimed at Serlo, but their import was intended for Alex. This man Richer had returned here after many years abroad; now it appeared that he and Alex hated each other. Why, she had no idea, but she was sure that Richer was threatening her man. It should have worried her: Richer was one of the men-at-arms at the castle, after all, but she couldn’t be anxious about Alex. He was too sensible and self-assured. No matter how dangerous Richer might be, she was convinced that Alex and she could meet the threat head-on. He was the Constable of the vill, when all was said and done, and Letitia was more than capable of helping him.

But, she acknowledged with a sigh, her brother-in-law was a different matter. Serlo was forever causing problems for them, starting brawls in the tavern, insulting men and women as though he was safe from prosecution, and now he had even threatened one of the castle’s men in full view of the vill.