A Friar's Bloodfeud: (Knights Templar 20)

by Michael Jecks

  ‘So Ailward was Sir Odo’s son?’ Simon asked.

  ‘Aye. Ailward was Sir Odo’s. He was always aware of it. Sir Odo would ever make conversation with him if he saw the lad out and about, and I think that after Squire Robert died, my lady Isabel must have told him the truth, because his manner changed after that. He grew more arrogant, more froward. It was hard to contain myself sometimes, with the way he spoke to me. And then he told me what he had done with his father to Lady Lucy.’

  ‘What did he do?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘It was his father who captured her. He had known this lady for some years, and I suppose he always desired her. He was a bachelor, she was a young and beautiful woman … It is not hard to see what thoughts began to fill his mind. Lady Isabel was still feeling the guilt that her behaviour had produced. She feels it every day, or used to until Ailward’s death. Now she only hopes for Odo to visit her again.’

  ‘He did yesterday,’ Baldwin grunted.

  ‘I know. Now that one avenue is closed, he is prepared to consider the other again.’

  ‘So he desired Lady Lucy,’ Simon pressed.

  ‘Aye. And she did not reciprocate. She spat in his face once, I heard, because he pressed his suit too strongly. She was a spirited woman. Then came a time when Sir Odo decided he would have her. He drew his sword, killed her guard, and captured her, expecting her to wither in his arms and accept his hand, but she wouldn’t. She rejected him entirely, and I think that was when his love turned to loathing. He knocked her cold, and carried her body to my house, tying her there and keeping her out of the way of all others. It was easy enough. He knew what he would do with her, because the news of the Despensers’ treatment of Lady Baret was being bruited abroad at the time, and he knew that Sir Geoffrey would take the blame for any act of cruelty towards a widow. So he killed her.’

  ‘What then?’ Baldwin asked gently.

  ‘Then, he told his son and a man-at-arms, Walter, to go and take the body to Sir Geoffrey’s land. Ailward told me all this. He thought it was a splendid idea: to put the blame firmly on to the Despensers’ man, and to quietly take over Lady Lucy’s manor while everyone was disputing Sir Geoffrey’s role in her death.’

  ‘How would he take the land?’

  ‘There was no heir, and her husband was a knight of Lord de Courtenay. It would take a little persuasion, but Sir Odo planned to have Lord Hugh de Courtenay take over the lands and make him the master of them. Lord Hugh may well have agreed. In the meantime, the disputed land where Crokers died would be made over to Ailward, because Lord Hugh and Despenser did not know of it. Ailward would have an inheritance, and if Sir Geoffrey was accused, he might somehow regain his old territories.

  ‘That was what he told me, his old servant, knowing that I was devoted to his father and his grandsire, but he didn’t realise how I would feel about him using a young widow and killing her in order to win so much. He told me gleefully how he and Walter had carried her body to the mire, weighted her down, and thrown her into the foul waters. Later, he said, a man at Sir Geoffrey’s manor would suggest that the mires were drained, hoping for advancement, and the body would be found. It could hardly be kept secret; from that moment Sir Geoffrey would be in difficult waters.’

  Baldwin felt sickened. This behaviour was anathema to a man raised to the concept of chivalry. That a knight could consider such treatment of a widow was almost inconceivable, but there was no doubting Pagan’s words. ‘So you killed him?’

  ‘He was telling me all about how he had thrown her in, and he wanted me to go and help him clean my house. My home. The place where my father brought me up. I grew so angry to hear of how he had defiled my home that I lashed out at him. There was a rock, and while he spoke, I picked it up and hammered and hammered at him. He died.’

  Simon and Baldwin exchanged a look.

  ‘For my part,’ Simon said, ‘I think you have done well to execute a murderer’s accomplice. If a man were to kill my daughter like that, I would like to think that a man like you would be there to do the same.’

  Baldwin nodded, thinking of his own little daughter. If his wife was widowed, a recurring fear of his, then what would happen to them? A man such as Ailward deserved his end. As did Odo. Tomorrow he … ‘Where is Hugh?’

  Hugh hurried down the road, limping slightly with the effort. He had taken a staff from beside the inn’s doorway, and it helped him as he made his way along the road towards Fishleigh.

  ‘Friend Hugh, I do hope you aren’t thinking of attacking a knight in his hall?’

  Hugh turned and scowled at the friar. ‘Leave me.’

  ‘I can’t, Hugh. If you attack him, it’d harm your immortal soul,’ John said sadly. ‘How could I, a friar, live with myself if I were to let you do that to yourself?’

  Hugh gritted his teeth and set off again.

  ‘Hugh? Look, there’s no point in going and killing him. He’ll be in court in the morning, and there he’ll be convicted.’

  ‘And released when he pays amercement. He’ll be free for ages. When the justices get here, they’ll take his money and make him innocent.’

  ‘Perhaps. Perhaps others will prevail and he’ll be hanged.’

  ‘That’s if he’s here.’

  ‘Hmm?’

  Hugh stopped and turned to face him. ‘You don’t think he’ll be there. Do you? He’ll be on his horse tonight. You know that too.’

  ‘I fear it,’ John confessed.

  ‘I won’t let him. I want him dead.’

  John said no more. The two men trotted on side by side, and it was only when they were in clear view of the hall that they began to slow their pace. ‘What now?’ John said.

  ‘He won’t come north. Means going through Iddesleigh; that’d be dangerous. He’ll go to Hatherleigh, and on from there.’

  ‘You are sure?’ John smiled. So was he.

  Sir Odo had everything he could pack quickly in two saddle-sacks tied behind the saddle. The sacks clanked and rattled, for he had taken all his best plate. It would be easy to pawn when he needed ready cash. Hopefully his master’s lord would take his case to heart and protect him, but only if he reached Lord Hugh before news of this little matter could reach his ears from an unfriendly source.

  He clapped spurs to his beast, and was off in an instant, pelting through the open gateway, out into the night, and immediately turned south on the road to Hatherleigh. That road would take him down to the main road to Crediton and up following the river to Tiverton and the castle where he hoped to find de Courtenay.

  When he was out of sight of the hall, he whipped his mount again. Speed now was crucial. He had to get out of this damned area as quickly as he could. He had to …

  His horse staggered and rose, neighing wildly. At that speed there was little Odo could do to stop the animal slipping sideways, the hindquarters sliding underneath, and suddenly his own leg was under the brute, the flesh being raked by the stones in the trail, and the horse was down, thrashing madly. Sir Odo kicked himself free and looking down felt the first glimmerings of panic and fear set in. The damned creature had broken a leg!

  Swearing to himself, he drew his sword and swept it swiftly over the throat, jerking himself away as the blood fountained. Only then, wiping some of the blood from his tunic, did he have time to study the damage to himself, and as he peered at the blood seeping from the long graze all along his upper thigh, he cursed again.

  Hugh smiled to himself. He cut the rope they had set across the road, and he licked his lips with a fierce excitement. Stepping forward, he stood in front of Sir Odo. ‘Remember me?’

  Sir Odo glanced up with a feeling of disbelief. He had thought himself alone and ruined, but here was a man. He squinted up at Hugh. ‘Do I know you? Do you have a horse I can buy? I have money here, and I need a beast urgently.’

  ‘I didn’t bring you down to sell you a horse,’ Hugh said.

  ‘Didn’t … you mean you brought my horse down?’ Sir Odo exclaimed, reaching for his
sword.

  Immediately the staff in Hugh’s hands whipped out and cracked against Sir Odo’s knuckles. The metal-shod tip broke two bones in his hand. Sir Odo felt them crack, and a terrible numbness overcame his hand. Then the pain began, and he clutched at the ruined limb. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Hugh Drewsteignton, or Hugh Shepherd. I used to have a little house up in Iddesleigh.’

  Sir Odo felt his stomach lurch, but he tried to keep his voice calm. ‘So? I recall – your poor wife and child were killed, weren’t they? That was terrible. Wasn’t it a fire?’

  ‘You and your men were there, weren’t they? You killed my woman so you could blame Sir Geoffrey for starting a war between Fishleigh and Monkleigh. You didn’t want to hurt any of your own peasants, so you had my house burned, you killed my woman and son, and left me alive to accuse Sir Geoffrey.’

  ‘Why should I do that? It would hardly help me, would it?’

  It was John who answered now. The friar stepped forward from behind Hugh. ‘You would use anything to remove Sir Geoffrey, wouldn’t you? You might as well confess, Sir Odo, because this man intends to kill you anyway. At least if you admit your crimes, I can hear your confession first.’

  Sir Odo’s eyes narrowed. ‘You would help a murderer kill me?’

  ‘Only because of your many crimes,’ John agreed sadly. ‘Your offences have convinced me that you deserve death. There is nothing I can do to stop this fellow, clearly. Come! It is true, isn’t it?’

  Sir Odo stared at him, then up at Hugh, and nodded. He spoke with a fierce rage. ‘I wanted him out, yes. He was in my way.’

  ‘And you had killed Lady Lucy and this man’s family?’

  ‘He wasn’t one of my serfs. I wasn’t going to hurt the men who generate the manor’s income when he and his woman were there instead. They didn’t matter.’

  Hugh gave a groan, and covered his eyes with a forearm. ‘Didn’t matter? Didn’t matter?’

  Sir Odo sneered at him. ‘She was a good wench, too. Wriggled like a stoat when my man had her,’ he said. His hand was slipping to his dagger.

  ‘Stop!’ Hugh said brokenly. ‘I’ll …’

  There was a loud, dull thud, and Hugh’s eyes rolled up into his head as he collapsed like a pole-axed ox. Friar John pursed his lips and stared down at him, shaking his head. ‘Sorry, Hugh, but I couldn’t let you do it.’

  ‘Thank you, Friar! You were getting a little close to too late, though,’ Sir Odo said with a weak smile. He shoved the dagger back in the sheath. ‘Could you help me up, please? My ankle is …’

  Friar John closed his eyes, shook his head a little, and then smiled at Sir Odo. ‘What of the confession? Did you kill Lady Lucy too?’

  ‘Yes. The little whore wouldn’t accept me when I wanted her to marry me, and I lost my temper. I must have asked her a dozen times, but she wouldn’t listen. I killed her, I admit it.’

  ‘Then may God damn your soul!’ John said, and brought the rock crashing down on Sir Odo’s head. He heaved it up and dropped it five times, until the skull was broken and bloody, and only then did he throw the rock aside and sit down, weeping.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Simon wanted to go to search for his man as soon as the crowds had left. ‘I only found him again this afternoon!’

  Sir Geoffrey heard his anguished tone. ‘With any luck your man will have found Sir Odo and killed him already. The devious, lying, duplicitous bastard deserves death after all the grief he’s caused.’

  ‘And you are a saint?’ Baldwin sneered. ‘I suppose when you tried to chase Robert Crokers off his land, that was a kindly gesture to the poor man?’

  ‘That was different. That bastard Odo had told me that we could run the manor there to our mutual advantage, and it seemed a good enough …’

  ‘So you were prepared to steal from your master,’ Baldwin noted. ‘You knew it was a part of the estate he had taken, yet you retained it.’

  ‘I expected rewards, and I would naturally have shared them with my master,’ Sir Geoffrey said loftily.

  ‘It will be interesting to see whether he agrees with you when your little investment comes to his ear.’

  Sir Geoffrey looked less happy at that thought. Bad enough to have to explain the ruin of his manor without Lord Despenser learning about the disputed parcel of land.

  ‘And there is still the matter of the murder of Robert Crokers,’ Baldwin reminded himself.

  Simon put his hand on Baldwin’s shoulder. ‘I have to go. You know why.’

  Baldwin nodded. ‘Take Edgar. He knows these lanes quite well already.’

  Edgar was first at the stables, and he grabbed his horse and saddled and bridled him while Simon was still looking for his saddle. It was often the way, Edgar had noticed, that men who were otherwise entirely sensible would all too often lose track of where their horses had gone in a stable. For him it was entirely natural to see to his horse first. A warrior would always see to his mount’s comfort before his own, because he would depend on the beast for his life. He had also spent too many years avoiding capture, while he and his master wandered about the continent as renegade Templars, not to know exactly where all his equipment was at all times.

  When his own horse was prepared, he hurried to help Simon, and soon both were ready. They mounted, and Edgar took the lead, cantering up past the church, then taking the left turn down towards the river. They crossed it, and were soon on their way to the old hall at Fishleigh. As they approached it, Edgar slowed his mount, patting the horse’s neck and studying the hall closely.

  ‘They aren’t alarmed,’ he said.

  ‘Why should they be?’

  ‘If a crazed peasant had run in demanding the head of the master, I’d expect either a lot of noisy fighting, or hilarious celebrations,’ Edgar mused, and nodded to himself. ‘I think Hugh must have found Sir Odo as he fled.’

  ‘Where will he be, then?’ Simon said despairingly.

  ‘On this road. We didn’t see any sign of them up towards Iddesleigh, so they must have gone south instead,’ Edgar said imperturbably. He urged his horse into a trot.

  ‘What’s that?’ Simon demanded when they had covered perhaps another quarter mile. ‘There’s something in the lane – a horse!’

  Edgar said nothing. He had seen the little bundle just beyond the horse, and he clicked his tongue. His mount hurried onwards and Edgar slipped from his saddle as Simon joined him. ‘Here he is!’

  ‘Oh God! He’s not …’

  ‘He’s breathing too loud for a corpse,’ Edgar said shortly. His hands were at Hugh’s head. ‘Yes, there’s a lump the size of a goose’s egg here.’

  ‘What could have happened?’ Simon wondered, leaving Edgar. A short way beyond he found another body. ‘Sir Odo, too!’

  Edgar left Hugh for a moment, and reached down to Sir Odo’s body. ‘He’s dead. It’s clear enough what happened, Bailiff. Sir Odo was riding along here at full tilt, and Hugh was in his path. His horse tried to avoid Hugh, stumbled, and fell, hitting Hugh as he went. Sir Odo also fell and broke his head.’

  Simon looked at him for a long moment. ‘You think so?’

  ‘I will do by morning,’ Edgar assured him. ‘Would you gather up Hugh? We shall need to carry him back.’

  ‘Of course,’ Simon said, and marched back to Hugh’s body.

  Edgar watched him go, and as Simon bent to pick up Hugh, Edgar took the rock from beside Sir Odo’s corpse, and hurled it as far as he could into the furze that lined the road.

  ‘What was that?’ Simon snapped.

  ‘Just a fox or something,’ Edgar said calmly.

  It was another three days before Hugh could hope to be mounted on a horse, and Simon did not, for the first time in his life, grudge him all the rest he needed. Jeanne helped him nurse his servant back to health, and when Hugh was at last able to stand and hobble about with a staff, Simon felt as pleased and rewarded as a man watching his son take his first steps.

  Emma was not please
d by the recovery, apparently. Jeanne confided in Simon that she thought her maid had rather liked Hugh when she thought him dead, but now that he was on the path to health, she was happier remembering all the disputes and quarrels she had had with him.

  ‘She can’t even bear to be near him now,’ she said.

  It was Edgar who explained the truth. ‘I don’t think Emma will return with you, if you give her permission, my lady.’

  They were all sitting in the inn’s hall. It was smokier than usual, because of a green log that was too fresh, but as Jankin had explained, they had used almost all the stores of firewood this year, it had been so cold.

  ‘Why would she want to leave me?’ Jeanne asked, bemused. ‘She has always been happy with me. We’ve been together for ages.’

  ‘I think you may find she’s discovered a new interest.’

  ‘You are talking in riddles, man!’ Baldwin snapped. ‘You are as confusing as when you kept laughing to yourself while we …’ His face hardened. ‘You don’t mean she’s …’

  Edgar grinned broadly. ‘If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me!’

  ‘Who?’ Baldwin demanded.

  ‘It’s Deadly,’ Edgar said, and then he couldn’t restrain himself, but burst into laughter. ‘You remember how flushed she was, how tired-looking? I found her in the arms of Deadly in the hayloft that night. Snoring fit to wake the dead, and as naked as the day they were born … it was a terrifying sight!’

  Baldwin winced. ‘I can live without the details, thank you.’

  ‘Am I not to be allowed love?’ Emma said. She stood in the doorway, her face scowling and flushed as red as St George’s cross.