For the Love of Old Bones - and other stories (Templar Series) by Michael Jecks Read Free Book Online Page B

Abbot's bed.
    Humphrey had lost the veneer of calmness he had developed over such a long period. It had been appalling to him to discover that the Abbot was corrupt — perverted ! How could he respond, he asked, and I told him: simply refuse and walk from the Abbot if he tried it again.
    But now I had to cover my face in my hands at the result.

    I arose preparing to return to the camp, when I heard the scream. Eerie, it seemed to shiver on the air as a gust wafted it toward me. It was as if a hand of ice had clutched at my heart. A trickle of freezing liquid washed down my spine, and I felt the hairs of my head stand erect.
    All at once I remembered the stories of ghosts and demons on the moors. This grim wasteland was home to devils of all kinds who hunted fresh souls with their packs of baying wishhounds. This shriek sounded like that of a soul in torment, and my hand grabbed at my crucifix even as I mouthed the paternoster with a shocked dread.
    Before I could finish, Sir Baldwin was at my side, his sword in his hand. 'Where did it come from?' he rasped, staring northward from us.
    For the second time that day, I was glad to see him, and for the second time I could tell him little. 'Up there somewhere.'
    He gave me a twisted little grin. 'This is hardly what a monk should be used to.'
    'I'm not!' I said grimly. The sight of his unsheathed sword had recovered a little of my courage. The blade was beautiful, fashioned from bright peacock-blue steel.
    He motioned with it. 'Shall we see what caused that noise?'
    'Very well.'
    I had no desire to see this, but equally I had no wish to appear a coward. Also, if it were a human or mortal beast creating that unholy row, I would be safe enough with the knight; while if it were the noise of a devil seeking a soul, I should be as safe out in the moors as I was in the camp. Either way, I knew that however strong my faith should have been, I would feel happier with this armed man at my side.
    'I've told the servants to guard the camp,' Bailiff Puttock said, striding toward us. He carried a coil of rope over one shoulder.
    'Good,' Sir Baldwin said absently. 'Brother Peter thinks the noise came from over there.'
    The Bailiff chuckled. 'I'm afraid not. The wind can do odd things to sounds out here. No, it would have come from there.' He pointed, and soon was leading the way.

    The scream came again as we clambered over rocks and tussocks of loose grass. It was also damp. 'What could that noise be?' I asked.
    Bailiff Puttock cast me a smiling glance. 'Haven't you got bogs near Launceston? It's the sound of a desperate man bellowing for help after falling in one of our mires. Not a nice way to die, that.'
    I realised then what my eyes and feet had been telling me. The ground here trembled underfoot as I placed my feet upon it, and the grasses each carried an odd, white pennant at the tip of their stems: this was no grass, it was a field of rushes.
    'Watch my feet and step only in my own footprints,' the Bailiff commanded.
    I was happy to obey him. When I lost concentration for a moment, my leg slipped up to the shin in foul, evil-looking mud. I muttered a curse, and as I pulled my foot free, there came another cry. It scarcely sounded human.
    We scrambled up to the top of a ridge, and upon the other side we had a clear view for some miles. There, at the edge of a field of white rush flowers, we saw a man's head. His arms were outspread and one gripped at something, a bush or twig.
    'He's further gone than I'd thought,' the Bailiff muttered before springing down the gentle incline, the knight, his sword now sheathed, and I stumbling along as best we could. At the base of the hill was a kind of path made of stepping-stones and we had to hop from one to another until we came close to the mire.
    'Christ Jesus; praise the saints! Thank you, thank you, thank you!'
    'My God!' I said. 'It's him!'
    The Bailiff grinned. 'Meet Hamo!'
    It took time to persuade the moor to give up its victim. When we