The Last Templar (26 page)

At last, as the light was sinking towards darkness, they came to a small stream and Black called the halt. In little time the horses were hobbled and watered, then the men lighted fires and settled down, wrapping themselves in their cloaks or blankets as they sat down to drink and eat before sleeping.

Simon sat a little apart from the rest. He was exhausted after the day. His hangover was gone, thankfully, but his whole body was tense and stiff from his hours in the saddle, and he felt .as though he had aged ten years since leaving Furnshill manor that morning. He wrapped himself in his cloak and was soon dozing, propped up against a tree not far from the stream.

Next morning they were all up before dawn and ready to continue before it was light. Grimly, in the chill grey of the early morning, they carried on, making their way along the gentle slopes of the road between the trees.

They had only travelled another two miles from their camp when Simon saw Black frown and stare at the road ahead. He held up his hand for the posse to halt, and as he did, Simon thought he could just hear hoofs up ahead. He felt Black’s quick glance at him, then the hunter kicked his horse to amble forward a little. Simon followed, his face frowning as he stared ahead at the next bend in the road, quickly checking his sword hilt as he went, while the men behind went silent and tense, wondering who could be riding so quickly at this time of the morning.

Soon they saw a horse gallop around the bend in the road, a small piebald horse with a young man on its back. As soon as he saw the posse he reined in and slowed, his expression one of suspicion as his eyes roved over the men standing grimly in front of him.

“Morning,” said Black. “You’re in a hurry.”

“I’m carrying a message,” the youth said shortly.

“Who for? Where are you going?”

The youth’s eyes held Black’s for a moment, then glanced behind him again at the others. “To Crediton.”

Simon edged his horse closer. “You need have no fear of us, friend. We’re a posse, on our way to Oakhampton to help follow the trail bastons and catch them.”

The youth’s face radiated relief, the suspicion falling away as if it was dirt wiped away by a cloth. “Thank God! I’ve been sent to ask you to come, only I hadn’t realised you would be this far already - I thought you were outlaws! Quick, you must come back with me, there’s been an attack!”

“We heard, that’s why we’re on our way, we had a messenger last night.”

“Last night? But that’s when the attack was!”

There was a mumble of anxious voices from the men, but it died when Black turned and glared. Simon leaned forward in his saddle.

“Where? What happened?” he said urgently.

“Late last night, sir. A group from Cornwall, on their way to Taunton. They were only six miles from Oakhampton when they were set upon and robbed, and many were killed. Two of them managed to get to our farm, a boy and a woman. Our house wasn’t far from the attack. They are there still. They said that the robbers were being hunted over to the west of the town, so my father thought I should ride for Crediton and get more help, so I was on my way—”

“Yes, yes, I see,” said Simon meditatively, then looked over at Black. “This must be another attack.”

“Yes,” said the hunter. “So Tanner may not have heard about it yet. We may be the first, the nearest to hand.”

“We have to go there and see what we can do!”

Black shrugged and turned back to the boy, who waited with a nervous keenness. “Your farm - is it on the way to Oakhampton from here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take us there, then.”

They rode at a canter, all of them eager now that they seemed to be so close to the criminals, and it was only another hour before they were riding down the muddy track that led to the farm.

At the door, the youth dropped from his horse and ran for the house. Black and Simon told the others to stay outside before following him inside.

The house was an old dwelling, with rough thatch that needed replacing, but inside they found it to be a cheery home, lighted with a warm orange glow from the fire roaring on the hearth. Sitting in front of it were a boy and a young woman.

As they walked in their messenger stood uncertainly by the door, as if nervous of entering, and when Simon looked in he realised why and winced. The young woman could not yet be twenty years old, he could see. She was obviously tall, a strong and slim figure with a firm and elegant body under her robe, but it was her face that caught his attention. She was obviously terrified; it showed in the way that she sat huddled, as though to comfort herself, it showed in the paleness of the face under the thick and long black hair as she turned to stare fearfully at them, in the wide and tear-filled dark eyes, in the trembling of her chin under her tightly pursed lips, and it was so palpable, so clear, that Simon felt the pain himself, and longed to go to her and comfort her.

The boy sat quiet and still, hardly acknowledging them as they entered, but sitting silent in front of the flames, with his straw-coloured hair reflecting the glow, and staring at the men with unseeing eyes, as if they were of such little importance that they merited no response. He was beyond fear; he seemed to have lost all sense.

As Simon and Black walked closer, an older couple came in behind them and, while the man caught them by their arms, the woman barged past and went to the two figures.

“Sorry, sorry, but they’re…” the man said haltingly. Simon gazed at him uncomprehendingly, then glanced back into the room. The older woman was cradling and gently rocking the younger, who clung to her like a frightened child to its mother. “Come outside, please,” the man said. “Come outside, we can talk there,” Simon and Black exchanged a glance and followed him out.

In the open, the man seemed surprised at the sight of the men on their horses, and appeared to be concerned until Simon’s soft voice broke into his thoughts. “Don’t worry, friend. We’re the posse from Crediton. We’re here to help with the trail bastons.”

At this the farmer relaxed visibly. “Thanks to God! For a moment I was thinking you could be the same that—”

“What has happened? All we know is what your son told us,” Black interrupted.

The old man’s eyes misted. “You’ve seen what they’re like, friend. They turned up at my door last night, just like you see them now. We haven’t been able to get a word from the boy, he just won’t talk at ail. Just sits and stares all the time. The girl’s his sister, or so it seems. They were riding up to Taunton with their parents and others and camped some two miles yonder.” He pointed to the southwest, towards the grey line of the moors. “They had made their camp and were preparing their food when they were attacked.”

“Do you know when it was?” asked Simon.

“No. All she will say is that it was after dark. She says that men rode into the camp and killed all the men, and some of the women too. I think that the other v- omen were kept for…for…”

“You think they were to be molested?” Simon said, feeling his anger grow as he realised what the two indoors must have witnessed.

Black’s face grew dark too. “Was she raped as well?” His own wife could not have been many years older, Simon realised.

The old man nodded slowly. “She won’t talk to me, but she told my wife.” He shrugged and there were tears in his eyes when he glanced at Simon. “When I go into the room she just goes quiet and holds on to my wife. She’s so terrified of men, just like when she saw you gentlemen. My wife says she hasn’t ever seen anybody so scared.”

“Did she describe the men who attacked them?” asked Simon, ignoring the hissed curse from the hunter.

“No. All she would say was that one of them looked like a knight, all in armour, whatever that means. He could have been wearing a hauberk of plate or chain, or dressed in full armour for all I know. The others were just ordinary men.”

Black and Simon exchanged a glance, then, slowly, Black nodded grimly.

Turning back to the farmer, Simon said, “Can you let us have your son to show us where they were attacked? Can he find it?”

“Oh yes. You don’t really need his help, it’s clear where it happened, but you can have him by all means.”

Quickly, Black and Simon swung into their saddles and, when the farmer’s son was ready, they made their way back along the track to the road and then south and west towards the moors.

The men were all silent and deep in thought as they went. As he considered the little information that the farmer had been able to give them, Simon found himself shivering, straining under the influence of the greatest passion of rage he had ever felt. It was not just the senseless brutality of the trail bastons, it was seeing the horror-struck girl. Her absolute terror at the sight of him and Black seemed to show the degree of her suffering. He kept returning to the same question: who could do this? Who could inflict such pain on a girl so young; who could shatter the lives of a little boy and his sister; who could produce such misery and live with himself afterwards?

It felt as though the breath came in hot rushes, as if he was inhaling flames, and he sat tall and straight in his saddle as he rode, as if his anger had doubled his strength and energy.

The hunter rode beside him with a stolid, hunched mien, riding smoothly and effortlessly, but when Simon glanced over at him he could see that Black was as angry as he himself. He stared ahead, hardly blinking, his dark eyes fixed on the road ahead as he went, and he reminded Simon of a cat, a cat that has just seen a shrew and is slowly stalking it with the intense and total concentration of absolute absorption. But the anger was shown by his quick movements, by the occasional snapping turns of his head as he glared into the woods on either side, as if daring them to hide the men they hunted, and by the sudden, swift, snatching of his hand as he grabbed at his short sword, as if he was caught every now and again by a desire to pull it from its scabbard and
kill.

Keeping up their fast pace, they soon covered the short distance to the place where the attack had happened, and when they came close the farmer’s son slowed and pointed. Up ahead and to the left of the road, they could see smoke rising from among the trees.

“That must be it,” he said, pointing and staring in fascination. When Simon looked at him, he could see that the man was trembling - not in fear for himself, but in a calm horror at the thought of the sights that would lie beyond the line of trees surrounding the travellers’ camp. Even through his anger, and his desire to avenge the girl and the boy, Simon felt the youth’s trepidation.

“You have guided us well, and I thank you for it. Go home now. We will continue and send back word when we know what has happened.”

With a grateful glance, the farmer’s son nodded, wheeled his horse and made his way back home. Simon and his tracker watched him go, then started off towards the distant smoke, moving slowly and carefully and keeping a wary eye on the trees on either side.

“Bailiff,” said Black quietly after a few minutes.

Hunh“

“I don’t suppose you’d like to send me home too?”

Simon glanced over at the sombre man riding alongside him, and for a moment the two gazed at each other with complete understanding, then as if they had communicated perfectly with a single, penetrating look, they whipped their horses and galloped towards the smoke, like cavalry towards the battle.

Chapter Sixteen

As they came closer to the smoke the bailiff felt it hard to keep going. Guessing at the sights that would confront them beyond the lines of trees, he wanted to slow so that Black would be the first to see the view, as if that could reduce the shock and the pain. He found that he could hardly keep his eyes on the way ahead. It was as though they wanted to avoid the scene, and he found himself watching the trees on either side, staring at the track, looking up at the sky,
anywhere,
in preference to the camp itself.

Black was riding as though in a trance, hunched and unmoving in his saddle, with one hand gripping his reins and his other lying loose on the saddle in front of him. This would be Simon’s first exposure to the ferocity of a trail baston attack, he knew, but not his own. Black had travelled in his youth, before he followed his father into Farming and hunting, and had gone as far north as York with merchants, helping them to move their goods from own to town in their unceasing attempt to sell their wares.

Once - God, he could still remember it as if it was yesterday! - they had come across a camp where an attack lad taken place. He had only been, what, two and twenty? And he had been exposed to sights that he would not have believed possible before. He had been so shocked that he could not speak for days afterwards, and had not slept properly for weeks. Now, as they trotted up the slight rise that led to the camp site, he felt the old anger again, the sheer rage that any man could do such things to his fellows. The last time he had been too young to catch the men responsible, too young to be able to help, and, as a stranger to the area, unwanted in the posse, but he had followed the men as they chased after the gang, purely to assuage his anger by watching the revenge of the local men.

They had not been able to find the gang. The posse had chased after the gang for days, but, at last, they had lost the trail deep in a forest and had been forced to return, the whole group dejected from their failure. That was part of the reason for his depression at losing the killers of the abbot. He, too, had been unavenged for his miserable end. This time Black was committed. They would not escape him; he would hunt them down and destroy them, not only for this attack, but for the abbot and for the poor dead men and women he had seen when he was twenty-two. He looked over at Simon. How would he cope with it, he wondered.

Simon’s anger was giving way to fear as they drew closer, fear of the sights hidden by the trees. He had been shocked and horrified to see what had happened to the abbot, but this attack seemed even worse already, after seeing the effect on the young woman and her brother, and he withdrew into himself as they rode, as if he could hide from the sights ahead.