The Mad Monk of Gidleigh (7 page)

For a moment he fell to wondering whether Sir Ralph would object to his own son seeing Mary. With that, he found a picture of her face appearing in his mind, and soon he was lost in a romantic dream about her. A dream that would indirectly lead not to one death, but to many.

Unaware of the fears – and hopes – that her impulsive kiss had stirred in the young priest’s breast, Mary hurried home.

The mill was a large building, thatched, and with the great wheel turning slowly on its bearings. It was old, and the walls were cracked and pitted, the cob weakened by a thousand burrowing insects and creatures. In fact, as she glanced about her at the comforting little homestead, she realised that animals seemed to be everywhere. The cockerel stood arrogantly on the log store at the side of the house, the fuel already sadly depleted, while his hens scrabbled in the soggy dirt below him. Nearby, in the shelter of the store, was the old grey cat, cleaning a paw elegantly. He was a vicious brute: he’d scratch or bite as soon as look at Mary, and she left him well alone, for all that he always had this apparent inner calmness, as though he was still a playful little kitten. He paused and turned his evil yellow eyes towards the copse, and soon she heard what had distracted him. In among the trees was the scuffling and grunting of the family’s old sow. The cat returned to his preening and Mary went on to the house.

It was a happy place, and Mary herself had been content through her childhood. Her father was comfortably off, her mother was attentive and loving, and Mary had been appreciated as intelligent and pretty. The idea that before too long she must leave was alarming. Not that she had decided upon a husband yet, but soon she must think of a man. She was of an age where the longer she dallied, the more her looks would begin to fade, and if she wasn’t careful, she would be unmarriageable.

At the door she saw Osbert waiting. Os was an ox-like young man, a little older than her, built like a great bullock, with his stout legs and chest, his thick arms and shoulders, surmounted by a square face under a messy thatch of sandy hair. He was kind and generous, always polite to her, as he should be. A freeman, he was invariably poverty-struck, always grateful for the offer of a cup of ale or loaf of bread, so although Mary was a serf and he was free, her status as daughter of a miller meant Os was deferential.

Poor Os. Wherever she went, he followed her with a hound’s eyes, and what made his affection for her more difficult to bear was the way that he ignored Flora, Mary’s sister, who treated him with a reverence she usually reserved for the figure of Jesus in the church. Flora was utterly besotted with Os, a ridiculous passion in Mary’s mind, but there it was. Other girls often had these grand loves. At least Os was better than some.

It was dreadfully difficult. Life was always confusing, but love she found the most distressing emotion of all, because she didn’t feel that way towards any of the men in the vill. Here was Os, a good, kind man, if penniless, who adored her, and she had no feelings for him. Meanwhile, her sister, little Flora, whom she loved, craved Os’s affection more than life itself, but he never noticed because he only ever had eyes for Mary.

Even though Mary did not fancy Os, she couldn’t help but like him, and she favoured him with a smile as she drew near, although his instant beaming grin in return made her regret it.

The gruff voice from inside the mill was a welcome distraction. ‘Mary, my little angel! Where have you been?’

‘Hello, Father,’ she said happily.

‘That’s no way to greet your old man, is it?’ he roared cheerily. He swept her up in his arms, a genial, powerful man with a bushy beard that all but concealed his face. Lifting her high above him, just as he had always done ever since she was a child, he smiled up at her contentedly. She could see his happiness, and she felt her own heart swell in response. When he threw her up and caught her, she put a hand on each of his cheeks and kissed him heartily. Only then did he enfold her in a great bear-hug, before setting her down on the ground and walking away, laughing.

‘He is always happy,’ she murmured to herself.

‘Why shouldn’t he be?’ Os replied. ‘He has a good mill, money to keep his children and wife, low rents, two daughters a man could be proud of. What more could he want?’

She had noticed the tone of his voice when he mentioned the daughters, and daren’t look at him. A woman always knew when a man eyed her a certain way, as though he was peering beneath the clothes rather than at them, and although she liked Os as a friend, that was different from wanting him as a husband. Kindly he might be, but that was no substitute for… What? Excitement? Riches? What did she actually want? She had no idea.

‘He is a good man,’ she said a little distantly, deliberately ignoring his compliment.

‘But fearful of the Lord.’

She cast a look at him. Os was gazing absently after her father.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Sir Ralph was here a little while ago,’ Os replied. Suddenly he reddened and shot her a look. ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t meaning to insult your father.’

‘No, I am sure you weren’t. But what about Sir Ralph?’

‘He came here on his horse, puffed up like a cockerel, and walked straight into your home without a by your leave. Left your dad out here with his horse like a common hostler.’

She smiled at his hot tone. He sounded like a child who had been caught thieving apples and had been thrashed for the theft, who was later trying to explain that
he
was the victim of a crime, not the perpetrator. ‘He has been good to us.’

‘He is always after more from all his peasants.’

‘So is every lord, but at least he has helped us. Did you know he introduced my father to my mother? If he hadn’t worked to see them married, I might not be here. He doesn’t treat us so badly.’

‘You don’t think so?’ he snapped. ‘Your father was offended today, and so was your mother. She was upset by his visit. It’s not surprising. When he rode off, your father was glad to see the back of him.’

‘Of course. No man likes to be watched over by his master,’ she said.

It was true. There could never be peace while a man knew that his every movement could be monitored by his lord. Any activity which generated money could – and would – be taxed or all the profits taken without compensation. Some serfs, even here in Gidleigh, had so little for themselves after they had paid their taxes, spent their labour maintaining their lord’s lands, seen to his cattle, helped repair his hedges, ploughed and tilled and sown his fields, that they were constantly close to starvation. Mary was just glad that her father seemed to have a little of Sir Ralph’s respect.

That brought her full circle, to considering a husband. Any man she married must also be respected by Sir Ralph. She couldn’t afford to pay the
merchet
fine for a man outside Sir Ralph’s lands, because she knew he set that very high. He didn’t want to lose good breeding stock, as she had heard him say with a chuckle.

‘It’s not so tough when you’re a freeman,’ Os said with a slight cough.

She was about to open her mouth to speak again, but shut it quickly. Anything she said would be misconstrued by Os, she knew that from long experience. While she wondered what to say to him to make her lack of interest plain, she caught sight of her brother, and this drove all thoughts of Os and marriage from her mind.

Ben saw how her expression changed, but it only served to make him smile. He sauntered over to her and Osbert. ‘Well, sister. How do I find you?’

‘I saw you today, baiting Sampson. He was bleeding when I got to him. Bleeding badly!’ she said, her voice clipped and haughty.

‘So what? He deserves it. They say he’s got a demon in him. You’ve heard the priest talking.’

She had: Mark had spoken about a man in the Bible who had been possessed by demons, and Jesus had made them leave him. It had made many in the congregation think of Sampson because there had to be a reason why he was so slow-witted. His widespread eyes and round face marked him out, and surely he would only look that way if God had meant him to. ‘That’s not for you to decide, is it? A
little
boy with so few brains is hardly the best judge.’

‘I’ve got good enough brains to see a fool. If he wanted, he could defend himself. He doesn’t bother, and that’s his lookout.’

‘What’s all this? What’s he done this time?’

Mary was glad of Osbert’s intervention and looked up at him gratefully. When she turned back to Ben, he had set his jaw.

‘It’s none of your business. I’m talking to my sister.’

‘He was bullying Sampson again,’ she said.

‘You should pick on someone your own size,’ Osbert said with a hint of contempt in his voice.

It was enough to goad Ben. He thrust his head forward, mockingly rolling his eyes. ‘Yeah? Why, do you think you could do better, eh? You! A pathetic worker for my father! You try to harm me, and I’ll see to it that you never work here again. How would you like that, big fellow? Never have a chance of staring at my sister’s bubbies again. Never have a chance of fondling them, either.’

Os growled incoherently, and he stepped a pace toward Ben, but before he could get close, Ben had whipped out a slender eating knife from his belt and held it close to him, ready to strike, his left hand ahead, palm outstretched. ‘Don’t try it, Ossie! My father taught me plenty about fighting when I was a lad. You try something now, I’ll kill you. All because you can’t keep your eyes off my sister.’

‘That’s a lie!’

‘Is it? Maybe it is! Sorry, sis. Perhaps I should leave you and him to talk. He’d like that.’

‘Just leave Sampson alone in future,’ Mary said.

‘Why? What would you do if I didn’t?’ Ben asked. He gave a laugh, thrust his knife back in its sheath, and walked away, still sniggering.

Osbert cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry about that.’

‘It’s all right.’

‘I…’ he had blushed to the roots of his hair, and he looked down at his feet. ‘It’s not true, what he said. I don’t always…’

‘I know. I never believe anything he says,’ Mary lied. She knew Os often glanced at her breasts when he thought no one would notice.

She stayed standing there a moment, watching after her brother. It was so difficult. Since that fateful day, Ben had been horrible to her, and she couldn’t bear to be alone with him. There was something evil about him. She couldn’t tell what he might do, not any more. He was capable of hurting Sampson just to get back at her. She had no one in whom she felt she could confide. Not Father, because he would beat Ben like a dog; not Mother, because she wouldn’t be able to do anything; not Flora because it would only scare her. No. The only person she could talk to was Os – but if she did, it would be impossible for him to control his anger. She couldn’t tell him unless he gave his oath to keep her secret.

‘It’s weird to me that he could have been born to the same parents as you,’ Os said.

‘Yes.’

Her quiet demeanour made him cast a look at her. She could almost feel his eyes studying her, but she didn’t feel it was lascivious, only eager and loving. His obvious adoration was comforting. She felt as though while he was alive, no harm could come to her.

‘Os, I have to tell someone, but I can’t if anything would ever be said again. Can you swear to me, I mean it, swear on your mother’s soul, that you won’t tell anyone about this while I live? You can’t tell anyone at all. Never.’

‘Of course I won’t.’

She took a deep breath. ‘Ben hates me now, because he tried to lie with me. He wanted to make love with me, and I wouldn’t let him.’

‘I’ll beat his brains to a pulp! I’ll cut off his tarse and balls and–’

‘Os, you swore to me! You mustn’t tell anyone! Ever!’

‘I won’t. Not unless there’s a good reason.’

‘There can
never
be a good enough reason. You swore.’

Lives were short in the early 1320s, Surval was later to reflect. The Great Famine had wiped out whole families since it began in 1315, and some said that a tenth of the population of Oxford had died in 1316 alone. Many felt that they would soon follow their fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters to their graves, and they were shameless in their pursuit of pleasure, for what merit was there in caution? Better to live life while it was there, and make sure that a priest took your confession before you died, to guarantee your journey to Heaven.

In the cold winter of 1321, and on into February, the work was constant for all the people about Wonson. Rain it might, but hedges must still be cut back and laid; ditches must be cleared of leaves and twigs so that the water could drain away; roads must be repaired and fields ploughed ready for the grain. Even Surval must labour to keep his bridge functioning.

At the chapel, he knew Mark concentrated on his works: the round of services for the patrons of the chapel itself, and the construction of his wall, mortifying his flesh by unremitting mental and physical effort. Surval was sure that at the end of each day, the young monk was glad to find the peace of his bedroll, thanking God that he had not succumbed to temptation – except he had not yet been truly tempted, and when he was, Surval saw him fail.

It was in the late spring of 1322 that Surval noticed Mark’s mood subtly altering. Suddenly he was less keen on walling, and he spent more time away from the chapel, walking about the lands of the demesne. For weeks he continued in this way, and then Surval saw him with Mary the miller’s daughter.

That summer was sultry and golden; easeful. Many would later say it was the first real summer of the century, and youths and maids of all classes frolicked together in fields, in barns, in haylofts and in private chambers. Surval stumbled over them wherever he went. The passing away of Sir Richard in June was sad, but came as no surprise. He had been unwell for years, and his gradual death was explained by many as caused by his broken heart after learning that his lands were to be forfeit to Sir Ralph. News of his mortality was bruited abroad, but affected even his own peasants only slightly. Their time was taken up by the ceaseless round of work, repairing or building new homes for man and beast, and seeking members of the opposite sex.