Hugh had blown the stick to a dull orange glow again. He nodded as though to himself, and approached Humphrey once more. ‘And that same night my woman was killed. You expect me to believe you?’
‘I know nothing more!’
‘What were you doing at Isaac’s chapel, then?’ John called cheerfully. ‘Was it a mere matter of good fortune that you happened upon his chapel?’
‘Yes. I met him in Hatherleigh at the market, and thought that to persuade a deaf and blind old man that I was a coadjutor sent to help him in his cure of the souls of the vill would be no difficult task. I was right. I could help him, and I did. There was so much to do, and I think I helped some of the people of the parish to find their way to God …’
John’s voice was light with amusement. ‘So you thought that you’d help him? And now you’ve run away.’
‘I’ve stolen nothing!’
‘True. So why bolt?’
Humphrey closed his eyes and shook his head. His hands were as cold as stone now, with the tight thongs binding them, and his head felt heavy. ‘I realised that the woman’s body was going to make my life difficult.’
‘Lady Lucy?’ John asked quietly. ‘The lady found in the mire?’
‘Yes. I went there to give her the viaticum, say some prayers for her, but then, when I saw her, I knew that there was no life for me here. As soon as the coroner found her dead, he’d be bound to start to make inquiries, and I would be uncovered.’
‘Isaac would protect you,’ John said with a frown.
‘Isaac is dead. I went out and when I went back he was still. Calm, tidy, but dead. He just stopped.’
‘So! You had no sponsor, no patron, and you thought you would be best occupied in escaping again?’
‘What else could I do? I know Matthew suspects me. I shouldn’t be surprised if he’s already sent to the bishop and demanded to know where I was sent from. He never trusted me.’
‘And yet you didn’t steal from the church. That speaks well of you,’ John said.
‘I’m no thief. I only ran because I had to.’
‘Why should the lady’s appearance lead to suspicion against you?’ John wondered.
‘Someone might remember me running from the convent.’
‘Yes,’ John agreed. ‘So you said.’
Hugh had thrust the stick in the fire and now it glowed white when he blew out the flames.
‘It’s the truth,’ Humphrey said more desperately, staring at it.
Hugh said nothing, but eyed his stick as he began to thrust it nearer Humphrey’s face.
It was enough. He couldn’t bear to look at it. Closing his eyes and averting his head, he screamed, ‘All right! I confess!’
John snapped, ‘What?’
‘On the Gospels, this is true! I killed a man at the convent. A brother monk. I didn’t mean to, but he was evil to me, he was foul and cruel, and I only meant to strike him … when he was on the ground I realised what I’d done. I had to run. If the coroner was to see me and understand that I had run away, news would soon get back to the bishop or the convent and I would be gaoled for my life. I couldn’t bear that, so I took myself off before the coroner arrived. I swear it! It’s the truth!’
Nothing happened. Neither of the other men said a word. Opening an eye Humphrey found himself looking up into Hugh’s scowling face.
Hugh contemplated him for a long moment, then touched the orange-glowing ember to a rushlight hanging over Humphrey’s head. It hissed and sparked as it took light, and every sound made Humphrey’s flesh creep.
‘Thought so,’ Hugh said.
Chapter Thirty-One
The food was late, and when it arrived, the walk from the kitchen to the house had allowed much of it to grow stone cold. Sir Geoffrey picked up his trencher and studied the congealing mass without speaking for a moment before hurling it at the servant’s head.
‘Christ Jesus! Get me hot food!’
‘This place appears to be falling apart. I don’t think our lord would be impressed to hear what’s been happening,’ Sir Edward said languidly. He was sitting at Sir Geoffrey’s left hand, and he wore a smile of such smugness that Sir Geoffrey longed to wipe it away with a mailed fist. He’d lost some of the initiative.
‘It wasn’t Odo,’ he said. ‘That self-satisfied old cretin couldn’t see further than the end of his nose. He’s been in too many mêlées since his youth, and the constant banging of weapons against his helm has addled his brains. But that new Keeper, he was a pest and a problem. Do you know of him?’
‘I’ve heard tell, I think, but only the usual gossip. He’s clever enough, and could make a good representative to the next parliament. If the good king sees the necessity of receiving more advice, of course,’ the coroner said with amusement.
‘You should always assume the worst.’
‘I do just now,’ Sir Edward said. ‘I fear some prime land is being threatened. If you cannot evict this Sir Odo from his holding on this side of the river by negotiation, surely our master would expect you to do so by force. That is why you have all these men here, after all.’
Insolent puppy! This man was half his age and he thought he could talk to Sir Geoffrey like a young squire?
Curbing his anger, Sir Geoffrey spoke quietly. ‘If I attack now, while the Keeper is in the vill, he could be a dangerous witness. It would only reflect badly on our lord were I to attempt such a foolish act. Better by far to try to be cunning. It is better to use your mind rather than other men’s bodies.’
‘Oh, quite. How many men are there in the place this side of the river, by the way? A sergeant and I suppose some guards? If you want, I could go and knock them off myself. Present you with some land so that you can give it to our lord. He would be most grateful.’
Sir Geoffrey eyed him coldly. What if the fool were killed or unhorsed by more competent men-at-arms from Sir Odo’s forces, and brought back to the manor on the back of a cart? That would give Sir Odo a wonderful success. His master’s liege lord, Hugh de Courtenay, would be able to screw a marvellous reward after such an unprovoked attack.
There was no point in such actions. Speed was of the essence, people always said, but when you grew older you began to realise that things would always come your way anyway. All you needed was to be sure of what you wanted, how you could get it, and then stick to your plan.
Just now Sir Geoffrey knew that he had achieved maximum disruption to Sir Odo’s household. Especially after tonight. For all the anger he had felt, for all the sour rage he’d expended at the men who had stood in his path and prevented him from taking back the sanctuary-seeker, he had guaranteed that Sir Odo’s men were spread about the whole countryside. They were at Robert Crokers’s hall, at the church at Iddesleigh, at Fishleigh and other little farms, not to mention all the gallopers who would have been stationed at every junction and viewing point from here to Iddesleigh and down to Monk Oakhampton, in all likelihood.
And that was the point. He had managed to push Sir Odo into setting his men to patrol and guard, when they all wanted to be at home wrapped well against the chill air. It was freezing outside again, and the thought that men might stay out until dawn to watch for an attack that wouldn’t happen was a joy to contemplate. He could keep them on tenterhooks for two or three days like this, occasionally making a showing as daylight gave way to darkness, guaranteeing that the men would have no sleep, no ease. Only constant patrols.
Later, perhaps at the end of the week, when men were beginning to desert their posts no matter what Sir Odo wanted, that would be the time to attack. He could send some men in to Crokers’s and secure the crossing at the river, while a second party went to the church and dragged that dishonourable cur le Poter from sanctuary and all the way back here to be hanged. Just a little time and the fellow would fall into his hands. And then no one else would think of removing the master of the manor and taking his place for a long time.