‘What did he tell you?’
‘That as far as he knew there was no coadjutor sent to help Isaac. No one at Exeter had any knowledge of a younger priest being sent here to help, but of course the bishop could have acted alone in this.’
‘So he might be a felon?’ Jeanne said.
‘Perhaps, but if he is, he is a felon with an unusually good grasp of Latin and the Church’s rites. I thought to test him, so when I was passing I dropped in to witness a service he was conducting, and he was word-perfect so far as I could tell … it is some years since I was taught myself, and it is possible that a little of my own service is not so correct as I could wish, but I comfort myself with the thought that I do try hard to be a good priest. I think that is all most of us can aspire to: being good enough. If I can direct some of my parishioners away from the paths of folly or evil, I have done my job.
‘But so far as I can tell, Humphrey is a trained churchman, although he is not the vill’s coadjutor as people had thought. Which leaves me with the interesting question of who he is and why he is there.’
‘Have you arrived at an answer?’
‘I am afraid not. I can only assume that he left his abbey, priory or church under a cloud of some sort; but what does that matter? If he is a good priest to the men of his parish, surely that is sufficient?’
‘Perhaps. What does your heart tell you?’
He looked up at the sky. ‘In God’s name, I do not know. He seems a sound parish priest, but he may have a good reason for showing that face. What if he is concealing another aspect in order to gain an advantage? I am very concerned that there might be some ulterior motive here. That is why I was going to write to the bishop to ask him whether he sent this man. But Isaac stopped me. He said Humphrey was his concern, not mine.
‘And in the meantime?’
‘In the meantime I am trying to watch him. And I do so. But while the two vills are at daggers drawn, it is hard.’
Sir Geoffrey was in a cold rage as he walked along the hall and out to the rear. The second building was constructed at right angles to the main part of the house, a long, low block with narrow windows set high in the walls and one doorway in the middle.
It was the way he’d demanded it. When he’d first come here at Earl Hugh Despenser’s request, the accommodation had been simple and old fashioned. All the servants and men-at-arms lived in the main hall with him. He had the solar and all the privacy that implied, but meals would be taken in the hall, just as with any other old lord.
Not Sir Geoffrey, though.
One of the first lessons he had learned in his journeys was that money was becoming more important than a man’s oath of service. In the past a man would kneel before his lord and put his hands together. His lord would put his own hands about the vassal’s, and the two would swear their vows; one to serve and honour, the other to reward with food, drink and clothing, as well as as much booty and money as he needed.
But in the last few years that whole structure of service owed and repaid had begun to fall apart. Sir Geoffrey had seen it first some little while ago when he started to see the mercenary gangs forming. Then it hadn’t seemed a threat, and yet Sir Geoffrey had wondered about them – he wasn’t sure how he’d react if someone offered him a large treasure of money instead of an honourable life of service to his lord. No, he wasn’t at all sure.
So when he was sent here as steward to this little manor, with the clear instruction that he should build it up to help form a barrier against Lord de Courtenay’s ambitions, he had insisted that there must be a separate building to house the mercenaries. The men weren’t there for the benefit of Sir Geoffrey or Lord Despenser, they were there solely for their own profit, and couldn’t be trusted.
Most of the men were out of the place at this hour. He knew that. There was only one man who would still be there, and that was the man he had thrashed. Sir Geoffrey threw the door wide and stormed in. To the left was the main stable area, but on the right was the accommodation for the servants and men-at-arms who had been hired by Sir Geoffrey.
It was a noisome room, this. The odour of piss and sour ale filled the place, along with the reek of filthy clothing. Small beds had been set out on either side against the walls. These were not mere palliasses spread over the floor, but well-built cots with rope springs and thick mattresses. No expense had been spared when the carpenter had come here, because the men had insisted that they should have decent beds and bedding. Just one more sign of the greed of their kind, Sir Geoffrey thought.
As he peered about him in the gloom, Sir Geoffrey saw that one of the beds still had a figure lying upon it. He strode to it and stared down at the snoring shape.
Lying on his belly, his back bared, Nicholas le Poter was breathing stertorously through his wide mouth. The reason for his snoring was plain enough. At the side of his bed a large jug of ale had toppled over, the remaining drink spreading over the rushes on the floor. Sir Geoffrey looked down at it, then back at the sleeping man.
Le Poter was useless to Sir Geoffrey. He had come with good recommendations from another knight in Despenser’s service, but all he had done so far was foment trouble. There was no doubt in Sir Geoffrey’s mind that this man wanted his position, but he wasn’t ready to give it up yet. He had wanted to remove le Poter for some time because of the fool’s machinations, and now he felt as though he had little option. The murder of the Meeth widow, and the fact that her body had been found here on the demesne, meant that Sir Geoffrey’s position was badly undermined. And it was Nick le Poter who’d suggested that the mire be drained. That, to him, meant that le Poter might well have killed her and dumped her body there to throw suspicion on Sir Geoffrey and ruin his reputation. If Sir Geoffrey could be removed from the manor, who knows? Perhaps Nick le Poter could take over his job.
He kicked the mattress. Hard. There was a squeak of protest from the bed itself, but the carpenter had known his job, and it survived, although it moved several inches over the packed earth of the floor, nudging into the wall.
‘Wake up, you dog’s shit!’
‘Wha …?’
‘I said, wake up! You’ve no reason to be asleep, have you?’
‘What’s the matter? You feel you left too much skin on my back?’
‘Yes, I do,’ Sir Geoffrey snarled. ‘And I have a need for more than just your flesh, man! Do you know what happened today?’
‘So the men found a little body in the bog. What of it?’
‘I don’t think I like your voice, le Poter. I think you seem to know all about this woman’s death.’
‘What I don’t know, I can guess,’ le Poter spat. He raised himself on all fours and made as though to clamber from the bed and on to his feet.
Sir Geoffrey didn’t hesitate. He swung his boot and caught le Poter in the belly. The breath left the man’s body in a single gasp, and le Poter arched, and then crumpled. He collapsed on his side among the rushes, and stalks pricked at his scabs like fine daggers. He moved to escape the agony, but only succeeded in driving some straws deeper into his tormented flesh. He moaned with the pain, unable even to gather breath enough to scream.
‘You know nothing! You are insignificant, Poter. If I wanted, I could kill you here and now.’
‘It doesn’t matter – the Lord Despenser will soon learn what you’ve been doing!’
Sir Geoffrey hesitated. ‘What?’
‘Stealing a part of his manor, sharing the profits with Sir Odo. That’s what you’ve done, isn’t it? Creating a nest which you and he are feathering!’
‘I don’t know what you’re …’
‘Then you’re more thick than I thought, old man!’ Nick spat. ‘That land where Robert Crokers is bailiff, that was all part of Ailward’s manor when you came here. You didn’t know that? Sweet Jesus, and I thought you were clever, once!’
A boot thumped into his flank once more, and he hiccuped with the pain. Straw stabbed his back and he tried to scream, but before he could the boot
returned and caught his belly. The breath exploded from him like water from a fountain, and he choked, gasping for air.
Then he felt the nick as a sharp blade drew blood from his throat. A little rasp and then, oh, such a smooth cut, just like a razor sticking in a cheek. He could feel the marvellous edge slip into his flesh, and he suddenly stiffened, convinced that his master was about to slit his throat for him. He could hear Sir Geoffrey’s rough breathing like a lover’s lustful panting, could feel the warmth where the breath brushed his cheek.
‘That’s enough for me! You don’t belong here, le Poter. I think you should go away, and quickly. You won’t get far, though, because the hue and cry will soon find you. I’ll see to that. You run off, fellow, and see how far you can get. I’ll have the men after you as soon as they’re back from their work, and I don’t think they’ll be happy to think that you could have done that to her and brought disgrace on all of us. No, they won’t like that one bit. If I were you, I’d hurry to get away.’
Abruptly the knife was whipped away, and suddenly he was released. He fell back on to the rushes, the stems a fresh torture, and could do nothing for a long while but sob.
Chapter Twenty-Four
‘This is all a waste of time!’ Simon muttered viciously. ‘What’s the point? We know who was responsible ultimately, and that’s Despenser.’
‘Who would be as guilty as the murderer here,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘However, we don’t know who it was who gave the order to murder Hugh that night, just as we don’t know who it was who actually rode out to his house.’
‘We know that bastard knight has the men to do all he wants, and that he craved the land for his master,’ Simon said. ‘He invaded Hugh’s farm to scare all the other locals into supporting him. He doesn’t care about the folks under his command, he just enjoys power. And perhaps some other things, too. Did you mark his manner when we were in his solar?’
‘He was restrained,’ Baldwin said.
‘Restrained, my arse! He was angry that we’d entered his hall, but he was humble in the face of the girl’s body,’ Simon spat. ‘That child was beautiful in life, I’d guess, and this is a quiet, dull, empty sort of place. Not like Exeter where a man can find a woman any time of the day. No, a fellow like Sir Geoffrey would learn to desire a woman, then grow more and more frustrated if she didn’t reciprocate his feelings. And how could a youngster like her reciprocate his feelings? She was little more than a child.’
Baldwin shot Simon a look. ‘You feel strongly about that young woman.’
‘Why in God’s name shouldn’t I? How could a man gaze on her pretty face and not wonder what she would look like in life, how she might smile at a sally, how she might sigh and lie back at the sight of her lover, or how she would scream to see the weapons of torture brought nearer and nearer …’
‘Simon, she was a widow, and now she is dead. It is our duty to learn who murdered her. No more than that.’
‘A lot more than that, Baldwin. She is dead, and the same man killed her who killed Hugh and Constance and the boy!’ Simon shouted. He flung an arm back up the track towards Sir Geoffrey’s hall. ‘That so-called chivalrous knight in there did for her. You heard the priest – Humphrey said that all in the area know Geoffrey is guilty. He led the attack on the man at the other farm …’
‘Robert Crokers,’ Baldwin muttered.
‘Yes, and then he took his men up to Hugh’s place, and did … that.’
‘What of the woman?’
‘Probably took her some while before.’
‘But where would he have kept her while he subjected her to torture? There would have to be a place somewhere near here where he felt he could do that to her with impunity.’
‘In the hall itself, I expect,’ Simon grunted. His anger had drained from him, leaving him morose and dejected. If Hugh’s killer was a knight like Sir Geoffrey, then there was little chance that Simon could ever bring him to justice. Yet Simon burned with the desire for revenge. He would avenge his servant … his friend.
‘His hall?’ Baldwin said. He glanced about him as though seeing nothing. ‘In his hall with all his servants? I doubt whether his men-at-arms would care too much, from what I have seen of them, but I doubt whether it would be possible for him to conceal the torture of a young woman. No, if he had brought her here, I think that many of his servants, all those who had been born in this area and knew her and her family, would have reported his crimes to others. It would be impossible for him to keep such an act secret.’
‘Even when his crimes are known and discussed widely, the local people dare do nothing against him,’ Simon growled.
‘That may well be true,’ Baldwin said.
‘Perhaps there was a small house nearby?’ Simon muttered. ‘He owns half this vill.’
They were approaching the little cluster of buildings that Humphrey had indicated included the home of the dead man Ailward, and Baldwin glanced about him with interest. He was aware of Edgar moving forward to trot at his side, as always aware of potential threats before Baldwin had noticed them. Realising Edgar had seen something, Baldwin peered more closely and saw the figures in among the trees. They looked like men who were hiding from the little force, but scared people could try to defend themselves. It only took one arrow, as Baldwin knew too well, to end a life. His own had nearly been cut short by one late last year.
‘Come,’ he said. ‘Let’s find Master Ailward’s widow.’
It took him some time to come to. The water on his face brought him round again, but only to a slow, painful wakening, and then suddenly he felt the stabbing at his back, and Nicholas le Poter gave a low groan and threw himself over on to all fours, choking and coughing.
‘I had to wake you up! Nick, you have to go!’ Adcock whispered.
‘I can’t move! My back is too bad.’
‘You have to. You can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous. You heard what he said. If you stay here, you’ll be killed.’
Gradually Nicholas felt his strength returning. He couldn’t move quickly, not with his back the way it was, but he could at least clamber to his feet. Pushing with his fists, he forced himself upwards, and grabbed Adcock’s arm, pulling himself up to the sergeant’s shoulder.
‘You heard him?’
‘I couldn’t miss his words,’ Adcock said. ‘Go! He’ll set his hounds on you else.’
‘He wouldn’t dare.’
‘He will have you killed, man! You have to run. I don’t care what he thinks, but all the locals will blame anyone from this hall for her murder, and if you fit the picture, you’ll be executed for it.’
‘I can’t!’
Nicholas shook himself away from Adcock. He didn’t trust the sergeant entirely. The lad was too new to the place. There were others he could turn to …
There was no one. Nicholas curled his lip at the realisation that he was alone here. The men he might have trusted in a battle, the men who were his comrades, would reject him now. They weren’t fools. They’d look to their own interests, and that would mean aligning themselves with Sir Geoffrey.
He was still considering when he heard a shout. Running to the window, he put his hands on the inner edge of the frame and stared out. There, up at the line of the trees, he saw a man from the hall. He was laughing, and as another man shouted to demand what he’d seen, he reached down and picked up a rabbit by the hind legs.
The sight made Nicholas grin, because a slingshot that killed a rabbit was proof of a good aim, but then his amusement faded. The man up there had been a drinking companion for some months, but now he wondered whether, if there was a good price on his head, say a mark or two, that man, Stephen, would think twice about putting his sling into action against Nicholas. There was no need to consider the thought for long. Stephen would put a bullet into his head as quickly and as easily as he had the rabbit’s.
It was a thought which plagued him as he rolled his spare belongings into a parcel and hurried from the hall. As the light faded, and wh
at warmth the sun had brought quickly dissipated, he stood wondering where he could go and what he could do. It was scary, this feeling of confusion. He hadn’t had it before. Usually he knew exactly what to do and when. Only hours before he had been a powerful man, sure of his place in the world … and now? Now he was nothing more than a wandering vagabond, at best. At worst, he was a target at which any man might loose an arrow. He was entirely alone. There was no bed, no home, no fire nor friend. He had nothing, absolutely nothing. All was lost. And the worst of it was, he hadn’t done anything.
Not that it would help him. Many a man hadn’t done anything, yet still ended on the gallows tree. As would he, if he remained in this area. There must be a place somewhere for him to go.
Then he remembered Sir Geoffrey’s expression as he ordered Nicholas to be held so that he might flay the flesh from his back; his expression this afternoon as he said he would hunt Nicholas down. There was no possibility of mercy from Sir Geoffrey.
And then he felt a bolt of revelation. It was Sir Geoffrey who had done it! Sir Geoffrey had taken the woman and tortured her and killed her. No one else in the hall would dare to do that. Only the master. And now he was blaming Nicholas for the crime he himself had committed!
Well, Nicholas wouldn’t wait to be chased. He wouldn’t be another man’s quarry. No, there was one place where he would be safe – he’d go there now. And from there he’d declare his innocence and Sir Geoffrey’s guilt to the whole world.
Perhaps this was how he could take over the vill. If Sir Geoffrey was shown to be a molester and murderer of women, it might assist Nick’s own ambition.
‘Speak to me about it,’ Friar John said gently.
He had helped Hugh back inside their rough shelter, and now Hugh sat cross-legged on the floor, his back to a wall. The fire which John had lit glimmered and reflected from Hugh’s face, and changed his appearance from moment to moment: sometimes he looked like an avenging angel, or devil, while at others he was more like a man composed of complete despair. John wasn’t sure which emotion would set the seal on Hugh’s life, but he felt certain that one or other of them would become Hugh’s driving passion. Revenge or desolation and hopelessness. There was no middle way for him.
A Friar's Bloodfeud: (Knights Templar 20) Page 24