The Last Templar

by Michael Jecks

  “We’ve been there since, searching, but some people we saw said they were heading east. Last night we heard there’d been an attack this way, so we came over to see whether we could help.”

  Simon stirred. “It was lucky you told your man to look for me. I wasn’t at home, and he got one of the monks to come and find me.”

  “Really?” said Tanner, looking surprised. “I didn’t tell him it was that urgent, it was just to let you know where we were.”

  Obviously impatient with the long story, John Black interrupted and quickly ran through the journey up from Crediton and the scene they had seen that morning. “It was awful, Stephen. There was bodies all over the place, and they’d even burned two of them in their wagons.”

  “Why, though?” said Simon pensively, making the other; look at him in surprise. “Why burn the bodies?”

  Tanner shrugged. “Often happens, bailiff. They burn to torture, to find out whether there’s more money or not, they burn to get rid of evidence. And they burn for fun -they sometimes enjoy it.”

  “It seems to fit in with the killing of the abbot, anyway,” said Black. “And Brewer.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” said Simon, morosely hugging his knees as he sat and stared at the flames. The others looked over at him, surprised at his curt denial of their assumption.

  Black recovered first. “What do you mean? Of course it does, senseless killing and robbery, and done by men that enjoy burning their hostages. It’s exactly the same.”

  “No, it’s not! One man murdered in his house, another taken hostage and burned to death, then travellers attacked on the road? There’s nothing similar between them!”

  “I agree. Brewer was killed by someone else, even if the abbot was killed by these outlaws.” It was Hugh, sitting with his cloak around his shoulders and gazing at the ground in front of him.

  “What do you mean, Hugh,” said Simon quietly, making his servant look up. He had a suspicious frown on his face, as if he doubted that his opinion was being honestly sought, and his eyes flitted over Simon’s face as if looking for confirmation that his thoughts were really wanted. At last, seeming happy with Simon’s expression of concentration, he continued, talking directly to him and ignoring the others.

  “Well, the farmer was dead already, before the fire, you reckoned. The abbot and the travellers, they weren’t. They were all killed like they were being tortured. These outlaws kill, but they do it once they have taken everything they can, don’t they?”

  “But the abbot was still worth money, he was worth a ransom,” said Simon musingly. “Why kill him? Why burn him? What were they doing, torturing him to find out which saddlebag his money was in? And surely the outlaws would have killed all the monks together, not just taken the abbot. Like you say, Brewer was killed before the fire started, if he was killed at all. That’s why all of the killings seem different to me.”

  “No, with Brewer they just wanted his money. When they got it, they left. The abbot was taken as a hostage because they wanted what he had in his saddle, but then maybe they were scared off, maybe someone came along when they had burned the abbot and they had to leave in a hurry,” said Tanner dismissively.

  Simon looked back at Hugh. “Well? What do you think?”

  “I think that a small party of these outlaws saw the abbot and took his money. Taking a monk? It must have seemed like an easy target! What doesn’t make sense to me is Brewer being killed by the same band. But maybe they found his money, then killed him, and fired the house to hide what they’d done.”

  “It’s possible,” agreed Simon grudgingly. “Although they have not been too careful about hiding their traces since then. But the abbot - why kill him like that?”

  “Like I said, they were seen by someone and had to get away,” said Tanner.

  “Had to get away?” said Hugh, his eyebrows rising in disbelief as he turned to the constable. “If it was two men, surely they’d have taken the abbot with them, not just killed him. They can’t have been rushed if they had time to burn him to death. And if someone did see them, whoever it was would’ve raised the hue and cry, wouldn’t they? I mean, if I saw a body burning in the middle of the woods, I’d‘ve run home quick and got help.”

  “But maybe they never saw the outlaws or the body burning,” said Black, frowning.

  Hugh paused to stare at him sullenly, but when he spoke again his voice was high and strained. “And I suppose the abbot was quiet? He was being burned at the stake, and he was quiet? Even if they never saw him they must’ve heard him.”

  Black rose with a faintly patronising smile on his face. “Well, I don’t know why they left him either, but I do know one thing. The men we’re chasing now are the same ones who killed the abbot and probably Brewer as well. Nothing else makes sense. And we’re going to catch them tomorrow, so I’m going to get some sleep now.”

  As Black walked over to his packs, Tanner glanced at the bailiff, who sat, still staring at his servant. It mattered little to Tanner who was responsible for the death of the farmer, his main worry was for the people who could be hurt in the future. Marauding trail bastons could wreak havoc in an area like this, where there were many forests for them to hide in and hundreds of small hamlets for them to attack with relative impunity. During his warfaring days he had seen enough of the companies that devastated the land, robbing, burning and thieving, murdering the peasants and stopping all traffic. His sole desire was to see them caught or killed. The bailiff seemed more concerned about the others, about the abbot and Brewer. Tanner was not; they were past help, in his view. He could understand the bailiff’s feelings, though. He was too young to have seen the harm outlaws could bring. Sighing, the constable rose, gave them a good night and left them. There was nothing more for him to do here tonight.

  “So, Hugh, you think someone else was responsible for the farmer’s death as well, do you?” asked Simon when he had gone.

  Hugh nodded, his face bleak. “Yes, I reckon the abbot was killed by this lot, but Brewer wasn’t. And you know the bugger about it all? I’ve got no more idea than you why they did it.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Hugh‘ said Simon softly but deliberately. ”Whoever it was, I will find out. I will find who was responsible and why. Too many have died - it’s time to avenge them - all of them.“

  Chapter Seventeen

  They awoke stiff and aching in a clear and bright morning. Simon felt awful. He had hardly slept at all; every time he found himself slipping into sleep, his brain started to tease once more at the question of who was responsible for the murder of the abbot.

  He wanted to accept the simple faith of his companions, that the same men had killed Brewer, then de Penne, then had robbed and killed the travellers; but he could not believe it. It seemed too obvious, somehow - too easy, -and, like Hugh, he could not believe that the men who had taken so much from the travellers would have killed the abbot - he was too valuable. And he was confused that only the abbot had been taken. Surely the men who had killed the merchants would have taken all of the monks, not just the abbot?

  The bailiff stood and rubbed his buttocks and thighs, grimacing at the bustle of the others all around as they quickly packed and started to get their horses ready. He felt cold and damp, tired and miserable. His back and his legs hurt, he had a bruise on one side where a stone had dug into his ribs, and he felt no closer to a definite answer about who was responsible for the killing of the abbot.

  He crouched by the fire, trying to absorb some warmth from the ashes, but they were cold and gave him no comfort, so it was with a wry grin that he thought about his warm house, his bed and Margaret’s body, thinking, God! What am I doing out here!

  “Bailiff!”

  Turning, he saw Black striding towards him. The hunter grinned when he came close, seeing Simon’s evident ill-humour. “All the men are ready.” He paused. “We can leave when you’re feeling well enough,” he added drily, a grin lifting the corner of his mouth.

  “Thank you, M
aster Black,” said Simon insincerely, but he rose and walked with him to the horses. Hugh had saddled both and packed, and now stood at their bridles, scowling his usual welcome as they approached. Taking the reins, Simon mounted slowly, wincing at the aches from the previous day’s ride, then they wheeled and followed Black down the slight rise, heading back to their trail.

  They rode in single file now, the hunter leading, his eyes constantly flitting from side to side as he checked the trail and made sure that no one had left the group they hunted. Occasionally he would stop, one hand held high to stop the others, as he gazed frowning at the muddy marks on the trail, and every so often he would lean down to read some new sign. But then the hand would wave again and they would all follow.

  Simon, Hugh and Tanner were behind him in a small group. The bailiff found the first few miles to be even more miserable than the previous day, the rest during the night had simply tied knots in all his muscles, or so it felt. At first he had thought he was going to have to stop and try to ease the pains, but then, after they had been riding for almost an hour, he found that the exercise loosened him and he could sit more comfortably in his saddle. When they had been riding for two hours he felt almost himself again - apart from a number of new aches in parts of his body he had not known could ache.

  In the early morning the tracking had been easy, with the sun throwing shadows where the horses had walked, but as the sun crawled up in the sky the job became more slow and difficult as Black tried to read the signs accurately. When they had been travelling for over three hours, Simon grunted to himself and rode up alongside his tracker.

  “Black, can’t we go any faster?” he growled.

  “No, not if we’re going to get all of them at the same time.”

  “Eh? But, we can see where they’re going, surely we can just keep going and make sure now and then that we haven’t lost their trail?”

  “We can, but some of them might leave and go off to the side. We need to know we have them all.”

  Simon stared up ahead with a feeling of exasperation. At this speed they would never catch the men. “Well, if we get the main group, we can—‘

  “No,” said the hunter absentmindedly as he continued his frowning stare at the tracks. “What if a few leave the main group?”

  “Well? What if they do? So long as we get the main body of men and—‘

  “No,” said Black, suddenly looking up at him. “We can’t take the risk. We might get half or more, but what about the others? If we miss two they could rob a farm and kill the family. I’m not having it. We must get them all.”

  Simon sighed, nodded, and let him get on with it. He wanted to be able to give chase, not follow slowly like this. He wanted to know that they were catching up with the men who had killed the merchants, to catch them, or, if they would not surrender, kill them. But he curbed his enthusiasm and slowed, allowing Hugh and Tanner to catch up with him, watching Black continue.

  It was more than four hours after they had left their camp that they came across a small stream, and Black stopped. Simon quickly rode alongside, Tanner just behind him.

  “What is it?”

  “Look!” said the taciturn hunter, pointing.

  Just in front of them the ground levelled out. There were stones lying around in a rough circle, some on top of each other like a low wall, and in the middle were a number of blackened patches. The three rode forward cautiously and paused at the first. Black leaned down and sniffed, then dropped lightly from his horse - as if he had not been riding for days, thought Simon in disgust - and knelt, sniffing and feeling the ashes while he muttered to himself.

  “Well?” said Tanner, obviously as keen as Simon to get on with their hunt.

  Black looked up, but now his eyes had lost the introspective look; now they glittered with an unholy glee. “This’s where they camped last night. The ashes are still warm.” He sank back on his haunches and surveyed the area, but then gave a little start. While the others followed his gaze, he leapt to his feet and ran.

  Simon could see what looked like a huddle of rags lying under the wall, and looked at the others uncomprehendingly. Hugh seemed as surprised as Simon, but Tanner cursed and kicked his horse with a face gone dark with anger. The others shrugged and spurred after them.

  It was only when they were a few yards away that Simon realised that the pathetic bundle was a partly naked body. With a half sob, half sigh, he saw that it was a young woman.

  She could only have been fifteen years old, a slim figure with long dark hair that had been braided but now was roughly tousled and spread over the ground by her head. She was bruised, with large brown and blue discolourations to her skin, and she had weals too. Her feet were uncovered, and her soles were bloody and crusted with scabs. It seemed clear that she must have lived a privileged life, for her hands were unmarked by work when Black gently turned them over. She must have been one of the merchant’s daughters.

  The group stared in frozen and angry silence at the little figure while the hunter searched for any clues to the people who had committed this crime. He carefully looked through the ripped and torn dress and checked the ground, but there seemed to be nothing to be learned. When he stood again there was a new determination on his face. Simon could see. It looked as though the calm and imperturbable hunter had made his choice: the men he was chasing would not escape him: he would catch them before they could commit any more crimes like this.

  Simon watched him as he mounted his horse and organised a man to take the body back. The bailiff was becoming anxious now - how would the men react when they caught the trail bastons? He did not want them all to be slaughtered. But then his eyes were drawn to the body, as if it was calling to him, and he found himself thinking how little older than his own daughter this young girl was and suddenly he realised he did not care how the posse reacted when they found the gang.

  They paused at midday near a stream, where they watered and rested the horses while they sat and ate some food. Tanner’s men had managed to buy provisions while they had been on the road after the abbot’s death, but Simon was aware that his own group’s food was being quickly depleted. At this rate they would only be able to stay on the moors for another two days at the most. The men were quiet again. Any joy they had felt from their morning’s ride had been dispersed by the sight of that small, sad shape half hidden by the wall, to be replaced by anger and the urgent desire for vengeance. Simon could feel the mood as he sat chewing on some bread and cured meat. They all wanted to find the men responsible, and he knew that they would be difficult to control when they caught up with the band.

  He knew he no longer cared how they reacted. He was so disgusted, so sick of the sight of death, that he wanted to kill the men responsible himself. That men could do this in his land had made him furious when it was a matter of a dead abbot and little more, but now, after seeing that poor, destroyed body at the camp, used and then discarded, he felt a rage so deep that it burned white hot within him.

  The other men were all sitting around, almost trance-like as they ate. Each seemed to be in his own world; there was little talking, only an occasional hushed murmuring of low voices. For the most part they were quiet and contemplative, as if they were all considering what they would do when they caught the men.

  When Black stood, the sudden movement made several heads turn, and then, with a kind of weary calmness they all rose and began to prepare to move off again.

  The trail took them slightly east of south now, heading down towards the eastern edge of the moors. The trail was distinct in the green all around. Now and then they would pass in among thick gorse or heather, and Black would ask others to ride at either side in case he missed another trail among the growths, but it still seemed that their quarry was too sure of themselves to bother to hide their traces, and each time the outriders would come back to the main group and the trail.

  It was late in the day when they saw the fruits of their pursuit for the first time.

  T
hey had just crested another hill, in among a small copse that stood around some old stones like guards around a king, when Black held up his hand again, and Simon heard the breath hiss between his teeth. The bailiff moved up but the hunter ignored him, his eyes fixed intently on the far hill.

  Following his gaze, Simon could make out the thin line of the trail as a black smudge against the green of the hill, almost like a crack in the greyish green, and he searched along it, letting the trail pull his eyes upwards, towards the horizon. Then his eyes widened as he saw the small group of men and horses straggling up to the top. Ahead of them there was no trail - they must be the ones!