The Last Templar aktm-1 Page 15

  “Yes,” said Tanner, startled by the venom in Simon’s voice. “What about the sheriff? Shouldn’t we send someone to Exeter?”

  “No. This happened here and it’s our responsibility. We’ll get them. For now, though, I’m going to get some sleep.” He stood slowly in his exhaustion, gazing at the men in faint surprise as if he had only just noticed them, and wandered over to a tree. He sat, leaning against the trunk, pulled his cloak around him and was soon asleep.

  Tanner watched him for a while, but then, as a man walked by him with a jug of cider, reached up and caught him by the arm. “There’s been a murder here. Tell the men that we’ll be up at dawn, so they’d better get some sleep.”

  The man, an older, stout farmer called Cottey, with the red and rosy cheeks of the cider drinker, stared at him uncomprehendingly. “A murder? Who’s dead?”

  “Abbot of Buckland,” said Tanner shortly as he rose. “I’m going to stay on watch. Tell the others to rest or I’ll let one of them do it instead.” A sudden shriek of laughter made him glare round, his voice hissing in his rage. “And tell the daft buggers we’re not on a trip to the fair. The killers could be watching us now.”

  He walked over to a tree near Simon’s sleeping body and stared out at the trees, away from the fire, as the men all began to settle, squabbling and bickering mildly as they fought for positions nearest the fire. Soon, apart from the low murmur of conversations, the camp fell quiet and Tanner could hear the night sounds of the forest come back, as if they could bring normality with them.

  But he could not lose the sensation of brooding evil. The murder had unsettled him, and he felt too disquieted to rest as he stood and maintained his vigil. All he could think of was that someone was out there, maybe even now watching him from deep in among the trees, someone who had killed the abbot. Whoever could do that was capable of anything.

  As he rolled himself up in his cloak and made his first circuit around their camp, he was thinking of his home, where the fire would be roaring now, the flames leaping from the cured oak logs.

  Rodney too was thinking of the heat that a fire could give him as he rode into the little town of North Tawton. Frozen and miserable, he knew that he needed to sit in front of flames and thaw himself out. At the same time, his horse needed a dry place and fresh hay, a place to rest the night. The small hamlet was little more than a street with fifteen houses, one of which was an inn, and it was here that the knight reined in. There was a stable block at the back, reached by a low gateway, so he dismounted and led the mare in before walking through to the inn’s main room.

  The next morning was chill and damp. A thick mist lay all around, with no breeze to disperse it, and the men all rose stiff and cold from their sleep.

  Tanner had periodically thrown more branches on the fire and kept it going through the night, so they all huddled round it and tried to absorb a little of the heat. The constable walked up and down as they sat and crouched, hunched against the cold, and only when they all seemed fully awake did he gently shake Simon by the shoulder.

  “Come on, sir. Let’s find these bastards!”

  Simon woke slowly, and when he did he still seemed dazed, as if he was still half asleep, the shock of the previous day lying heavily on him as if the sleep had not relaxed him at all. Tanner brought him some cured meat where he sat and stood over him while he ate, like a guard protecting his lord. He would not let Simon get up until he had finished the food, which he did with a wry grin, and then led him over to the men.

  “Right. The bailiff here found the body of the abbot in the woods yesterday…”

  “Let me, Stephen,” interrupted Simon quietly. He faced the men and continued softly, talking slowly and carefully. “The abbot was taken hostage by two men and taken into the woods. His companions thought he was being taken for money, and they raised the alarm. But the men tied him to a tree and killed him – they killed him by burning him at the stake. We have to find the men who did it. While they’re free, all of us are in danger, because if they can do this to an abbot they can do it to anyone. Who’s the best hunter here?”

  “That’d be John Black,” said one of the men and, following his gaze, Simon saw him, his short, wiry figure sitting close to the fire as he held his hands out to the flames. He did not even look up as Tanner continued.

  “John? Do you think you can track a horse through the woods?”

  “Yes,” said Black calmly.

  Simon looked him over. The man exuded a quiet confidence and seemed certain of his ability.

  “Alright. We’ll need someone to go over to Buckland as well to let the monks know what’s happened. Paul, could you do that?” said Tanner. Paul, old Cottey’s son, a slim youth of some sixteen years, nodded with evident relief, clearly glad not to have to follow the tracks. He had a fast horse and should be able to get to Buckland more quickly than any of the others.

  They split up and caught their horses. Swiftly, now that dawn had broken, they all packed up and loaded their baggage on to their animals, then, when they were all ready, Simon motioned to Black and he led the way into the forest, pulling his horse gently by the reins. Simon went next and the others followed on behind.

  Simon was surprised to find that the trees seemed to have lost their feeling of lowering malevolence in the fresh green light that filtered through the leaves. Perhaps it was the other men behind him, maybe it was the fact that he already knew what lay in the clearing, but, whatever the reason, he felt none of the trepidation of the previous evening, just the slow burning glow of his anger. The other men all seemed to be nervous, walking quietly and without speaking as they led their horses into the trees. They seemed aware that this was no ordinary murder, that until the killers were caught they would all be forced to live in fear. Perhaps they were aware that even when they were caught and had been punished, their lives could not be the same, because even when the murderers had been destroyed, their lives would still be marked permanently by the killers’ actions in these woods, as if the killing of the abbot had scarred each of them by its viciousness.

  There was another factor as well, which Simon was only too well aware of. The abbot was a wealthy and important man, of noble blood – for no one else would be given the position of abbot. That meant that he, as bailiff, must catch his murderers, no matter what. Brewer’s death must wait, he was merely a villein and it was not even certain that he had been murdered, whereas this abbot… He twitched, as if he felt the responsibility as a physical burden, then sighed as he stumbled on. If he could catch the men responsible, it would enhance his position – but if he failed?

  It took them over an hour to reach the first clearing. They all stood among the trees while Black scrutinised the ground all round, then studied the droppings. Shrugging, he rose from his crouch and followed Simon’s pointing finger to the clearing where the body stood. As he followed Black, Simon could feel his legs become heavier. It was almost as if he was unconsciously trying to keep himself away from the sight of the body, but he forced himself on, walking steadily behind the tracker.

  As he came through the line of trees, Black stopped suddenly and Simon could hear his quick intake of breath as he took in the surroundings. Then, as if he had given himself a swift rebuke for allowing himself to be distracted, he concentrated on the ground again.

  He looked over his shoulder at Simon, his brow furrowed with the effort of his hunt and his dark eyes troubled, and tossed the reins of his horse over to him before slowly walking over the ground and studying it intently. He paced around the small clearing, walking all round the perimeter until he came to the opposite edge, and stood there staring at the trees for a few minutes. Then he continued pacing the circumference until he arrived back with Simon.

  “Not much to tell, sir,” he said, his brow still wrinkled with the effort of his search. “Three men came in the first clearing, all on horseback. One left his horse there. Other horses were tethered nearby. The dead man was dragged here and tied to the tree, you can s
ee where his feet dragged on the ground. Then the others piled up brushwood round him and made a fire. Looks like they waited until the prisoner was dead, you can see where they sat down over there to watch.” He pointed. “When he was dead, they led their horses away through the trees at the other end of the clearing, over there. The last horse ran off at some point, obviously before the others left the place. They didn’t bother to chase it.”

  “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. “All 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 an
d 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.”