He continued up the hill, leaning more and more on his staff as he went. The trouble was, friars tended to be on their feet so much. His were enormously painfuclass="underline" his heels were split and cracked, like wood beaten too often. And heavens, but they hurt.
The place was as he remembered it. In fact, the years might not have passed at all, so little changed did it appear. The only difference was, there was more of an armed presence noticeable, but that was the norm nowadays. He saw men-at-arms wherever he went.
It was dreadful to admit it, but the whole country was enfolded in fear. The king’s appalling treatment of his enemies after Boroughbridge had left the kingdom in a state of terror, feeling as though it was waiting, tensely, for the next page to be turned in this chronicle of fear.
The path up to the door of the manor was quite steep, and now John could see that the approach was further controlled by a high wall about the front of the house itself. It gave an aura of preparedness, as though the house was sitting and waiting for a force to arrive. Even the actions of the men about the place bore it out. There were several serfs working in the garden immediately in front of the hall, and they all stopped their digging and raking to stand staring at him as he approached.
John was worried about the man he had left in the ruined cottage, but he knew that there was little he could do. He’d promised the fellow that he wouldn’t divulge his whereabouts, and he’d rather tear out his own tongue than forswear that oath. But there was a need for food for them both, and perhaps a little wine or ale, so he must beg something without betraying the existence of his charge.
The great door did not have an alms bowl, but in a manor like this, so far from the nearest town, that was no surprise. In a town, each merchant would put out a bowl containing at least a tenth part of every meal, so that beggars and the homeless could count on something to eat. Here, though, there were few itinerant people. Spare food from the master’s table would be allocated to the poorest of the parish, or more likely sent straight down to the pigs. There was no waste in an efficient manor like this one.
‘Friar?’
It was a short, round-faced man with a paunch like a lord and a grin like a conman. He stood a short way from John and apparently gave him a close inspection.
‘My friend, I am desperate. I have come all this way, and have been without food or drink since yesterday. If you have anything to spare, I would be very grateful. Perhaps I could preach to your master and his men for my food?’
‘Friar, I’m the master here. I’m Sir Odo, and I am very happy to offer you my hospitality — but no preaching, thank you. I’ll wish you Godspeed, but I’d be happier if you didn’t slow the idle sons of the devil in their work!’
‘Of course. I understand. Perhaps I should come back on Sunday,’ John said.
‘You’d be most welcome. The men go to Hatherleigh for their preachings. Will you be there?’
‘Perhaps. I am walking all over. If I am still in the neighbourhood, I shall make my way there,’ John said with a smile.
‘Be careful, Brother. This area is not so safe as once it was,’ the man said, suddenly serious. ‘I’m afraid that it’s growing more dangerous every day. Less than a week ago a family was wiped out, and my own bailiff was attacked and driven from his home.’
‘It is a terrible thing when a man decides to turn to evil,’ John said sententiously. He made the sign of the cross over his breast. ‘I have heard that there have been attacks about here. Poor serfs have enough to contend with without seeing their comrades and neighbours killed.’
‘It’s not only them, Brother,’ Sir Odo said confidentially. ‘My neighbour here has been murdered too. The body of Lady Lucy from Meeth has been discovered on Sir Geoffrey Servington’s estates at Monkleigh.’ He sighed. ‘I’m afraid fear runs through every heart in this county.’
John could only agree. He himself was feeling as though his own heart must stop from sadness. He had so looked forward to seeing her again — and now his sister was dead.
Chapter Nineteen
Led to the little group sitting at the table, David felt as though he was being taken to stand before the justices of gaol delivery. There was the same sombre atmosphere about them, the same steady, grim faces staring at him, the sense of violence being held on a tight rein, but only for a little while. These men and women looked on him with undisguised suspicion, even though he knew he’d done nothing. Not that it would help to know you were innocent, as he told himself morosely, if you were dangling from a rope.
The man who’d come to fetch him was the grimmest David had ever seen. He was tall and good looking, with a well-trimmed beard that looked out of place — beards were so rare today. His eyes were so dark that in this room they looked plain black. When he caught sight of those eyes, David felt as though every secret he had ever concealed was laid bare. It would be impossible to gull this knight … and he pulled his gaze away from the other’s as soon as he could, just to avoid being snared by it. But in so doing, he found himself fixed by the unblinking stare of the taller of the two men sitting at the table, a grey-eyed individual with an expression that teetered between rage and devastation.
Thankfully, there were two women at the table, too. One was nursing a child, and did not look up, but the other met his gaze with a still more truculent expression than the men. It was a relief to look away from her and see that the second man at the table was smiling. His open, contented appearance gave David a moment’s comfort, until he saw that behind the cheery exterior there was a cold determination. He would be the fastest of any of them to pull a sword and sweep a man’s head from his shoulders, David reckoned, and he felt as though the ale he’d just drunk had turned to acid in his stomach.
‘You are called David?’
That was the first one again. He hadn’t seated himself again, and David felt intimidated. He shuffled his feet and stared at the ground as he nodded. This was turning out to be one of the worst days of his life.
‘I am Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, Keeper of the King’s Peace. This is my friend, Simon Puttock, Bailiff to the Abbot of Tavistock. We heard you talk of a body being found, and you mentioned that a man in the near vicinity might be guilty of killing this girl. Is this so?’
‘Master, I don’t …’
‘Yes or no?’
David lifted his eyes unhappily and met Baldwin’s grim expression. He nodded. ‘It could be …’
‘Were you making up the crimes of which this man was guilty?’
David didn’t know what to say. If he were to repeat the accusations, he would almost certainly die before long, because the steward of the Despensers was always eager to repay any man who dared to blacken his name. If Davie retracted his words or denied them, news that he had uttered them would get out, and he’d still be hunted down by Sir Geoffrey, more than likely, to be made an example of, and these rich strangers wouldn’t be about the place to protect him.
‘He doesn’t seem to have much conversation, Sir Baldwin,’ the smiling man said. ‘Shall I take him outside and ask him again in private for you? I’m sure I could help his memory.’
‘No, Edgar,’ Baldwin said thoughtfully. ‘I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Will it, David?’
‘Master, I don’t know what to say!’ David burst out.
This was worse than he could have imagined. Now he was being threatened by this determined-looking brute, as though he was some mere scruffy felon picked up in the street. He wasn’t like that. He was a good man! If he’d had more luck in his life, he could have been a bailiff, or even the vill’s reeve. It didn’t take a huge brain to do that, and he could keep tally of the grain harvested each year, he could maintain the peace on the demesne if necessary, and make sure that all the peasants performed their obligations to the lord on their days.