The Last Templar

by Michael Jecks

  “Can you follow the trail?”

  “I reckon. One was a big horse, heavy. The tracks are quite deep and they’ve not been washed away or anything. Just one thing -I reckon he’s lost a nail on the back right hoof and it’s been some time since the horse was last shod. May be useful. The other horse was smaller, lighter.” He paused and glanced quickly back at the trees opposite. “We can’t go too fast in these woods. We’ll have to do the same as them, I reckon, and lead the horses from here. Maybe we can mount further on. I don’t know, never been in the woods this far west myself.”

  Simon nodded and called to Tanner: ‘Get two men to cut the body down and take it back to Greenfield’s farm, give it to the monks there and wait for us to send a message.“ Tanner immediately started to organise the men while Simon looked over at the monk, brother David. ”Do you want to go back with them? I don’t think you can help us with the chase. It may be better for you to go back with them to the Greenfield farm and get some rest.“ David nodded, staring at the body of his abbot, the shock and horror plain on his face. Simon sighed and nodded at the hunter. ”Come on, then. Let’s get on and find these bastards.“

  Then he paused as a sudden thought occurred to him, and he called out to the monk, “David! The abbot’s horse, what was it like?”

  “Oh, a light grey mare. Very gentle. Very good-natured.”

  “Was there anything that would help us recognise her?”

  The young monk thought for a moment, then, “Yes. Yes, she has a scar on the left side of her withers, about three inches long. It’s plain.”

  “Fine. We’ll let you know if we find her,” said Simon, then, “Black, should we go after it, do you think?”

  “No. We can look for it later, the prints’ll be easy enough to follow. No, we ought to keep the posse together as far as we can, so we’re in strength when we find the men who did this.”

  When Simon nodded, Black took his horse back and led the way over the open space and back into the woods opposite. Simon followed, watching over his shoulder as the two men Tanner had asked to see to the body went up to it. They had only just got to it and begun cutting the leather thongs that held the arms round the tree when, thankfully, the trees obscured his view. With relief, he dragged his eyes away from the blackened, twisted thing that two days before had been a living man, set his jaw, and glared ahead into the trees that could even now be hiding their prey.

  The trail led them up a hill, still deep in among the trees, and in the thick woods they could hardly guess at the direction they were taking. The tracks seemed to be going fairly straight, leading onwards through the trunks as if the men had known the route well, and Simon found himself wondering whether this crime could have been committed by local men. It seemed unthinkable, somehow, that someone from this shire could have done it, but it was equally unlikely that anyone who did not know the area could have forged such a straight path through the forest.

  On they went, crossing innumerable little streams and rivulets, occasionally stumbling and falling as they scrambled up steep banks and hills, pulling their horses after them. There was no path; the whole way they had to follow the tracks of the killers through the thick undergrowth between the trees. It was plain that they had not bothered to hide their trail - wherever the shrubs and plants on the ground thinned out, the footsteps and the horses’ hoofprints showed clearly. Perhaps they had not expected to be followed so soon after the murder, Simon wondered. Or was it possible that they had so shocked themselves by the killing that they were past caring? Whatever the reason, they were very easy to follow.

  At last, after stumbling on for over three miles, Simon could see a glimmer of light between the trees. They must have been travelling for over two hours by now; his back and thighs were feeling the strain of having to drag his horse up the hills, and his calves hurt from walking down the other sides. He threw a glance at Black. The hunter did not seem to have noticed the light, his eyes were still firmly fixed on the trail at his feet. Simon peered ahead again. It was clearing. They must be coming to the edge of the woods. With a feeling of relief, Simon realised that soon they would be able to mount their horses and at last give chase, no longer wandering slowly; now they would be able to travel fast at last. He felt a mounting excitement as they slowly covered the last few yards, and had to work to prevent a grin of anticipation from spreading over his face.

  Now Black noticed the lightening too, but apparently without the same pleasure, Simon noticed. He seemed concerned as he came up to the last few trees, frowning and looking up every now and again from the tracks. Then, when they came to the edge of the wood, Simon suddenly realised why.

  With a sinking feeling, he looked out from the trees and groaned as he saw the road. It was the main road up to Barnstaple; not a very busy one, but busy enough - the dirt of the track was well trodden and rutted from the number of carriages and wagons that regularly passed by, and between the wheel marks it was compacted into a solid mass. With a wince of despair, Simon realised it would be impossible to follow the trail on this. He sighed and watched silently with his feelings of despondency growing as Black slowly stretched and wandered out from the trees. His eyes swivelled, tracing the last distinguishable marks of the horse and rider on the verge as they had left the trees, but then they stopped, obliterated by the multitude of tracks in the mud of the road itself.

  Close to tears in his frustration, he watched Black thoughtfully loop his horse’s reins over a nearby branch. Surely they could not lose the trail after following it so far?

  He felt the first prickles of the tears starting to heat his eyes, ready to begin weeping in his frustration, the pain and despair of failure clutching at his heart as he watched the methodical and efficient hunter trying to find the trail.

  Black was walking in a series of circles, going from one verge to the other, and each time moving the centre a little farther so that he was gradually moving down the road towards Crediton in a series of sweeping loops, his eyes fixed all the time on the ground and occasionally flitting over to the verges to make sure that no one had left the road. He went slowly, and when he had covered twenty yards he came back and went off in the other direction, up towards Barnstaple. At last he stopped and strode back.

  “Sorry. Nothing I can do. Trail’s here, but it’s been covered by all this other lot,” he said shortly, waving a hand vaguely and looking up and down the road. “AH I can do is guess. I just don’t know.” He shrugged, looking up at Simon with dejection in his eyes.

  Simon stood and stared at him, feeling the waves of dread and fear wash over him. There must be a way of finding the killers. Whoever had done this must be mad: until they were caught there could be no peace in the area. Oblivious to the others, he stood fixed to the spot and stared into the distance. He felt Tanner walk up behind, but remained staring in his misery without acknowledging him.

  “Problem?” asked Tanner quietly.

  “See for yourself,” said Black shortly. “There’s no way I can track someone on this lot. The only way is to guess which way they could’ve gone and hope for the best. I’ve done the best I can.” He almost seemed to be pleading with the taciturn constable, as if he needed confirmation that he had done the best he could.

  “Bailiff?”

  “I don’t know. We can’t just give up! We have to find the bastards or they’ll do it again,” said Simon, confused and desperately trying to see what to do. “I… leave me alone for a minute.”

  The other two watched him as he walked into the middle of the road and peered up and down, Tanner standing calmly and Black scratching his head as he gazed at the ground with an expression of morose defeat.

  Right, Simon thought. The murderers took the abbot, robbed him, and killed him - but why burn him to death? Why not just stab him? And if that was all they were going to do, why not kill him nearer the road? Christ Jesus, help me!

  He squatted, peering at the road surface, then gazed into the distance again as he thought. “I can�
��t guess why they killed the abbot. All I know is they did and we have to get them. Otherwise they’ll do it again. So we have to find them, and quickly. Where did they go? To Crediton? Or Barnstaple? They could have gone either way.”

  Abruptly, Simon swivelled and looked back down the road toward Crediton. But which way? Which way would I take? If I had just murdered someone, where would I go? If I was passing through I would go on to Barnstaple, but if I came from round here would I go home? Could someone local have done this? Why would they? Who could have done this?

  “Bugger.” He reached a decision, stood and strode back to the small posse. Tanner, Black, come over here a minute.“ When they were with him, he spoke again quietly. ”Look, we can’t tell which way they’ve gone. If I’d done something like this I would have gone to the moors and hidden, but these men have obviously gone on. Tanner, where would you go if you were them?“

  The constable looked blank and drew down the corners of his mouth as he considered. “If it was me and I was passing through, I’d go on to Barnstaple quickly, I suppose, then down to Cornwall.”

  “Black?”

  “I’d go home quick. I’d get back to the house and pretend I’d not been out at all.”

  Hmm. I think so too. If I was a traveller, like you think, Tanner, I’d want to get away from the area. But if I was a local, I think I’d go home and keep my head down.“

  “Does that help us?” said Tanner with obvious doubt.

  “Yes, because it means we have no real choice. We divide into three teams. Tanner, you go on up towards Barnstaple and see if you can find any sign of strangers passing by recently. Ask at the houses you pass about one man on a large horse, could be a farm animal or a war horse, and another on a smaller one. They dressed like knights but wore no signs to show their names or their lord’s. We’ll go back to Crediton and check to see whether we can see any sign of them that way. The other men, the third team, will have to ask at all of the cottages in the woods near here. Tanner, you go as far as Elstone, if you can’t find anything you may as well go home after that. We’ll see if anybody saw anyone.”

  “We’ll need a tracker with both teams going by road,” said Black. “We’ll have to keep an eye open for any signs leading off the road and into the trees.”

  “Yes. Tanner? Any idea who else we can use?”

  “Yes, young Fasten, he’s got good eyes. I’ll take him with me. What about the third team?”

  “So long as they know the area, two men should be enough. Make sure they do know these parts, though, and the people in it. All they have to do is ask around - has anyone seen two men recently, probably in armour, one on a big animal like a war horse. Have they seen a grey mare?

  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.”