The Mad Monk of Gidleigh by Michael Jecks Page A

their murders. To Baldwin, a Templar, the idea of a clandestine murderer of that sort was uniquely repellent. A man should stand and fight in the open, calling on his enemy to defend himself. How different from the single madman hiding beneath a bed or behind a tapestry, stabbing or poisoning. That was the act of a coward, an act which must lead to terror among all right-thinking men.
    Following the roadway as it curved around the last hill, Crediton was at last laid before him. Over the last few years the Canons of the great church had built many new houses for themselves, their servants and novices, and now the view that met Baldwin’s eye was one of bustle and confusion all the way out to the water meadow at the easternmost point of the town, especially near the church itself. There people milled about some more construction work. Craftsmen bawled orders to apprentices, smiths hammered, hawkers and tranters wandered shouting their wares. Over it all was the warm, light haze of the smoke from the fires.
    He had little enthusiasm for business today, and he idled up the road. The shops and houses on either side gleamed, damp from the night’s rain, while the ground beneath him was foul, spatted with excrement from the herd of cattle which he could still see being taken through the town and out to the pastures near the river.
    When he arrived at the church’s buildings, he made for the timber-framed hall in which he held his court. It was owned by the church, and there were stables behind where visitors could leave their mounts. Baldwin swung himself from his saddle and bellowed for the groom. The lad should look after horses for a few copper coins, but he was routinely late to observe a new client.
    ‘Jack?
Jack!
Get out here now, you lazy son of a–’
    The youth appeared in the alley that led behind the town’s hall, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. ‘Oh, Sir Baldwin, I didn’t hear you. I was… er, filling the…’
    ‘Do not lie to me, Jack. I can recognise a lie two miles distant.’
    ‘I wouldn’t think of lying to you, Sir Baldwin,’ Jack said in a hurt tone.
    ‘You should leave cheap wine alone, boy. Save your money until you can afford a decent drink. Maybe then you would not fall asleep.’
    ‘Sir Baldwin, I haven’t been drinking. Not much, anyway.’
    ‘I can smell it from seven paces, Jack,’ Baldwin said grumpily and passed him the reins.
    ‘You are my favourite customer, sir. Out of all them who come here, it’s you I serve first and keenest.’
    ‘That says little for your treatment of other clients, since you are always asleep whenever I arrive! Now give my horse a good rubdown and rest. He has come far enough to warrant at least as much rest as you seem to think you deserve yourself.’
    ‘Sir Knight, that’s not fair.’
    ‘I often think I should take my custom to the inn’s ostlers. At least the men there seem interested to have my business,’ Baldwin grumbled.
    ‘Don’t do that, please, Sir Baldwin!’ Jack’s face had paled, and he hung his head, looking up at Baldwin with sorrowful eyes. ‘You know my wife and–’
    ‘And three children would suffer,’ Baldwin said testily. ‘Yes, I know. You tell me every time I come here. But I
will
go to them if you do not stay awake and listen for my arrival.’
    ‘Yes, Sir Baldwin.’
    ‘So – see to my mount!’
    The youth nodded, ducked his head submissively, and led the horse away towards his stable.
    Baldwin watched him go with a glower fixed to his face. The trouble was, he knew that the lad was desperate for the money. If Baldwin stopped bringing his horse here, Jack probably wouldn’t have enough income to keep his wife and children. That wasn’t something Baldwin wanted on his conscience. He had seen enough suffering in the last few years.
    It wasn’t the fault of the groom that he was so sharp-tempered today. No, it was all to do with Roger Scut.
    This morning’s work was not difficult, but it involved much reading