‘You can suppose what you like!’ Baldwin said with more force. ‘What then?’
‘We took her to the mire. Ailward set stones on her, and we carried her into the middle and set her down.’
‘Why?’
‘Eh?’
‘Why put her there in the middle of another man’s land?’
‘Ailward wanted to put the guilt firmly where it was earned. He told me that Sir Geoffrey had been going to Pagan’s forge and torturing the girl up there for days. He killed her, and I didn’t mind putting her there so people could see who’d done it to her.’
‘What if Ailward lied to you?’ Simon demanded roughly. ‘Are you really so stupid?’
Baldwin said, ‘What was going to happen then? If she was hidden, weighted down with rocks, how was she to be discovered?’
Walter eyed Simon warily before answering. ‘He was going to get someone to suggest that the mire could be drained. That would lead to her being found. Seems he did that.’
‘Who was he going to tell?’
‘That arrogant prickle, Nicholas le Poter. He was as keen as Ailward to have his master removed. Both wanted the same thing, like my …’
Baldwin’s eyes hardened. ‘Like your what?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Were you going to say your master?’
‘I don’t know what he’d want. It’s nothing to do with me.’
‘You know full well that he would have liked to have had Sir Geoffrey away from here, don’t you?’
‘I don’t know what …’
‘And he could have wanted Lady Lucy’s lands. He is not married, so he could even have asked her to marry him,’ Simon breathed. ‘He could have tried to win her lands legally, if by force.’
‘Is that what you suspect, Walter?’ Baldwin pressed him. ‘If you know something which you are keeping from us, think again.’
‘I don’t know anything else.’
‘Not even about the attack on the house just up from here?’
Walter frowned. ‘What attack? On the miserable …’ He caught sight of Hugh. ‘Oh!’
‘Yes. He didn’t die,’ Baldwin said quietly. ‘Who did that to him? Who killed his family?’
‘How should I know?’
‘You are sweating, man. What would cause that? Who was it?’
It was at that moment that Humphrey burst in through the door.
‘Sir Baldwin! You have to go at once! They’ll kill each other otherwise!’
Baldwin glanced at Walter. ‘Jankin! I want two men of yours to hold this man here until I return. He is not to be allowed a weapon, and he is not to leave this inn until I get back. Is that clear?’
Sir Odo rode along at a steady pace. He wasn’t bothering with a flaming torch. No, there was little point in it. He’d prefer to have his hands free for a sword and a dagger.
There were risks in taking direct action, but since Sir Geoffrey had already begun to escalate the pressure, Sir Odo had little choice. He had to reassert his authority, and one means of doing so was to avenge his man’s murder. That was what it was, clearly enough.
What was ridiculous was, there was no need for things to have come to such a pass. The two stewards had always managed to iron out any petty little problems that had popped up between them in the past. Sir Odo couldn’t understand why Sir Geoffrey had allowed himself to be bullied into this sudden over-reaction.
Their venture could have proved quite fruitful. Why Sir Geoffrey had to ruin everything just now, Sir Odo couldn’t comprehend. It seemed insane, unless it was something to do with Lady Lucy’s body appearing on his land. Sir Odo didn’t see why that should affect their relationship, though.
They were trotting up the track to Iddesleigh. Sir Odo and this group would ride down from Iddesleigh to Monkleigh, and hopefully surprise Sir Geoffrey’s men there, while a second party was cantering along without torches, taking the road almost due east to distract the Monkleigh men. They would ride to the sergeant’s house – what was left of it. Since Crokers was dead, Sir Odo assumed that Sir Geoffrey’s men would have done as much damage to the place as they could. He didn’t like to think what sort of condition the house would be in by now.
They were past Iddesleigh now, and Sir Odo led them down the Monkleigh road for a few hundreds of yards, and then up the trail that led to Pagan’s house. Sir Odo would lead the men along the top here, and they’d come at Monkleigh’s hall from behind. Sir Geoffrey wouldn’t expect that, with luck. At the trail, Sir Odo passed the order, and all the torches were handed over to the grooms who had accompanied them, with a couple of men-at-arms in charge. These all set off down the main road as Sir Odo led his main force up the shallow incline.
In war, it was always best to surprise the enemy.
Adcock had returned home after the chase of Nicholas le Poter feeling as though his ballocks were ruined. He would never father a child now, he told himself that night as he sat on his bed and gently cupped them, too anxious to actually look at them, for fear of what he might see.
This morning he had slowly, cautiously, lifted his blanket to look at them, filled with trepidation. They still felt double their normal size, and he was confronted with a colourful landscape when he eventually faced them. There were dark purples, but also interesting salmon pinks and yellowish browns, rather like a sunset on a summer’s day. Not that he put it like that at the time – that was the description he gave Hilda much later.
They were still bruised, that much was clear, and as he swung his legs over the side of the bed he was rewarded with an appalling ache that reached from the pit of his stomach to the top of his thighs. It was enough to make the breath stop in his throat, but not quite enough to make him cry out.
After a day’s careful walking about the estate, generally keeping well away from Sir Geoffrey, he felt somewhat better. He completed the work on the small mire, and as dusk fell he was still there, unwilling to return to the hall even for his supper.
‘How are you now?’
He looked up to see that Perkin and Beorn had joined him. They stood behind him, eyeing the new ground where the mire had lain. Some way behind them he saw Pagan. He too was staring at the mire, but with an expression that stilled the blood in Adcock’s veins. It was a look of pure loathing, as though he detested the place with every fibre of his body.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Nothing. We’re going up to our friend Guy’s house. He’s got a few gallons of ale left from his last brewing, and we wondered whether you’d like to come with us?’ Perkin said. ‘I’ve heard it said the ale his wife brews is the best in the parish.’
Adcock looked up at the sky. It was past dusk now, and nearer full night time. There was a pale glow on the horizon to the west, but apart from that the sky was turning from blue to black, and all the stars had begun to glimmer: a silver frost on the dark velvet background. ‘I would like to,’ he said.
Perkin looked like a man who had used up his last words. He nodded and turned away towards the north. Adcock stood slowly and stretched. He felt drained and uncomfortable, but at least now he was apparently accepted by the people among whom he must live. That to him was more important than anything. Even if his life here was to be troubled and full of fears, the fact that he had the support and companionship of the peasants on the manor would be some consolation.
‘Are you all right, Pagan?’ he asked as he passed him.
‘Me? Yes. Not too bad.’
Adcock followed his gaze to the mire. ‘It’s pretty foul.’
‘Yes. That’s where the young woman was found, isn’t it? Lady Lucy?’
‘In the middle. Horrible sight.’
Pagan shook his head. ‘I can imagine,’ he said, turning away and walking to where the other two men stood patiently waiting.
Adcock walked slowly and carefully, and saw Perkin and Beorn exchange a glance. ‘I’m fine. It’s just …’
‘We know what happened. He’s done it to others before now,’
Perkin said. ‘We can walk more slowly.’
‘There’s no need,’ Adcock said gratefully. ‘Once I start moving, the pain abates somewhat.’
‘Good, then let’s be going,’ Beorn said.
Adcock looked at the two men in front of him. ‘Why? What’s the hurry?’ Now he could see them, he saw that they were worried themselves. There was some anxiety in their features that he couldn’t understand. ‘What is it?’
‘We reckon it’d be a good idea to be away from here, that’s all,’ Perkin said.
Adcock stood still. ‘Why?’
It was Beorn who growled deeply, ‘If you want to be caught up in a fight, stay here. If you want to live without more pain, you’d best come with us. We have heard that Sir Odo is going to attack this place tonight.’
‘I should be back at the hall, then! So should you!’ Adcock said.
Perkin walked back to him. ‘Look, if Sir Odo and Sir Geoffrey want to battle things out, that’s fine – but don’t expect any of the demesne’s peasants to join in. We’re going up to Guy’s house, and you can join us if you want. If you want to remain here or at the hall, that’s good too. But you’d be much safer with us.’
Adcock licked lips that were suddenly dry. ‘What will they do?’
‘Sir Odo will attack with a small force and he’ll kill a number of Sir Geoffrey’s men. Then he’ll leave. If you’re there, he’ll probably kill you too. So hurry up and come with us, man!’
Adcock nodded and made an effort to keep up as Perkin and Beorn set the pace up the hillside, away from the house.
‘Are you sure of this?’ he asked at the top when he stopped to catch his breath.
Pagan nodded grimly. ‘Aye. Sir Odo told me.’
It was only a few minutes later that Adcock heard the hooves approaching down the lane.
‘Down!’ Pagan shouted.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Sir Geoffrey was in his hall when the shout came: ‘Torches in the road! A lot of them!’
He ran to the door and pushed a man out of the way, peering in the darkness. The guard stationed there pointed, and Sir Geoffrey swore quietly under his breath, then: ‘Get your weapons!’
The men in the lane looked as though they were moving only very slowly. Either they were walking their horses to keep the noise of the attack down, or they were moving at the speed of men-at-arms without horses. Either way, they would soon be here, as far as he could see. They were only a matter of half a mile away.
Thank God his guards had seen them.
Men had begun to tumble from the doorway into the yard, some buckling on their belts or pulling leather baldrics over their heads, others grabbing at polearms. Soon there was a sizeable gathering outside the door. More men were fetching bows and arrows, but in this light they’d be little use until the enemy was much nearer.
If only he hadn’t left so many men down at the sergeant’s house. It would have been much easier to protect the hall. Still, if he hadn’t taken the place back, there probably wouldn’t have been an attack here either. And whining about ‘if only’ wouldn’t serve to help just now. He could worry about that later.
He barged his way past more men as he went back into the hall. ‘You still there?’
Coroner Edward smiled and lifted a mazer of wine in salute. ‘This is none of my affair.’
‘You think so? Then you’d better start planning how to explain to my Lord Despenser why it was that you rested while his estates were under attack. I shall tell him exactly how you sought to defend his manor, with the greatest of pleasure.’
He hurried to his table, grabbed the jug of wine, and poured a good measure into his mouth. This was the way to fight a battle. At night, with a full belly and plenty of wine. Ideal!
Already he was feeling a distinct optimism. He’d fought and won worse fights than this. Sir Odo didn’t have that many men, and there’d been no time for reinforcements from Sir John Sully to turn up, even if he’d sent for support. No, Sir Geoffrey could beat him off. He nodded to himself, spat in the direction of the languid coroner, and rushed out again.
His men had already started to deploy themselves. They knew their business, and while some shouted for horses, more were stringing ropes between trees on the approach to the hall, at a little above a man’s head height, in the hope that they might unhorse a number of their attackers. Others had set the archers at either side of the main body of men, so that as the horses pounded up the hill they would be at the mercy of the bowmen on either side before running into the shields of the men in front of the house.
Hearing another shout for a horse, Sir Geoffrey went to the stables and yelled at the top of his voice that no one was riding off in cowardice tonight. All horses were to be put back in the stables and no one was to mount.
‘Damn fools imagine I don’t know how they think,’ he grunted to himself as he returned to the front of the house.
The torches were hardly any closer, and he suddenly came to a halt, staring. They must have seen his men, heard the shouting, and yet they hadn’t come on to attack. And now he looked down at the road, he noticed that the immense number of torches seemed to be closely bunched together, as though for mutual support – or because a small party of men was carrying a large number of torches!
And then he heard the rumble of hooves and the screams, and he felt his scalp crawl to think how he had been duped.
Sir Odo drew his sword and waved it above his head. Without a word, he clapped spurs to his mount, and the beast fairly flew down the hill into the rear yard of the house.
A man was standing by a water butt, a yoke over his shoulders and two full buckets of water dangling, and Sir Odo gave a shrill shriek as his sword ran him through, and then there was another man, screaming in terror and running, and Sir Odo pushed the point of his sword through the man’s back, the force of his charge ripping the blade up through two ribs and then out as the man fell.
His men were with him, about him, as he charged onwards.
At last there was some resistance as he curved round the wall and saw the line of men waiting. Archers at the end swung round, their faces pasty as they realised their danger, men-at-arms struggling to turn and bring their shields to bear on this unexpected attack from behind them. And then Sir Odo and his men crashed into, over, and through the line, leaving a tangled mass of injured and wounded men.
‘Back!’ he bellowed, and turned his beast back to the line. His destrier was a good brute, expensive as hell, but superb. He would kick, stamp and bite at anyone in his way, and he started now, an enraged animal dealing death with his hooves. Sir Odo saw a man in front of him, and before he could think of raising his sword the horse had flailed with a hoof and the man’s face had disappeared, simply disappeared, pummelled into nothing by the force of a hoof with all the power of that immense foreleg behind it.
Seeing a figure running, Sir Odo thought it looked familiar. He slapped the horse with the flat of his blade, and set it off in pursuit.
There was no means of pulling back the initiative tonight. The battle was lost already. Perhaps it had been as soon as Sir Geoffrey set off to attack Robert Crokers’s house earlier. Whatever the truth, Sir Geoffrey intended escaping, and now he hurried to reach the farther side of his manor and escape behind it.
But even as he conceived the idea, he heard the ferocious roar of his enemy, and he knew he’d been seen. Instead, he changed his direction, and pelted down the track towards the road. He had only one possible defence against a knight on horseback, and he took it, running for his life, down the way where he and his men had expected to trap Sir Odo’s men only a few minutes before.
Faster, faster, until his heart felt as though it must burst in his breast, until his lungs were on fire, until his legs were all but ruined, and then, blessed relief, he saw the rope and ran at full tilt underneath it.
The ground was trembling with the destrier’s hoofbeats, and he thought he could feel its breath on his neck, and then there was a loud c
ough, and the horse lost his concentration as Sir Odo was caught by the rope and flung backwards like a straw doll to land on his back, while his horse continued a short distance, then seemed to notice that all was not well.
Sir Geoffrey did not hesitate. He left the horse – trained destriers were all too often trained to serve only one man – and went back the way he had come, past the house and up the hill, his sword still in his hand, racing for his life up the hill and away from the slaughter.
Sir Odo was badly winded, and he lay for some little while, his vision black and his senses dulled. It was only when he began to hear the shouting and clamour of battle that he realised where he was, and he rolled over to climb to all fours, wondering what could have hit him. Then, kneeling, he saw the rope between two trees and swore. The simplest trick in the world, and he’d fallen for it.
Sir Geoffrey made it to the top of the hill with his sword still in his hands. Once there, he turned, panting, to gaze behind him.
The house was lighted by a yellow, unnatural glow. As he looked, he thought he could see a shower of sparks rising, and he frowned with incomprehension until he saw the first flames licking at the thatch. Then he understood: someone had thrown torches up into the roof. When he glanced back at the road, he saw that the men gathered there were all gone. Clearly they had taken the opportunity of the attack to charge the place and hurl their flaming torches into the building or up at the straw. Now the flames were taking hold.
He could have wept. Sitting, he put his face in his hands and covered the scene from himself. Shaking his head, he was drained of all emotion. He was desolate. This would be an incalculable loss to him. His master would be sure to remove him and replace him with some arrogant prickle like Nicholas, while Odo would grow in smugness at having beaten him.
Soon men could be coming up here to find him. He had to get as far away as possible. He thrust his sword home in its scabbard, and started.
A Friar's Bloodfeud: (Knights Templar 20) Page 38