It was a sign of how tired he was, he told himself as he sank onto the bed as gently as possible so as not to waken Jeanne.
His wound was giving him some grief again. That damned bolt from behind had so nearly killed him, it seemed perverse now to complain about the pain, yet he could not help himself. It was a constant grumbling ache at the best of times. Now, with his whole body exhausted after the ride here and the efforts he had expended since arriving, it was more of a pernicious anguish.
The thought that they were likely never to bring a murderer to book for the crimes committed against Hugh was a sore grief. Yet Baldwin was not sure that there was any possibility of seeing justice brought to bear against the Despenser’s man down here. And he was growing to agree with all those with whom he had spoken that surely it was Sir Geoffrey who had the urge to remove Hugh, who had the opportunity, and who had been about the place that day. As for his allegation that another could have killed Lady Lucy and dropped her body in the mire – Baldwin was in two minds. It was unlikely that a man would have dropped the body in the mire to throw suspicion on Sir Geoffrey unless he knew that the mire was soon to be drained. Who could have known that in advance? Clearly the sergeant of the manor would have known. Perhaps Baldwin should speak to him. Then again, would Sir Geoffrey have allowed the mire to be emptied if he knew that the lady’s body lay within?
As he lay back, the questions circled in his mind, but he could get no nearer an answer. All he was growing convinced of was that Sir Geoffrey would be enormously difficult to bring to justice.
Baldwin wondered how Simon would cope with that. It was a dreadful conclusion to reach, but if the culprit was Sir Geoffrey, the man was practically unassailable. Lord Despenser would protect his own.
It was a deeply unsatisfying conclusion, but he could see no alternative. He only prayed that Simon would not be irrational. He would speak to Edgar in the morning. If it looked as though Simon was going to burst out into righteous indignation and assault Sir Geoffrey, Edgar and he would have to prevent him by force.
There was no point having Simon getting himself killed as well.
Humphrey eyed the glowing tip of the blackened stick in Hugh’s hand. It approached him with the relentlessness of a viper slowly stalking a mouse, and Humphrey felt like a mouse as he sat absolutely still, the warmth from the glowing point beginning to make him sweat.
‘I have no patience with liars,’ Hugh said quietly. ‘Speak.’
‘I know nothing! Nothing. But I saw Matthew the priest at Iddesleigh, and he told me that your wife was once a nun, that she had taken her vows when she was too young, and had fled here.’
‘So?’ Hugh demanded.
‘I am the same. I was a monk, from the little priory of Otterton.’
‘I know it,’ John said, nodding to himself as he stirred the pot. ‘A pleasant little place, but draughty rooms for guests.’
‘I was sent there when I was a lad. My father thought I was wayward and too clever for his household. My older brothers were to have the estate and the glory, and all I had was the Church. So I went to the priory and began my novitiate. I soon realised that it was a harsh, cruel life. I couldn’t live under the rules there. It was too much. But when I spoke to the prior, who was generally a decent old soul, he told me that I’d taken the vows and that was an end to it. So I ran away.’
‘And that was all?’ John asked.
‘It’s all I will say.’
Hugh took the stick away, studied the point, and then began to blow on it. ‘What of my wife? You warned me to look after her.’
‘All I meant was that the priest knew of her, knew of her secret. Good God, man, don’t you understand? I am a runaway too. If they drag me back, I’ll die! I couldn’t do that, not return. They’d humiliate me, make me lie on the threshold of the door to the church before each service, keep me locked in the gaol all the rest of the time, and only feed me on rank water and hard bread …’ He was weeping now. ‘Sweet Jesu, I saw one man they brought back. He looked as though he was near to death, and we were made to step on his poor body each time we entered and left the church. He lost his mind, man! Became no better than an animal!’
Hugh had blown the stick to a dull orange glow again. He nodded as though to himself, and approached Humphrey once more. ‘And that same night my woman was killed. You expect me to believe you?’
‘I know nothing more!’
‘What were you doing at Isaac’s chapel, then?’ John called cheerfully. ‘Was it a mere matter of good fortune that you happened upon his chapel?’
‘Yes. I met him in Hatherleigh at the market, and thought that to persuade a deaf and blind old man that I was a coadjutor sent to help him in his cure of the souls of the vill would be no difficult task. I was right. I could help him, and I did. There was so much to do, and I think I helped some of the people of the parish to find their way to God …’
John’s voice was light with amusement. ‘So you thought that you’d help him? And now you’ve run away.’
‘I’ve stolen nothing!’
‘True. So why bolt?’
Humphrey closed his eyes and shook his head. His hands were as cold as stone now, with the tight thongs binding them, and his head felt heavy. ‘I realised that the woman’s body was going to make my life difficult.’
‘Lady Lucy?’ John asked quietly. ‘The lady found in the mire?’
‘Yes. I went there to give her the viaticum, say some prayers for her, but then, when I saw her, I knew that there was no life for me here. As soon as the coroner found her dead, he’d be bound to start to make inquiries, and I would be uncovered.’
‘Isaac would protect you,’ John said with a frown.
‘Isaac is dead. I went out and when I went back he was still. Calm, tidy, but dead. He just stopped.’
‘So! You had no sponsor, no patron, and you thought you would be best occupied in escaping again?’
‘What else could I do? I know Matthew suspects me. I shouldn’t be surprised if he’s already sent to the bishop and demanded to know where I was sent from. He never trusted me.’
‘And yet you didn’t steal from the church. That speaks well of you,’ John said.
‘I’m no thief. I only ran because I had to.’
‘Why should the lady’s appearance lead to suspicion against you?’ John wondered.
‘Someone might remember me running from the convent.’
‘Yes,’ John agreed. ‘So you said.’
Hugh had thrust the stick in the fire and now it glowed white when he blew out the flames.
‘It’s the truth,’ Humphrey said more desperately, staring at it.
Hugh said nothing, but eyed his stick as he began to thrust it nearer Humphrey’s face.
It was enough. He couldn’t bear to look at it. Closing his eyes and averting his head, he screamed, ‘All right! I confess!’
John snapped, ‘What?’
‘On the Gospels, this is true! I killed a man at the convent. A brother monk. I didn’t mean to, but he was evil to me, he was foul and cruel, and I only meant to strike him … when he was on the ground I realised what I’d done. I had to run. If the coroner was to see me and understand that I had run away, news would soon get back to the bishop or the convent and I would be gaoled for my life. I couldn’t bear that, so I took myself off before the coroner arrived. I swear it! It’s the truth!’
Nothing happened. Neither of the other men said a word. Opening an eye Humphrey found himself looking up into Hugh’s scowling face.
Hugh contemplated him for a long moment, then touched the orange-glowing ember to a rushlight hanging over Humphrey’s head. It hissed and sparked as it took light, and every sound made Humphrey’s flesh creep.
‘Thought so,’ Hugh said.
Chapter Thirty-One
The food was late, and when it arrived, the walk from the kitchen to the house had allowed much of it to grow stone cold. Sir Geoffrey picked up his trencher and studied the congealing mass wi
thout speaking for a moment before hurling it at the servant’s head.
‘Christ Jesus! Get me hot food!’
‘This place appears to be falling apart. I don’t think our lord would be impressed to hear what’s been happening,’ Sir Edward said languidly. He was sitting at Sir Geoffrey’s left hand, and he wore a smile of such smugness that Sir Geoffrey longed to wipe it away with a mailed fist. He’d lost some of the initiative.
‘It wasn’t Odo,’ he said. ‘That self-satisfied old cretin couldn’t see further than the end of his nose. He’s been in too many mêlées since his youth, and the constant banging of weapons against his helm has addled his brains. But that new Keeper, he was a pest and a problem. Do you know of him?’
‘I’ve heard tell, I think, but only the usual gossip. He’s clever enough, and could make a good representative to the next parliament. If the good king sees the necessity of receiving more advice, of course,’ the coroner said with amusement.
‘You should always assume the worst.’
‘I do just now,’ Sir Edward said. ‘I fear some prime land is being threatened. If you cannot evict this Sir Odo from his holding on this side of the river by negotiation, surely our master would expect you to do so by force. That is why you have all these men here, after all.’
Insolent puppy! This man was half his age and he thought he could talk to Sir Geoffrey like a young squire?
Curbing his anger, Sir Geoffrey spoke quietly. ‘If I attack now, while the Keeper is in the vill, he could be a dangerous witness. It would only reflect badly on our lord were I to attempt such a foolish act. Better by far to try to be cunning. It is better to use your mind rather than other men’s bodies.’
‘Oh, quite. How many men are there in the place this side of the river, by the way? A sergeant and I suppose some guards? If you want, I could go and knock them off myself. Present you with some land so that you can give it to our lord. He would be most grateful.’
Sir Geoffrey eyed him coldly. What if the fool were killed or unhorsed by more competent men-at-arms from Sir Odo’s forces, and brought back to the manor on the back of a cart? That would give Sir Odo a wonderful success. His master’s liege lord, Hugh de Courtenay, would be able to screw a marvellous reward after such an unprovoked attack.
There was no point in such actions. Speed was of the essence, people always said, but when you grew older you began to realise that things would always come your way anyway. All you needed was to be sure of what you wanted, how you could get it, and then stick to your plan.
Just now Sir Geoffrey knew that he had achieved maximum disruption to Sir Odo’s household. Especially after tonight. For all the anger he had felt, for all the sour rage he’d expended at the men who had stood in his path and prevented him from taking back the sanctuary-seeker, he had guaranteed that Sir Odo’s men were spread about the whole countryside. They were at Robert Crokers’s hall, at the church at Iddesleigh, at Fishleigh and other little farms, not to mention all the gallopers who would have been stationed at every junction and viewing point from here to Iddesleigh and down to Monk Oakhampton, in all likelihood.
And that was the point. He had managed to push Sir Odo into setting his men to patrol and guard, when they all wanted to be at home wrapped well against the chill air. It was freezing outside again, and the thought that men might stay out until dawn to watch for an attack that wouldn’t happen was a joy to contemplate. He could keep them on tenterhooks for two or three days like this, occasionally making a showing as daylight gave way to darkness, guaranteeing that the men would have no sleep, no ease. Only constant patrols.
Later, perhaps at the end of the week, when men were beginning to desert their posts no matter what Sir Odo wanted, that would be the time to attack. He could send some men in to Crokers’s and secure the crossing at the river, while a second party went to the church and dragged that dishonourable cur le Poter from sanctuary and all the way back here to be hanged. Just a little time and the fellow would fall into his hands. And then no one else would think of removing the master of the manor and taking his place for a long time.
‘I think we’ll leave my plans as they are,’ he said icily.
Sir Edward smiled thinly. ‘I should go to my rest, then. I have a long day tomorrow.’
‘Vain, conceited coxcomb!’ Sir Geoffrey muttered under his breath. Then: ‘Where’s my food?’
Baldwin woke to a morning that was crisp and clear, with the only clouds showing over Dartmoor in the distance. By some miracle, Emma had not entered to trouble them in the middle of the night, and Baldwin had enjoyed his best night’s sleep in many a month.
Pulling on some clothes, he walked out into the main hall and squatted at the fire. The boy must have been in already, because there was a fresh faggot on the previous night’s embers, and already a crackling and hissing spoke of warmth to come. Smoke was issuing from both ends of the faggot, and Baldwin prodded it hopefully.
‘Oi, sir knight, leave the fire alone. I won’t have people play with it. It’s a bugger to light, and I don’t want to have it go out as soon as I leave it alone!’
Baldwin grinned and left it, instead walking to Jankin and asking where his well was, or his spring.
‘We have a well at the back. Wait a moment and I’ll send a boy for a bucket for you,’ the innkeeper promised.
‘Of course,’ Baldwin said and cast his eye over the little room. Simon was snoring on a bench in a corner, his cloak over him, a hat obscuring his face. Edgar was nowhere to be seen, but there was nothing new in that. Baldwin knew his man would often be awake an hour or more before dawn. Some of the restlessness of their life in that twilight period between the collapse of the Knights Templar and their arrival back safe in England had never entirely left him. He liked to rise before the sun and walk for a little even in the coldest weather.
There were a few others dotted about the hall, but one face was conspicuously absent. ‘Jankin, where is my wife’s maid?’
At once Jankin grew shifty. He smiled, but his eyes avoided Baldwin’s face. ‘The maid?’
‘Don’t be daft, man! The ugly bitch with a breast like a mountain. When she beetles her eyebrows you could crack a nut in them. Where is she?’
‘I couldn’t say for sure, sir.’
Baldwin was inclined to feel alarmed. The woman was a miserable drain on his emotions, it was true, and she had caused more arguments and rages in the house than any servant before or since, but he didn’t like to think that she could have come to harm. ‘She was insulting your men at the bar last afternoon and evening.’
‘Oh, that wasn’t insulting. They’ve heard worse, Sir Baldwin. No, that would all have been taken in good part. Ah – here she is!’
Baldwin spun on his heel to see her walk in. She wore her customary glower again, her features slightly flushed, and Baldwin wondered if she was severely hungover. She stared at Baldwin as though daring him to make a comment. ‘This place is miserable. Not even a decent pit to crap in,’ she said, and shouldered her way past Jankin.
He looked at Sir Baldwin for a long moment. ‘Was she already your wife’s maid when you married?’
Baldwin said, ‘What makes you ask that?’
‘I thought so.’
It was past the third hour of the morning by the time the men began to gather in the yard near the church. Sir Geoffrey had sent a party of six of his men on horseback, and Sir Odo three of his own. However, Sir Odo also had the menfolk of Iddesleigh on his side should there be trouble. He had no cause to fear any action by Sir Geoffrey.
Coroner Edward was the man whom Baldwin wanted to study. As soon as he saw the man, he knew he had met him before. ‘He was at the tournament at Okehampton,’ he said, pointing him out to his wife.
Jeanne peered. ‘Good looking for a fair man,’ she said musingly. ‘It is fortunate that I prefer my men dark, husband.’
‘That may be a problem soon,’ Baldwin grunted. He ran a hand through his greying thatch. ‘Even my beard’s mor
e white than dark now.’
‘Not to me, husband.’ Jeanne smiled, and kissed his chin.
‘Come! I must accompany them. Will you stay with us or go back to look after Richalda?’
Jeanne pulled a face. ‘I’ll go back. Emma looks as though she had a night of debauchery and no sleep. I wouldn’t trust her with our daughter for long.’
‘Good! And now I must go from the look of things,’ Baldwin said as the party began to move in the direction of the church. ‘Simon?’
The bailiff nodded and dropped the stick he had been whittling, crossing the grass to join them. He looked as though he had rested, but not enough. His eyes had dark sacks beneath them, and he appeared to have aged by ten years in the last couple of days.
‘Old friend, are you …?’
‘I’ll be fine. Let’s get this over with.’
The men at arms all dropped from their horses and tied them to any available ring, post or sapling, while the crowd of villeins, some children, and a pair of low, skulking dogs, walked over the yard to the door.
By shoving unmercifully, Baldwin was soon at the front of the press of people. He entered the church a short distance behind the short, square figure of Sir Odo, and as he walked in caught sight of Edgar, smiling widely, leaning against the farther wall. The reason for Edgar’s delight was unclear to Baldwin. It looked irreverent, given the present circumstances, and he was tempted to give a signal to register his disgust – but then he was pushed forward until he was at the side of the coroner. ‘Sir Edward.’
‘Yes?’
The man gave him a supercilious look that started at Baldwin’s faded boots and gradually rose over the stained and marked old tunic to his face. In Coroner Edward’s eyes there was amused contempt – until he met Baldwin’s gaze.
There had been times when Baldwin had been interrogating witnesses or felons when all means of persuasion had failed and the men had stood resolutely silent. At times like that Baldwin would lower his head a little and fix his victim with an unblinking stare. He could do it by considering the man’s offences, assessing his worth as a witness, or even, on one notable occasion, by trying to remember what it had been that his wife had told him not to forget to buy that day, but it always succeeded.
A Friar's Bloodfeud: (Knights Templar 20) Page 31