The Last Templar (20 page)

She may have been found after she bolted. Did anyone see or hear anything the night before last? Someone
must
have heard the poor soul - a hunter, a coppicer -I don’t know, someone
must
have heard him!“

“Alright, bailiff, I’ll arrange it. Mark and Godwen know these parts well enough.”

“Fine. When we get back to Crediton, we’ll start asking and see if anyone was out when this happened. We may get lucky and find that somebody saw someone on the road. Well, then. I know it’s hopeful, but I can’t see any other way of trying to find them, can you?”

They both shook their heads. Quickly, now that they had decided what to do, they walked back to their men, divided them into two groups of six and one of two, mounted up, and were off.

Black took the lead again as soon as they took the road back to the town, his eyes constantly roving from the verge at one side of the road to the other and checking the surface in between in his search for signs of the murderers. Simon rode behind, mulling over the motive for what seemed to be such a senseless killing.

It was the manner of the murder that was such a surprise, and he carried a perplexed frown as he rode. Murder was not so rare that a killing after a robbery was unknown, even if it was rare down here. But to kill in such a vicious way, in such a strange way, seemed very odd. If they had not wanted the abbot as a hostage, they could have killed him quickly, much nearer the road, and gone on to make their escape. Why kill him in such a cruel manner? It meant having to travel farther with the hostage, so that the smoke from the fire would be hidden from the road and the man’s screams deadened by the trees. Why go to all that bother, when all they had to do was leave the abbot, take the money and get away?

Simon sighed deeply and concentrated on his tracker, putting the thoughts about the murder to the back of his mind. If they caught them, they would soon have the answers. For now the main thing was simply that: catching them.

They arrived back in Crediton in the late afternoon, tired and hungry. Simon thanked all of the men, especially Black, and sent them home to get some food, but told Black to organise them to return the following day and begin asking at all of the houses to see if anyone was missing or had been out at the time of the murder. Then he turned his horse’s head to home and quickly made his way back.

The house was silent when he arrived, so he unsaddled his horse himself and tended to it before going in and sitting in front of the fire. Deep in thought, he was not aware of his wife and daughter until they burst into the room, his wife standing back as she always did, with a small smile at the sight of her daughter’s excitement at seeing her father again. At last, when Edith had calmed enough, she walked forward to greet him herself.

“What is it?” she asked as she pulled away from their quick hug and looked up into his eyes. “You’re very tense.”

“Don’t worry,” he said with a wry smile. “It’s the robbery over at Copplestone.”

“Why? What’s the matter?”

Sending Edith to play outside, he took his wife’s hand and sat with her in front of the flames. “Well, it wasn’t just a robbery. The thieves took a monk - an abbot - hostage and killed him, and I’ve no idea
why.”
He broke off and gazed unseeing at the fire. When he spoke again his voice was soft and almost wondering as he considered the incident once more. “They took the abbot - two men in armour with their faces hidden. The abbot seemed to know that something was going to happen - even I guessed that when I met him on the road. The men came up with swords drawn, took the abbot away and killed him. Why? Why would they do that if all they wanted was money?”

She drew her breath in softly as she absorbed this. At no time in her life had she felt threatened in this, her shire. She was fortunate in that the raids and killings of the last centuries seemed to have reduced, and those that continued only really affected the coastal towns. But if Simon was right and there was a man, maybe two men, who were capable of this, then what would they
not
be capable of? It was not just fear for herself, it was for her family - for Simon and for Edith. If these killers were to attack here, what could they do to protect themselves? Or, worse, what if they found Simon on the road and captured him? What if he was killed as well, as her father had been so many years before when he had been robbed on the highway? She felt her chest constrict in her sudden fear, but tried to keep her voice calm as she said, “Maybe they thought they could get more money for the abbot’s life? Perhaps that’s why they took him.”

“But why kill him, then? There seems to be no reason for it. Why kill a monk?”

“Well, maybe the abbot tried to get away.”

“No, I don’t think so. The tracks seemed to mean that the monk was killed as soon as they were far enough from the road. It seemed as though he was killed immediately they had an opportunity.”

“Maybe the abbot recognised them?”

“Yes. That’s possible. But no, why should he? The killers could have kept their helms on if there was a risk of being recognised.”

“So? What if someone came upon them and the men killed him quickly to stop him getting away?”

Simon looked at her. “No. Whoever killed the abbot didn’t do it in a hurry. He was burned - burned like a heretic at the stake. Only instead of a stake they used a tree in the forest.”

“What?” Her eyes were round in her horror. “He was burned alive? Why would anyone do that to a monk?”

“I wish I knew,” said Simon, staring back at the fire. “I just wish I knew. God! There must have been a reason, but what?”

“Are the men looking for them now?”

“Yes. They came out of the woods on the Barnstaple road. We couldn’t track them on that, so Tanner’s taken some of the men west to see if they can see any traces along the way. We sent two men to search among the locals as well, and we came back to Crediton in case they came this way. No one seems to have seen them, though.” He stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “Still, maybe Tanner’ll have more luck.”

As he lowered his arms again, Margaret said, “So, what now?”

He caught a yawn, stifled it, and then had to blink to clear away the tears of tiredness. “It depends. It depends on what the men find. If we—”

“No, Simon,” she said gently. “I meant, what about Brewer, what about our move to Lydford? Do we forget his death for now, and postpone the move?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, there’s no way we can worry about them for now. The abbot’s murder is going to be of more interest to everyone than Brewer’s. What is the death of an old farmer compared to the murder of an abbot? And there’s no way I can move to the castle until we have some idea about what happened to the abbot.”

She nodded, saddened. She knew he was right, of course, but it hurt to hear her husband, the man she knew to be a thoughtful and caring person, say that the death of the farmer was irrelevant. All she said was, “And tomorrow?”

“Ah, tomorrow, my love, I think I’ll go back to Clanton Barton and talk to the monks again. I don’t think they’ve been as helpful as they could have been.”

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, both absorbed in their thoughts of the killing as they stared at the flames dancing and dying on the packed clay of the hearth. Suddenly Margaret drew in her breath in a shocked gasp.

“What is it?” said Simon, startled.

“Oh, Simon,” she said, turning a face filled with terror to him. “What if the two men who died were killed by the same men?”

“What?”

“Brewer and the abbot were both robbed, both killed and both killed in the same way. By being burned. Simon, I’m afraid!”

Chapter Thirteen

Next morning, Simon was up early and had soon set off with Hugh trailing along behind. Margaret had agreed to let Black know that he would not be at home, and had sent one of the farm helpers to ride over to his house. She had also arranged for a man to go to Furnshill Manor to explain that the bailiff would be absent for a while and could not help with the investigation of the farmer’s death. But then she had overcome all his objections and forced him to take his servant with him.

Her concerns annoyed her. Margaret knew full well how unlikely it was that he would be attacked, but she could not forget how her father’s body had looked when the men brought it back. The sight had almost destroyed her and she did not want ever to suffer that sort of devastation again. To see his corpse, hacked and violated like that… If she saw Simon’s in a similar state, she thought, it would make her lose her mind. So now she was softly persuasive, insisting gently, “I know he’ll slow you down, but I don’t care. I need to know that you are travelling safely, just in case these men are still in the area.”

“But we don’t know that they’re round here, my love, they could be anywhere. And Hugh’ll slow me down.”

“No, we don’t know where they are, because you couldn’t follow them. So they could be here, so you’ll take Hugh, just in case.”

“No, but…”

“So you’ll take Hugh, just so that I know you’ll be a bit safer.”

“Well, the only thing is…”

“Because that way I know that there’s someone who can help to protect you.”

So at last he had shrugged and given in. He knew Margaret should be safe enough with all the men at the farm, even if the outlaws came here, so it did make sense for him to take Hugh with him. Even so, the thought of the journey did not seem to have put Hugh in any better frame of mind than Simon himself. Hugh was loyal, and had shown himself to be capable in a fight when they had been attacked by three cut-purses many years before, during market day at Moretonhampstead. Simon had been amazed to see his surly and reserved companion suddenly explode into action and, with his bare hands and the use of a cudgel retrieved from one of the band, put the three of them to flight.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” Simon had asked, more in astonishment than surprise.

His servant had immediately lost his look of grim pleasure at his victory and instead became shifty, as if shy of demonstrating his skill, wary of earning a new reputation as a fighter. At last, after continual prompting, he looked up again and said, “You try to look after sheep on the moors when you’re small for your age. You try to keep them together when bigger boys come and try to take one or two of yours, because they want to hide the fact they’ve lost a couple of their own. You try it when your dad’ll take the skin off of your arse if you lose even one. You’d soon learn how to fight then, too.”

But that was two years ago now, and he was obviously unhappy about the thought of being waylaid and possibly having to fight with steel. He spent the journey constantly looking all around, which, if possible, seemed to make them go even slower than usual, to Simon’s annoyance.

After a while Simon dropped back until he was level with his servant. “Come on, Hugh. What’s the matter?”

“Hunh?” Hugh looked at him, and Simon was concerned to see the fear on his face.

“I’ve never seen you like this before, what’re you so worried about?”

“I’ve never had to fight serious before. I’ve never known anyone burn a traveller at the stake. I’m just worried that we could get caught by them.”

“But there were only two of them. We should be able to defend ourselves against two.”

“Two knights? Two men in full armour? Two men who’re prepared to risk eternal damnation for killing an abbot? You think we can protect ourselves against them? God!”

Simon rode forward, his face frowning at his servant’s anxiety. It was understandable, certainly, but the bailiff was irritated that his own man could already be anxious. It seemed to show how other people would feel, scared and fearful of travelling until the killers were caught.

They rode the rest of the way in silence, both deep in their own thoughts. The sky was slightly overcast, with thin, watery clouds moving swiftly over the sky and keeping the main heat of the sun for themselves. They were forced to keep up a good pace merely to keep warm, much to Simon’s delight and Hugh’s disgust, and they seemed to cover the distance in no time.

When they arrived at Clanton, Simon was surprised to find David, the young monk, standing quietly leaning against the gate post to a field, and apparently meditating.

“Good morning, David.”

“Hello, bailiff,” he said, but there was no cheeriness in the welcome, only a kind of blank confusion, bordering on despair.

“Are you alright, David?” asked Simon, feeling sympathy stirring at the sight of the obvious misery of the man.

The monk glanced up at him, with a look of loathing, as if furious at such a facile question. “Alright? Alright? After what we saw yesterday? An abbot killed like a heretic? How can I be alright.” His voice dropped to a low mutter, like a child who has been cheated of a promised toy. “We set off in good spirits, and now our leader is dead, murdered in an obscene way. Nothing can be alright again. All I want to do is go back home again, to Tychfield, and now because of this I must go on to Buckland and give my condolences to the priory. I’m sorry, bailiff,” he said suddenly, looking up at him with a small frown. “I’m sorry to be so curt, but I am not used to seeing such sights, and that it should have happened to him…”

The bailiff and his servant dropped from their horses and walked towards the farm with the monk. “I am sorry, it was a foolish question. But this is not: do you have any idea why the abbot was killed?”

Apart from a shrug of the shoulders, he received no response. Simon grunted, head down in his shoulders as he slouched along. “Hunh! I only wish I had the vaguest idea. Why on earth anyone would want to try to hold a man and then make off before he could demand the ransom money… and then to kill the hostage like that - it just makes no sense.”

The monk shrugged again. He was obviously just as confused.

Simon turned a frowning face to the young monk. “Tell me, David. How well did you know the abbot?”

“Not at all, really. I met him when he arrived at Tychfield, my abbey. He was on the way down to Buckland and I was asked to join him and take some goods and gifts with me. He wasn’t very talkative on the journey, he seemed too engrossed with his own thoughts for the most part, so I never really spoke to him much.”