The Mad Monk of Gidleigh

by Michael Jecks

  ‘I am sure it was an accident. He will apologise.’

  Simon cast a look at Hugh. ‘I require no apology, but my servant will need a physician’s aid when he gets to his home and I doubt that he could afford the services of a good man. Your son must pay for that. Shall we say fifty shillings?’

  ‘Fifty…’ The Lady Annicia was astonished to hear so high a sum suggested, but she recovered herself quickly. ‘I am sure that my son will be happy to pay. An accident like this is always unfortunate, and we must make sure that your fellow is as well looked after as he can be. Although,’ she added with a venomous look at the broadly grinning Hugh, ‘I cannot imagine that the physician in his vill would warrant such a price for his skills. I did nurse him myself, you know, and I think he has waxed well on our best wine all day.’

  Simon saw Hugh’s glee and gave a slow nod. ‘I think that will be adequate compensation, Lady.’

  ‘So we can forget all matters which affect my son?’

  Baldwin slowly shook his head, watching her all the while. Annicia had the uncomfortable sensation that she was being studied by a serious-minded lawyer. His dark eyes had, she thought, a certain air of reptilian disinterest, just like so many lawyers. ‘Your son is accused of murder on the King’s highway while trying to capture and rob travellers on their way to Chagford Fair. He will have to stand in court on that charge.’

  ‘He is so accused?’ Annicia asked softly. ‘And where is the corpse? I had not heard that there was one.’

  ‘I believe I know where it is.’

  ‘But I fear I do not understand,’ she said with a smile that failed to conceal her cold determination. ‘Do you mean to tell me that my son is to be accused of killing a man when there is no body, no proof of the wounds that killed him, no presentment of Englishry, nothing? I had thought that no body meant no case.’

  Baldwin smiled, and once more she was reminded of a reptile: like a snake, he appeared not to blink. ‘We shall find the body, madam. And when we do, your son will be arrested on my order as Keeper of the King’s Peace.’

  She was about to answer, when there came a rattling of hooves on the cobbles outside. Immediately there was shouting and roaring, with one voice calling more clearly than all the others: ‘In God’s name, all men here, now! There’s a fire!’

  Simon ran to the door and stared out. ‘It’s your husband, madam.’

  ‘Fire! Fire at the mill! Every man, bring buckets, help to put it out!’

  ‘I suppose you should go with him,’ she said with a strange inflexion in her voice.

  Baldwin looked at her. ‘Yes, my Lady, but while we are gone, you must ensure that the prisoners are sent on their way to meet with the Coroner. You shall do this?’

  ‘Yes.’ She saw his sceptical expression. ‘I swear it. You disbelieve me?’

  ‘Not at all, Lady,’ he said courteously. The shouting outside was louder, and he heard horses being gathered. ‘We must go.’

  Baldwin and Simon ran down to the court and Simon had to snatch the reins of his mount from one over-enthusiastic man-at-arms who had mounted it already. As the Bailiff took the beast back, Baldwin smiled at the expression of outrage on his face.

  Then they were riding out through the gates and he had no more time to think about anything else as he saw the towering column of flame where the mill had lain.

  Sir Ralph had left the place sunk in gloom. Gilda’s pain and grief were too hard to bear. Even when he protested, ‘I loved her as well,’ it made no difference. She wanted revenge against someone, anyone, who could have been responsible for the murder of her child.

  ‘It was that monk, Gilda. He was up there with her. Everyone saw him,’ Sir Ralph said. ‘Why should my lad kill her?’

  ‘He knew you loved her, didn’t he?’ Gilda was screaming into his face, all rational thought gone as she rose to her feet, lurching towards him, her face streaming with tears. Her terrible desolation made her grasp at any explanation. She hated and feared Esmon, and that convinced her that he was the killer of her daughter. ‘He thought you wanted her for yourself, I expect, so he murdered her, just so that you couldn’t ever learn what he’d done! He killed her to stop you from raping her too! Her! Your own daughter! How does that make you feel, Sir Knight?’

  He retreated from her. ‘No, no, Esmon’s not so cruel. He couldn’t have done that,’ but he knew that his protestations were useless. There could be no doubt in any man’s mind that Esmon was perfectly capable of the crime.

  ‘It wasn’t him,’ he said once more. ‘He wasn’t up there. He couldn’t have been.’ Yet he knew Esmon had been there. He could have ridden past, just as Sir Ralph himself had; he might have seen Mary weeping, just as Sir Ralph had, and could have decided to take her there and then – afterwards breaking her neck. Perhaps it was only a short while after Sir Ralph had been there, a few moments after, while she was still alone.

  ‘It couldn’t have been him,’ he said more firmly. No. Esmon was a wild boy, certainly, and he was a warrior, but he didn’t murder women for no reason. He wouldn’t have gone to those extremes to conceal his rape of a peasant; a slave.

  Yet once Gilda had voiced it, Sir Ralph was haunted by the idea. He had seen his son when the red mist of rage came over him like a veil of blood, when he would snatch at any weapon to hand.

  And then Sir Ralph realised that Mary herself might have goaded him. She could have chided him, telling him to leave her, questioning his chivalry. She was capable of that. And then he could have struck at her in a rage, finally breaking her neck to silence her.

  Gilda was rocking back and forth, weeping and calling on God to avenge her poor daughter. A part of Sir Ralph wanted to go to her and comfort her, but he was overwhelmed by the loss of Mary, her accusations against Esmon – and his own newly fired doubts about his son.

  When he heard a sound at the door and looked up to see Flora, it was a relief. ‘Child, see to your mother. She is uneasy.’ He fiddled with his purse, rooted out a coin and was about to give it to her when he felt a pang of shame. It felt as though he was paying a whore. He thrust the coin into her hand as he left the mill, glad to be leaving such a gloom-filled, wretched hovel. Outside, he grabbed his reins and launched himself into his horse’s saddle, turning and staring back at the house, wondering what had happened to the miller, why Huward had disappeared so precipitately. He clapped spurs to his beast and swept off up the roadway, but soon he slowed to a trot.

  Huward knew. If he could, the big man would surely try to take revenge on Sir Ralph. That’s what any man would do – kill the rival who had systematically cuckolded him over many years. It was insane of Annicia to have told him, but when Sir Ralph recalled her pained expression when he admitted Mary was his own child, he could not find it in his heart to blame her. She had been as badly hurt as Huward. So many years, and now all was coming back to destroy him. All he had done, he had done for love – but now all loathed him.

  He glanced back at the mill, mouthing a curse at the foolishness of women, but when he saw the smoke and the tongues of fire licking at the building, his anger was forgotten.

  Ben watched the knight canter away towards the castle with as much relief as Sir Ralph felt in escaping the place. For Ben it had been a shock to see the knight’s horse out at the front of the mill. He didn’t understand what he could be doing here at first, because Sir Ralph’s visits had grown more infrequent over the years. He remembered the knight dropping in quite often when he was younger, and being sent out to mind the chickens or to fetch water, while his mother entertained him, but in recent times Sir Ralph avoided the place. Ben wondered whether his chat with Elias in the tavern might have reached Sir Ralph’s ears.

  ‘Well, Mother, and how was the great man today?’ he asked breezily, entering the mill and seeing his mother and Flora at the edge of the hearth.

  ‘Can’t you be kind for once?’ Flora demanded. ‘She’s upset again.’

  ‘Yes, well, she’s been upset since dear sainted Mary
passed on, hasn’t she?’

  ‘We’ve all been sad since then.’

  ‘Except some of us realised that life had to go on,’ he said. ‘There’s no point whingeing about her dying now. It’s too late.’

  ‘How can you be so callous about our sister? She was your sister too, wasn’t she?’

  Ben smiled and walked to the ale barrel.

  ‘So you have nothing to say?’ Flora shouted. ‘Your sister’s lying in her grave, and you just reach for the next ale, is that it?’

  ‘Haven’t you told her yet, Mother?’ he said, glancing at Gilda.

  She sat huddled within Flora’s arms, but when he spoke, his contempt made her recoil as though he had hit at her.

  Flora hugged her tightly, alarmed to see the tears springing from Gilda’s eyes once more, but to her consternation, the woman pushed her away. ‘Leave me alone!’

  ‘I see you haven’t,’ Ben observed.

  ‘Leave us alone!’ she sobbed again. ‘Why do you want to taunt Flora too?’

  ‘Our mother wasn’t quite the upright woman she should have been, you know,’ he said relentlessly.

  ‘Few can reach your heights, I suppose,’ Flora said witheringly.

  ‘I use the whores when I can, but I’m not married,’ he said simply.

  Flora opened her mouth, but then a horrible doubt assailed her and she looked at Gilda. Her mother was sitting quite still now, eyes firmly closed against the horror of her own son’s insults. ‘Mother?’

  ‘Why do you think Father has disappeared?’ Ben went on relentlessly. ‘Because he learned the truth about our mother – that she has been fucking Sir Ralph all the time she was married to him. I say “Father”, but perhaps “fool and cuckold” is fairer. Don’t you think so, Mother? “Cuckold” is so much more accurate than a silly term like “Father”, don’t you think?’

  ‘Don’t be so stupid, Ben,’ Flora said scathingly. ‘You don’t know what you’re on about, does he, Mother? It’s nonsense, isn’t it? Mother? Please, tell me it’s not true!’ Seeing the woman sitting with eyes still firmly closed as though in denial that this conversation was going on around her, she thought Gilda looked more like a carven figure than her real, flesh and blood parent.

  She only turned away when she heard her father’s voice in the doorway. ‘Yes, deny it, woman, if you can!’

  Huward was a different man from he who had left this home the day before. Since leaving, he had found that the whole foundation of his life was a lie. The love he thought he possessed from his wife was nothing. She had all the while been slaking her lubricious appetites with another man – and not just any man, but the man who owned Huward, the mill, everything! It was the most hurtful betrayal he could conceive.

  ‘Deny it, you bitch!’ His voice was slurred. He had more words he wanted to use – angry, bitter words that would lash at her like whips – but he couldn’t get them out. They stuck in his throat as though the barbs he intended for Gilda were choking him.

  Ben walked to him wearing a sly grin. ‘So, Father, and how are you today? Drunk, I see. Perhaps I should buy you a pot of ale now, to recompense you for all your efforts over the years!’

  Huward looked at him wildly. This lad, this monster, was taunting him, and suddenly Huward saw the remainder of his life clearly. All men must scorn him: the fool, the butt of jokes, while this boy, the fellow he had thought was his own flesh and blood, laughed at him and lived at Sir Ralph’s expense, deriding the peasant who had thought he was his parent. Gilda would live with him, no doubt, in luxury, while he, Huward, shivered in the cold of a loveless old age.

  It was impossible to live like that, dishonoured for ever. He couldn’t do it; he wouldn’t do it.

  He clenched his fist before Ben could see the quick change in his eyes, and swung it upwards. There was a crack as his knuckles slammed into the point of Ben’s chin and the slight figure lifted from the ground before hurtling back to crash down on the floor.

  ‘Father!’ Flora screamed, and ran to Ben’s side.

  Huward paid her no attention. He walked over to his wife and stared down at her with eyes filled with despair. Unbunching his fist, he swung his hand at her and heard, rather than felt, the impact. Gilda’s head snapped back as though her neck was broken, and she was flung to the ground where she lay, a trickle of blood leaking from her mouth, her eyes now wide with shock and pain. A faint mewling sound came from her.

  Ignoring Flora’s squeals of panic and horror, Huward stalked across the room to the lamps and oil. He filled a lamp, walked to the hearth, lit it, and threw it at the doorway. Instantly the cheap pottery smashed and blue flames chased across the floor.

  ‘Father! Please don’t kill us. Don’t kill me!’ Flora begged. She watched the flames licking at a length of material dangling from a table, then smoking and flickering as they continued the dance upwards. Smoke was already coiling about the room as Huward flung a pot of oil at the machinery that had been his life and preoccupation for so many years. He moved like a man in a nightmare, his eyes wild.

  ‘Father!’

  The tide of oil was almost at Ben’s legs. She grabbed at his tunic, weeping with the effort, dragging him along, only to find her retreat blocked by more flames. There was a slight crackling sound, a flare of noise, and then a foul stench, and Flora turned to see that her mother’s head had been engulfed by flames. Gilda was standing, beating at her head, trying to scream, but all that came from her mouth were hoarse, masculine roars as she inhaled the fires that tormented her. Huward was near her, the pot of oil in his hands. He had tipped it over her, and now he stood as though compelled to witness his wife’s death.

  Flora screamed high and mad. She felt as though her jaw must break from her face, her mouth opened so wide in mortal horror. Giving dry, wracking sobs, she tore her skirts from her legs and ran to her mother. She raised the cloth to beat at the flames that were consuming her mother’s face and shoulders, but then felt the dreadful grip of her father. He pulled her away, turned her and peered into her face, and she saw that he was quite mad. It was as though he was looking into her soul to see if there was any part of her that was in truth his.

  She wanted to tell him that she was entirely his, she had never been another man’s. Sir Ralph was nothing to her, even if his seed had given her life; the only father she had known was Huward. And then there was another deep roar of pain from Gilda, and Flora shuddered and shrieked, high and desperate, and in that moment she saw her father’s eyes die, as if he had seen that even Flora, his little Flora, had deserted him.

  Flora felt her shoulder released and knew what was to happen. She closed her eyes, waiting for the punch that would finish this hideous scene and give her peace, but nothing happened. When she opened her eyes, he was gone.

  Fire was leaping up at the inner walls, washing over the wooden machinery like fingers of liquid death, and all about her was a whistling and bubbling as the conflagration took hold. She went to her mother and tried to pull her dead weight to the door, ignoring the flames that seared her legs.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Huward stood in the cover of the trees and stared back at the destruction of all that he had loved and considered most important in the world. His mill had been his pride, his family had been his joy. Now the building was smoking like a charcoal-burner’s stack, thick coils of smoke seeping out of gaps in the thatch and from windows like poisonous grey snakes seeking the daylight.

  He was still there when Sir Ralph galloped back to the burning building leaping from his horse and running towards the doorway. Other men appeared, but Huward paid them no attention. He was watching the knight, the man who had caused this destruction.

  Sir Ralph shouted something; Huward couldn’t hear him over the din of the fire. It sounded almost as though the flames were mocking the knight and him together, laughing at them. Men went to Sir Ralph’s side, staring inside, but then Sir Ralph gave a loud cry and pointed. The others grabbed at him, but he slipped away, ducked ben
eath the flaming timber of the doorway, and was inside. As others scooped water from the river and threw it over the flames, in at the door, over the roof, everywhere, Huward saw one man turn and see him. It was the Bailiff.

  Huward moved away. He had done enough. Now he had just one more task to fulfil before he could find peace.

  Simon was in two minds whether to go and try to catch up with Huward, but there was someone trapped inside the mill, and he was sure that his duty lay in saving life rather than chasing after the miller. He pulled off his coat as he ran to the river, and threw himself in, making sure that the coat was well soaked. Running back, he draped the coat over his head and plunged inside the mill.

  It was hard to see anything. The smoke from the damp thatch was as thick and viscous as oil. Simon stared about him, choking on the harsh fumes. Thinking he saw movement, he walked cautiously towards it, but when he reached the place, he realised it was the dancing flames on a burning timber. Gazing about him again, he saw something else, and was convinced it must be a man. He ran to the figure, and saw that it was Sir Ralph, dragging someone else. Simon took his arm and tried to help him, but then he found himself being overwhelmed by an increasing lassitude, and he couldn’t quite recall where the door was. He coughed, and then realised that the acrid stuff had risen up into his nose and was searing his nostrils.

  A strong hand gripped his shoulder; it was Baldwin. His old friend tore the coat from Simon’s head and threw it away. Then he reached forward, picked up the body from Sir Ralph, placed it over his shoulder and pulled Simon out of that house of horror. Only when he was outside did Simon realise that he had kept hold of Sir Ralph and hauled him out too.

  ‘Thank–’ he began, and then submitted to a paroxysm of coughing and retching, feeling the cool grass and stones on his face as he sprawled, incapable of moving.