‘Don’t worry, old friend,’ Simon had said kindly. ‘It’s good to remember her. She loved you as you loved her. It’s only right that memories of her should come to you. Better by far than that you should just forget her and the happiness she gave you.’
He was right, Hugh knew, but it didn’t help.
Simon tried to offer consolation at first as they rode southwards towards Lydford, but after Oakhampton it seemed pointless and heartless. Hugh was happier with his own thoughts.
At last, when they drew up outside Simon’s house and Meg appeared in the doorway with Edith, Simon was reassured. If anyone could effect a cure for Hugh’s broken heart, it was Edith. He watched indulgently as his daughter went straight to Hugh and helped him from his pony.
‘Simon, I’m afraid I have some terrible news,’ Meg said.
He smiled down at her. ‘Now I am home, I am sure that there is nothing that can spoil my day.’
‘The Abbot, Simon – Abbot Robert. He’s died.’
Simon closed his eyes. ‘May God bless him,’ he said.
It was sad, but he didn’t realise yet just how much the death of his patron would affect him and his family.
In Barnstaple, the sun gleamed from the sea. The little port was warm today, and the clouds were few and high, so the sun shone almost uninterruptedly.
There was a festive atmosphere to the place, and as the scruffy, bedraggled man stood up in the churchyard, many cheered and applauded.
‘My friends,’ John began, ‘some of you have families. You should never forget your families. It may be hard for you to realise, but even I had a family once. I loved my brothers, but most especially I loved my sister. And when she was taken from me, I learned what loneliness was. But from God’s good grace, I have realised that I have a larger family now. And it is to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have come to speak today.’
Not his best start, he reckoned, but hopefully he’d get more fire in his belly later, and then he’d be back on form. There was a good little friary here, and he was sure that they could make use of his skills.
He hoped so.
And at the inn, Jankin threw open his door with a feeling that all was well with the world. His purse was full after the last few weeks, Deadly was spending less time at the bar, which meant that others were spending more time there, and he had a new delight.
‘How is she?’ he said as his wife came in.
‘She’s fine. I think she’ll be a marvellous little thing.’
‘I should hope so. The little monster’s had a hard enough beginning,’ Jankin said, and he picked up the little pup and peered into the dark blue eyes. ‘You fight on, little one. You’ll have plenty of work to keep you busy later in life. For now, you concentrate on being healthy, eh?’
The puppy gazed at him with a serious expression for a moment, and then bit his nose.
Author’s Note
There are several strands to this story which gave me pause for thought when I first read them.
The first item was the matter of the murder of Nicholas Radford in about 1445. This poor fellow was a close friend of Lord Bonville, who was not by any means a friend of the Earl of Devon. Radford, who was a prominent lawyer and had been a Justice of the Peace, was surprised by a party of men on the night of 23 October. They went to his home at Upcot and set fire to his outbuildings. When he went to his door, he was told that he was safe, and no more damage would be done to him or his property. Reassured by this he allowed them inside. This was a serious mistake.
The thugs went through his house, stealing what they wanted, while their leader demanded that Radford should provide him with food and drink. He told Radford that he was there to take him to his father. Yes, this man was Sir Thomas de Courtenay, the Earl’s son. A noble, chivalric knight in his own right.
‘How can I get to your father now you’ve taken all my horses?’ Radford is said to have pointed out.
‘You’ll ride easily enough,’ Courtenay apparently responded, and left Radford with six of his men. They drew their weapons and hacked him to death. In a final, appalling twist, the Courtenays sent men back to Radford’s house four days later, where they held a ‘mock Coroner’s Inquest on Radford’ which concluded that he had committed suicide. When Radford’s servants took the body to his grave, these men forced them to sing lewd songs on the way. A more despicable act is hard to imagine.1
Second came the terrible record of crimes committed by the Despensers. We know that all too often such allegations were made by people who were keen to gild the lily. Many medieval cases demonstrate this propensity. You only have to look at the ridiculous accusations levelled against the Knights Templar to realise that. But I refuse to climb on that soapbox here.
It was a chance reading of Ian Mortimer’s excellent book The Greatest Traitor that made me consider this. He mentioned the execution of the younger Despenser at Hereford, at which there was a massive list of accusations read out against him. As Ian himself says, ‘It would be tedious and depressing to list all of Despenser’s misdealings.’ However, one specific allegation that caught my attention was the case of Lady Baret.
I must express my gratitude to Ian Mortimer, who spent some time explaining his own researches to me. It would seem that Lady Baret was the widow of a minor knight, probably Stephen Baret of Swansea, who was killed fighting against the Despensers during the Boroughbridge campaigns.
So why was she mentioned in the case against Despenser? Because it was alleged that he had her kidnapped, and then tortured. All her limbs were broken and she lost her mind from the pain. This was not done because he had any hatred for her personally, but because she had land that he coveted.
It would seem that this was pretty much a standard means of acquiring territory for Despenser. He was so over-powerful, so aggressively acquisitive, that he would even capture and torture a poor widow in order to deprive her of the little she did possess. Lady Baret was not the only woman whom he robbed. There are countless other examples, including even his sister-in-law, the king’s own niece, Elizabeth, Roger Damory’s widow.
She was forced to sign away ‘the lordship of Usk (worth £770 per year) in return for that of Gower (worth £300 per year).’2
Then he had the Gower taken from her too, to give it to a friend.
However, the main thing about Lady Baret’s story was that she was treated so abominably that his actions seem to have appalled his peers (most of whom could have been equally ruthless).
And that was the point. When I read these two stories, I was forced to confront the fact of the violence that was so common through this period. It is hard – in fact almost impossible – to comprehend the power that a few men could have over the lives of others. In some cases the way that even the weakest in society were treated is a matter for astonishment almost, rather than simple shock. The younger Despenser was a truly dreadful person. He sought only his own benefit at all times, and yet he was by no means unique.
Such, then, were the two items of research which pointed me in the direction of this story. Naturally I have not felt the need to be constrained by truth or actual events in Iddesleigh, Monkleigh or Fishleigh, though. This is entirely a work of fiction.
As always, I can happily confirm that all errors are my own, while I have to acknowledge the marvellous help given to me by Ian Mortimer.
Michael Jecks
North Dartmoor
April 2005
Glossary
Abjuration
When a felon was found in a place of sanctuary, he could be given an opportunity to abjure the realm. This meant forfeiture of all possessions, and the man would have to dress in sackcloth like a pilgrim, and make his way by any route specified by the coroner to a port, there to take passage abroad. A hard option, but easier than the rope!
Amercement
A sum paid to ensure that witnesses or accused would turn up to their trials. The money was forfeit if no one appeared, rather like a bail payment today.
The rear part of the saddle. On a knight’s war saddle, this would be raised to about hip-height to stop the man being pushed out when struck with a lance.
Coadjutor
Assistant to a cleric.
Destrier
A war horse, or ‘great’ horse. Usually trained to fight, biting, kicking and stamping. They were larger than many other types of horse, but probably not so large as a Shire.
Hele
Hiding-place.
Rounsey
A more general purpose horse, the rounsey would be used as a travelling horse, sometimes as a packhorse, for the moderately well-to-do. In times of war, a man-at-arms would rely on his rounsey as his war horse too.
1 Andrew McCall, The Medieval Underworld (Sutton, 2004), page 108
2 Ian Mortimer, The Greatest Traitor (Cape, 2003), pages 127 and 161
A Friar's Bloodfeud: (Knights Templar 20) Page 42