The Grail Murders

to break away from the rest, their horses fiery, eager for the exercise after close confinement.
    We all spurred and whipped as we reached the bottom of the hill to keep up pace for the snow underfoot made the going heavy, when both Bowyer's horse and that of South-gate suddenly took on a life of their own. They bucked, reared and shot forward like arrows from a bow. Benjamin and I followed quickly afterwards for it was apparent both riders were losing control. Now I realised something was wrong for, as you young men know, if a horse becomes uncontrollable the best thing to do is to dismount as quickly as possible. Bowyer and Southgate tried this but seemed incapable of getting their boots out of the stirrups whilst both were losing control of the reins.
    Southgate managed to move his left foot and swung his leg over but his right boot was still caught. The horse reared, Southgate pitched out of his saddle and was dragged along, one boot still caught in the stirrup. Bowyer's horse was galloping even faster, heading towards the trees. Benjamin shouted at Santerre and Mandeville to follow the sheriff, whilst he and I raced after Southgate, now being dragged along like a rag doll. Benjamin drew level and, in a feat of horsemanship, leaned down and slashed his dagger towards the horse's belly, cutting Southgate's stirrup loose.
    We dismounted and crouched beside him. God knows, he was a grisly mess: the back of his head and legs were a mass of wounds. He groaned, opened his eyes and lapsed into a swoon.
    Bowyer was not so fortunate. His horse reached the trees where he was hit by a thick, low-hanging branch, knocked out of the saddle and, as his horse careered deeper into the wood, dragged through the brambles and undergrowth, his poor body smashing against each tree.
    The hunt was called off: the whippers-in and the huntsmen despatched, Benjamin ordering them back to the manor and telling them to bring down two stretchers, wine and bandages. Mandeville and Santerre soon returned from the trees; the latter had a crossbow in his hand, Bowyer's corpse sprawled across the saddle bow. There was no need to ask: Bowyer's body was an open wound from head to toe, his face disfigured by a mass of bruises, and the slackness of his head showed his neck had been broken. Mandeville had had to shoot his bolting horse to cut him free. 'Southgate?' he asked wearily.
    'He will live,' Benjamin replied. 'Or, at least, I think he will.' He pointed to Southgate's left leg. 'Broken cleanly, as is one of his arms. God knows what other injuries he suffered.'
    Mandeville crouched in the snow beside his lieutenant. He looked pathetic.
    'Everything is finished,' he groaned. 'The King will not accept this.'
    Benjamin forced a wineskin between his lips, urging him to drink.
    Bowyer's body was immediately sheeted, placed in a pine-wood box packed with snow, put in a cart and sent off to Taunton.
    Back at Templecombe, now over his shock, Mandeville paced around like an angry cat, hurling abuse at Santerre, telling Lady Beatrice to stop screaming and order servants to go down to the village and bring wise women to attend to Southgate. The injured man was taken up to his chamber.
    Later in the day, two old women arrived. Mandeville, pale as a ghost, promised them anything provided his companion recovered. He then packed his belongings saying he would no longer stay in Templecombe and requisitioned carts and horses for a move to Glastonbury Abbey.
    Any last vestige of merriment at Templecombe completely disappeared. The Santerres stayed well away from Mandeville who stalked the galleries and corridors shouting orders at both servants and the dead sheriff's soldiers. On one occasion he met Santerre inside the main hall. Mandeville pointed an accusatory finger at him.
    'I'm leaving, Sir John, but I'll be back in the spring with His Majesty's Justices and a thousand pikemen!' 'Sir Edmund?' Benjamin approached him.
    'What is it, Daunbey?' Mandeville snapped, not even bothering to turn his head. 'You are leaving Templecombe for Glastonbury?'
    'Yes, I am quitting this hell-hole and recommend you do the same.' 'Southgate cannot be moved.' 'He'll die if he stays here,' Mandeville hissed.
    Then perhaps only to the village. Perhaps to the priest's house where he can be guarded by soldiers. Sir Edmund, I beg you, wait a while.
    'We can't leave here,' Benjamin insisted. 'Although no snow has fallen, the trackways are frozen hard. Southgate will die before he even