The Mad Monk of Gidleigh

by Michael Jecks

  Mark’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t have done that! When he struck her, that was shameful, but he hadn’t hit hard enough to break her neck, he’d just thumped her from frustration, and that had been enough to make him retch with horror. It was a reaction to how low he had sunk, nothing more – he couldn’t have killed her! Now, overwhelming his caution, his sense of complete innocence made him open his mouth. ‘But I didn’t touch her head or face! I couldn’t have been her killer!’

  This time the fist missed his kidney and crashed into the side of his chest. It felt like a leaden hammer, and he didn’t truly feel it at first. It was as though he was outside his body, slightly breathless, but without fear. Except he couldn’t speak. Then, when he gasped for breath, a raging, icy agony exploded along his left side. He must have broken or at least cracked a rib or two.

  When the Jury had declared their suspicions, Sir Ralph spoke again. ‘It seems to me that you are guilty as the Jury believes. They have presented the case against you, and I find it convincing. Have you anything to say before I declare your guilt?’

  ‘I… I claim the Benefit of the Clergy. Benefit of Clergy! You can’t keep me here. You have to give me up to the Cathedral.’

  At this point, Simon saw Esmon shoot a glance at Roger Scut. There was something in that look, and Simon was certain that he saw Roger Scut give a slight nod. There was no need for them to speak: they had an agreement, Simon thought, and he wondered what that agreement might be. He was relieved to see that the two watchmen had returned with Hugh.

  ‘So you, Mark, say that you are a clerk and you cannot and will not answer here. Well, if that’s the case, we must deliver you to your lord’s court, but before you are delivered, your character must be determined. So we shall have to find out the truth of the matter.’

  ‘You cannot try me! I am one of the clergy! Please, Fa–’ Before he could call on Sir Ralph as a parent, Brian’s fist whirled into his belly, and he collapsed, choking.

  ‘This is no inquest. We are merely determining your character, so that we can deliver you to the court of the Bishop, and we find that you are guilty. Your guilt was proven by your flight. Your goods and chattels are forfeit, clerk.’

  ‘Release him to my custody,’ Baldwin said heavily. ‘I shall take him back with me and have him carried to Exeter.’

  ‘I fear I can only release him to an ecclesiastical officer,’ Sir Ralph said coolly. ‘And only after proof of the lad’s clerical status.’

  ‘If you wait that long,’ Baldwin said reasonably, ‘he might die. Look at him now! He’s been left to starve, hasn’t he? Have you fed him?’

  ‘His feeding isn’t my responsibility,’ Sir Ralph said with sudden sharpness. There was an edge to his voice that to Baldwin sounded more than a little like madness. ‘I’m only holding him.’

  ‘Neither food, nor water, I expect. He could die of the cold in this weather, too. Bishop Walter would be displeased if he heard that you had seen to it that one of his clerks was dead.’

  ‘He’ll be well looked after,’ Sir Ralph shouted, and his arm snapped out, pointing northwards. ‘Better than he looked after that child out there!’

  ‘Come! Father, there’s no need to upset yourself,’ Esmon said silkily.

  ‘No… No, of course not,’ Sir Ralph said, and wiped a hand over his brow. ‘Now, we must see that he is ordained by letters from the Bishop. Where are the letters?’

  ‘In my chest at the church,’ Mark gasped.

  ‘That is good. Then I shall send men to fetch them. If they are in order, you may be released into the hands of any official whom the Bishop may send.’

  Baldwin happened to glance at Piers at that moment, and saw him lift a hand as though to object, but then his brows pulled together and he stood studying Esmon with an expression of disbelief.

  ‘I claim him,’ Roger Scut said.

  Baldwin shot him a look and saw him tilt his head back and peer along his nose at Mark, who remained on his knees, weeping silently. ‘There, Mark. You are safe. You shall come back to Exeter with me and await the court there.’

  ‘How do we know he’s a priest?’

  It was Esmon. Baldwin gazed at him, wondering what new peril threatened Mark, for peril there clearly was. Piers was chewing his lip now. He looked up and caught Baldwin’s eye; Baldwin thought he was ashamed.

  ‘He could have murdered a cleric and come here after stealing his letters.’

  ‘My son, please be silent,’ Sir Ralph said.

  ‘What if he’s no priest anyway?’

  ‘I said, be silent! If he is a priest or not, we have to hold him safely. If he is determined to claim Benefit of Clergy, he can go to the Bishop’s court, and there, if he’s no priest, he will be punished for imitating a cleric. Our duty is to hold him and send him to the Bishop in one piece.’

  Esmon shrugged with apparent good humour and returned to lean against the wall.

  ‘That is better. Now, boy, we should test you, I suppose. What can we ask? I know: recite the Placebo.’

  ‘The Placebo? But clerks usually recite the Pater Noster,’ Mark said, his voice quavering.

  ‘I don’t care. Begin.’

  Mark searched his memory for the words, but under the hard stares of the men all around, he found it playing him false. The form of the service was there, right at the forefront of his mind, but the words themselves would not come. He closed his eyes, opened his mouth, as though by the mere mechanical exercise he might be able to tempt the words from the dimness at the back of his mind, but they remained hidden.

  ‘I… I can’t remember it! I’ve never had to recite it here. There’s been no corpses to bury – how would I know that off by heart? I can give you the Pater…’

  ‘Clerk, you told me to ask for the Placebo, but as you see, he can’t recite it. What do you say?’ Sir Ralph asked, turning to Roger Scut.

  Mark gazed at him thankfully. Roger had saved him once, Roger would save him again. They were both clerks. But Sir Ralph said that Roger had told him to ask for the… Suddenly Mark felt a fresh thrill of horror washing over him.

  Roger Scut gave him a stare down the length of his nose, and declared, ‘Any real clerk would know the Placebo.’

  Mark cried, ‘No! Roger, please! Father! Help me – save me!’ but his words were drowned out by the roar of anger.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The room erupted. Suddenly the peasants were roused, thinking this was proof that Mark was not even a clerk, that he had been misleading them all the months when he had been at the altar.

  ‘That bastard!’

  ‘He’s a liar!’

  ‘Are our souls damned?’ one man asked, looking fearful.

  The fellow at his side had a more mundane interest. ‘Where did all our gifts to the chapel go, then?’

  As the men started to move towards Mark, Baldwin grabbed the arms of his Constables and shoved them forward so that they stood at Mark’s side, Thomas with bared teeth like an enraged mastiff, Godwen languid, but none the less intimidating for that, like a snake lying bathing in the sun. Baldwin whipped his sword from its scabbard and roared for silence. One man pressed forward as though to reach Mark, but Baldwin’s point pricked his arm, and he changed his mind, withdrawing with a scowl and a curse. Simon, he could feel, was beside him, Hugh too, with his long-bladed knife in his hand, and it would be a hard fight for any man who wanted to reach Mark. Yet unless Baldwin took control, it was possible that the men might try just that. They were furious, believing that they had legal sanction to attack this man who had professed to being a clerk.

  He did not know, nor did he care, what motive Roger Scut had for implying that Mark was no cleric. All he knew was that unless he acted swiftly, Mark would be hanged out of hand like any other felon whose guilt had been established.

  ‘Silence! I am Keeper of the King’s Peace, and I will see justice done here!’ he roared at the top of his voice, glaring balefully at Brian, who had his hand resting on his sword’s h
ilt. Baldwin pointed at him. ‘You! Help to keep order in your lord’s court. You want to see a murder done in his own hall? All of you: LISTEN!’ he bellowed, feeling his face redden with sudden anger. ‘If this man is harmed I shall order the whole vill to be amerced to the fullest extent for petty treason against your lord, for mutiny and murder! You are all in Frankpledge – any man who tries to attack me or this man here will suffer the consequences in my court as Keeper of the King’s Peace.’

  There was a less enthusiastic shuffling now. Baldwin caught sight of a man who looked as though he might try to push his way forward, but saw another grab his hand. The threat against their Frankpledge was working.

  It had all happened so swiftly, it seemed that most of the men were stunned, many of them shocked by the urge to commit sudden violence. Five men, Baldwin saw, were left with different emotions.

  Sir Ralph and Roger Scut had not moved. Sir Ralph sat as before, but his face showed his rage. He had wanted Mark to be killed, Baldwin guessed. Roger Scut, who had appeared excited and hopeful as the crowd jumped to pull Mark outside, now looked merely bored, although Baldwin caught a glimpse of something when their eyes met – perhaps frustration that the near execution, caused by his own deliberate lack of enthusiasm in Mark’s defence, had not succeeded. It was a consideration that made Baldwin want still more to have a chance to talk to him.

  Esmon, still at the wall, had made no move to protect his parents, nor to go to the defence of Mark. He still leaned against the wall, a couple of men-at-arms at his side, conversing with one, and staring, Baldwin noticed, fixedly at him.

  Piers was the only man from the vill who had sprung to Mark’s aid, and he stood at Simon and Hugh’s side, a sturdy club in his hand, glaring about him like a crazed warrior waiting for the first blow to be struck – eager, so it seemed, to retaliate.

  ‘You thought you’d break our master’s hall? What’s got into you all? Are you gone mad? Calm down, the lot of you, before I use this to calm you meself!’

  ‘You blame us? That priest there tells us that this turd is no man of God, and you blame us for our anger? What’s the matter with you, Piers? Lost your cods? You’d be happy to see the killer of my daughter walk free just so that you can announce there’s been no fighting in the court? Ballocks, I say!’

  ‘Huward, restrain yourself. Would it serve Mary’s memory for you to be hanged because of disrespect to your lord? You want to die like that?’

  Baldwin was glad to see that Huward hung his head and turned away. He could have sprung forwards even so, but other men, probably those from his own frankpledge, were there to surround him, shielding Mark with their bodies, and Baldwin felt safe enough to gaze about him again, meeting the faces of all the men in the room and staring down those who looked most truculent.

  ‘Sir Ralph, I demand that this court be closed now so that men might recover their senses. It is clear enough to me that the boy here is a priest and that he deserves the protection of the court and all your men.’

  ‘I don’t need you to tell me my responsibilities. The priest here only said that any cleric should know his Placebo – he didn’t say this man wasn’t a priest.’

  Baldwin slowly surveyed the room. ‘Sir Ralph, I demand that you release this fellow into my hands as Keeper of the King’s Peace. It is clear to me that your villeins are convinced that he is not entitled to Benefit of Clergy and that his life is at risk.’

  ‘He is under my protection,’ Sir Ralph said testily. ‘This is my court, and I will not relinquish him.’

  ‘I demand–’

  ‘You have no right to demand anything!’ Sir Ralph suddenly spat. He leaned forward in his seat as though to launch himself at Baldwin, but his wife put a hand out and caught his wrist. The knight hesitated as she spoke.

  ‘Sir Baldwin, I agree with you. Any harm that might come to him will be the responsibility of Gidleigh. His safety must be paramount.’

  ‘You shall look after him, then, until Scut and I can get him back to the Bishop,’ Baldwin said with a slight bow.

  ‘Yes, I shall hold him.’ Sir Ralph smiled humourlessly. ‘I shall keep him safe in the comfort of my little gaol.’

  ‘If he dies, I shall inform the good Bishop that you allowed his death through negligence,’ Baldwin stated sharply. He had little choice, he knew. This was Sir Ralph’s court.

  The knight shrugged. ‘You know as well as I that the death of a prisoner from cold or hunger is death by natural causes. I’m sure he’ll enjoy my hospitality while we wait to receive the letters he says the good Bishop sent him and which are held in his chest. No doubt they will prove his innocence.’

  ‘The chapel is burned! Any letters have been destroyed!’ Esmon called. ‘He can’t recite his prayers and I say we should hang him. He killed the girl, let him pay.’

  ‘I will reserve judgement until I see the letters,’ Sir Ralph said. ‘If they have burned, we must send to the Bishop for copies or confirmation that this man is a priest.’ He spoke as though reluctantly, and Baldwin was struck with the feeling that Sir Ralph had aged in the last few minutes, like a man who has realised he has failed someone he loved. Baldwin could not help but glance at Annicia as Sir Ralph waved an arm, stood, and walked heavily from the room.

  Lady Annicia was sitting as though she was entirely indifferent to the outcome of this discussion, but her face was blank only in appearance because she was controlling herself with difficulty. Utter dejection was revealed on her face. As Baldwin watched, fascinated, he saw her eyes glitter with hatred, and he saw that she was staring at Huward.

  ‘What in God’s name can you have against him?’ he wondered, but then he gladly helped Mark to his feet and watched as he was taken away.

  He himself was not convinced of Mark’s innocence, but he was quite sure of one thing, that Mark was definitely a priest; and, he reminded himself as he looked towards the table again, that Roger Scut had betrayed him.

  Walking from the room, he didn’t notice that Lady Annicia motioned to a servant, pointed to Huward, and spoke softly.

  Elias had intended to escape the place as soon as Sir Ralph declared that the court was to adjourn, but he wasn’t fast enough to escape Simon. Before he could reach the roadway at the front of the castle, Hugh had caught up with him. ‘My master wants to talk to you.’

  ‘Who is your master? That knight?’

  ‘No, he’s the Bailiff from Lydford,’ Hugh said.

  Elias scowled. He had heard of Lydford – who hadn’t? The Stannary court there reckoned itself competent not only to try a man’s guilt and deliver him from gaol, often they would do so before the King’s Justices had time to arrive. Their power was absolute, and they had little regard for serfs. Many miners had once themselves been serfs, but had escaped to the moors, where they lived the easy life of freemen, owing service to no one.

  The Stannaries were fiercely protective of their people. Elias knew he must be careful responding to the Bailiff’s questions. He waited, chewing his lip. It wasn’t his fault he was the only man who admitted to finding the body of the girl. Nothing to do with him, whoever had killed her. Nothing at all. But he’d be the man who was fined first and hardest, just because he’d stumbled over her corpse.

  ‘You’re Elias? I am Bailiff Puttock of Lydford.’

  Simon wasn’t the sort of man to make Elias feel at his ease. He loomed over the peasant, while Hugh wandered idly around behind Elias, making him wonder whether he was about to be arrested. ‘Yes, sir, but I’ve done nothing, I just found the bodies, that’s all. I can’t help that.’

  The knight was at the Bailiff’s side now, two evil-looking watchmen behind him. One glowered at him as though suspecting Elias of raping his wife. The other looked bored stiff. The two were so incongruous together that Elias found himself staring at them. Baldwin’s voice made him jump. He had all but forgotten the Keeper.

  ‘No, Elias,’ said Baldwin gently, ‘you are not held to be at fault. Nor shall you be if you tell us the truth
. Now: the body you found up on the moors, the body of this miner – are you sure he was dead?’

  Elias ducked his head, confused by the question. ‘His neck was broken, and his hand had been hacked off, like someone had gone berserk… Have you seen a man survive something like that?’

  ‘I think we may safely conclude that he was dead,’ Baldwin grunted. ‘Did you recognise him? Piers tells us it was probably a man called Wylkyn. Is that so?’

  ‘Yes. I’d seen him often enough. Used to be a servant at the castle – back in the days of Sir Richard, that was.’

  ‘Is that why you were asked to find him?’ Baldwin asked suddenly, cutting into his speech.

  ‘Asked to…?’

  ‘Don’t pretend to be stupid. Just tell me quickly: who told you where to find that body?’

  Elias stared dumbly at the ground. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Oh, I reckon you do,’ Simon said. ‘Come on – how much were you paid?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Baldwin leaned down. ‘Elias, we can ask you here, and you can answer, or we can have you taken to Sir Ralph’s cell and leave you there until you choose to respond. Of course, if you refuse, we can have you taken to Exeter to answer to the Justices there in the county court. It is up to you.’

  ‘Which will it be?’ Simon rasped.

  Elias was loath to answer. He didn’t know what to do, where to look, so he kept his head down, staring at their feet while he tried to think of an answer that would be safe, that would allow him some room for escape. It was a huge relief when he recognised the voice of Piers the Reeve.

  ‘Master, Sir Baldwin, I am glad you found our First Finder. Elias will help you.’

  Elias shot him a look of hatred. He had spoken to Piers as a friend, as a neighbour and member of the same Frankpledge. Under the unwritten but perfectly comprehended rules of the vill, his words about Sir Ralph should have remained secret, but Piers’s tone gave him little hope that the Reeve would either leave him in peace or support him.