No Law in the Land: (Knights Templar 27)

by Michael Jecks

  ‘Baldwin!’ Simon protested. ‘It’ll be dark before we get even remotely close to your home. It is now nearly sunset. We shall have to stay in Exeter the night.’

  Baldwin looked ahead at the sun starting to sink down below the hills westwards, then up at the clouds looming overhead, before reluctantly nodding. ‘I suppose we’d be unlikely to make it home tonight.’

  ‘Not even a remote chance,’ Simon said. He shifted in his saddle. ‘We’ve made excellent time in the last four days. I don’t intend to break my neck for the sake of saving a few hours tomorrow morning. Much though I’d like to see Jeanne and Richalda and little Baldwin, not to mention my own family, there’s no point flogging our way over the country in the dark.’

  ‘True enough,’ Baldwin agreed. The potholes could be lethal in dim light. There was a man last year who had seen a hat floating in a puddle in a roadway, and when he lifted it, discovered the owner was still wearing it. The poor fellow had already drowned. There were so many little holes in the road, and occasionally they would grow more vast as a result of sudden rainfall, and the unwary would die. Even much shallower holes held their own risks, for they could break a horse’s leg, throw a rider, and result in the deaths of both.

  Sir Richard sucked at his teeth. ‘There’s usually a room at a little tavern I know,’ he said hopefully. ‘Excellent ale, better wine, and the food’s acceptable too. I’d—’

  Simon hastily interrupted. ‘I am sure that my daughter would be happy to give us some space in her home.’

  ‘Your daughter?’ Sir Richard asked.

  ‘Yes. Edith married on the morrow of the Feast of Gordianus and Epimachus,* and lives now with her man in Exeter,’ Simon said. ‘Peter is a keen merchant. Was apprenticed, but now he’s working with his father, who’s a merchant too. With any luck he’ll be allowed to enter the Freedom of the City, and then who knows? My grandchildren may be born into the city themselves, and have all the advantages.’

  Baldwin smiled at his expression. ‘You would like that, wouldn’t you, Simon?’

  ‘Like it? The idea is wonderful,’ Simon said, a little more sharply than he intended. He tried to cover his tone with a chuckle and an apologetic grin. ‘You come from a knightly family, Baldwin. You can’t quite appreciate the difference between being born a free man and being born a serf. The idea that my grandchildren will have the benefit of being born in the city is marvellous. I’d never have expected that.’

  ‘Then let’s go and see her house,’ Sir Richard said. ‘Any daughter of yours must be a sight to behold – especially if she has access to her own wine cellar,’ he added hopefully.

  St Pancras Lane, Exeter

  ‘Are you sure you know where you’re going?’ Baldwin asked for the third time.

  ‘I have only heard where the house is, I haven’t been here before,’ Simon said.

  He was rapidly growing alarmed. Edith had told him that her house was down this lane, he was sure. The place, she had said, had a limewashed front, with two large windows and a second storey that hung over the street. It had been the home to her husband Peter when he was younger, but Peter’s parents had built a new house further east, nearer the Guild Hall, and had given their older house to Peter and his wife. He was their only son, after all.

  ‘Well if you can’t find it,’ the coroner said happily, ‘there’s a very excellent-looking tavern over there. Perhaps they have a room that we could share, eh? God’s blood, but a haunch of meat and a jug of good strong Guyennois wine would go down very well. There’s a gap there where my belly used to be. My brain’s telling me all’s well, but my heart reckons some evil bastard’s cut my throat.’

  ‘It must be here,’ Simon said.

  The three were standing near the line of houses on the eastern side of the road, and now he looked up and down again. ‘If we don’t get there soon, we’ll be breaking the curfew.’

  ‘Talk of the devil,’ Sir Richard said, jerking his head.

  Approaching them with a scowl that would have graced a mastiff was a tall, gangly fellow. He wore a leather jerkin, his hood was over his ears, and his waxed cloak rustled noisily. Yet although he was not the most prepossessing figure, the staff in his hands was a tool to be reckoned with. ‘You are out late, masters.’

  ‘Aye,’ Sir Richard said. ‘We are a little confused in our ways, I think.’

  ‘Confused, eh? Perhaps you’d like me to help unconfuse you?’

  Baldwin glanced at the others. They were all cloaked against the chill, and he wondered whether the lad had realised that two of them were knights. Certainly his tone was not respectful. If anything, he sounded peevishly suspicious. Even as Baldwin turned to glance back, he saw the lad was gripping his staff more truculently. It was pointing at Sir Richard – which did, at least, demonstrate to Baldwin that the fellow knew how to spot the most dangerous of the three.

  ‘Friend,’ Baldwin said, ‘please be calm. This man here is the father of a mistress who lives along this road, but we have not visited her home before. She only married earlier this year.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  Simon grunted. ‘Edith. She married Peter, son of—’

  ‘The merchant Charles? Oh, that’s all right. I can show you the way there,’ the lad said. Suddenly he was all affability. ‘Sorry, lordings, but there are so many strangers who cause mayhem now. Some little scrotes kicked in a couple of doors two nights ago, and when my mate Phil went to talk to them, they kicked him in too. Poor bastard’s up in his bed yet with a broken head. And then there’s been all the other murders outside the city too. Don’t blame you for coming here to stay the night. Dangerous all over the shire nowadays. There’s no law in the land.’

  ‘It was easy enough when we left,’ Baldwin said.

  ‘Aye, well, maybe that was a while ago. There are so many men wandering the roads now without any way to support themselves, if you know what I mean.’

  As he spoke he took them up the road, along a short lane, and to a large limewashed front.

  ‘This is it,’ he said, rapping sharply on the door.

  Baldwin and Simon thanked him, and Baldwin gave him a penny for his trouble. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m called Gil. Well, my name was Gilbert, but no one calls me that. Thank you, my lord. God speed you all!’ the watchman said as he left them, backing away respectfully with a happy smile on his face.

  ‘God speed,’ Baldwin said. ‘Be careful, my friend. As you say, the streets can be dangerous.’

  Simon was not listening. The door had opened, and as soon as it did, he beamed with pleasure to see his daughter.

  Edith’s face was one of utter shock at first as she registered who was waiting on her doorstep. Then, with a gasped ‘Father!’ she flung herself into his arms.

  Chapter Seven

  Ashridge, North Tawton

  Sir Peregrine de Barnstaple was grateful for the peace. He sank into the chair with a grunt of contentment and closed his eyes for a moment. This was a pleasant manor, made all the more delightful by the absence of the knight who owned it. Although Sir Peregrine would usually be reluctant to enter the house of any man when the master was away, Sir John of Ashridge was rarely here, and always made it plain that he would be delighted were the coroner to visit when he had need of a roof. And rarely had Sir Peregrine had more need than tonight.

  The bodies at Jacobstowe appeared to be the beginning of a small epidemic of corpses. There was the son of a merchant who’d slipped on a stone and entirely accidentally struck his head on the wall surrounding a well; a miller who’d stumbled on his way home from the alehouse, only to fall into his own mill pool and drown; a farrier who had been kicked by the destrier he was trying to shoe – that had been a messy death, with his ribs all crushed and blood everywhere. Yes, all in all there had been a flurry of unpleasant deaths and he would be glad to escape the area shortly.

  He had only recently been given his duties. For many years he had been a loyal servant of Sir Hugh de Cour
tenay, the Baron of Devon, and his family. But Sir Peregrine had been so determined to see to the overthrow of Despenser and the other hangers-on in the king’s household that he had eventually made Sir Hugh anxious for his own safety. Although the two men had not fallen out, it became clear in the aftermath of the battle at Boroughbridge that it was not safe for a man to continue to agitate for change. As the bodies of those who had opposed Despenser were tarred and hanged over the gates to all the cities of the realm, while others were quartered and hung in chains at York, London and elsewhere, Sir Peregrine had been forced to leave Sir Hugh’s household.

  However Sir Hugh was still his friend. He had managed to see to it that Sir Peregrine was given a number of duties that, while not compensating him for his position in Sir Hugh’s entourage, would at least give him a means of sustaining himself. And he had made it clear to all the knights in his household that those who sought to continue to be viewed favourably by Sir Hugh would do well to look after Sir Peregrine’s interests.

  Sir Peregrine ordered food and wine and settled back as a servant boy came in and lighted the fire. Before long, sparks were flying from the tinder and the small sticks set over it, while the lad blew carefully and then began to construct the beginnings of the fire over the top.

  It was one of those tasks that always made Sir Peregrine feel intensely sad. This was the sort of duty he would have enjoyed teaching a son. In his life he had met many women, but none had survived to marry him, although many had won his affection. If there was one thing that could have made his life complete, it would have been to be married with a son. A lad he could teach and educate, someone who could take his name and become heir to his little manors and farms. Without an heir, all was pointless.

  Later, as the fire roared and he sat before it with a goblet of hot wine and water, feeling the warmth coursing through his veins, he had the call to the next body.

  It was to become the most serious murder of his year.

  East Gate of Exeter

  The man arrived at the gates just in time, cantering as fast as his mount would take him. ‘Urgent messages,’ he called desperately as he saw the gates beginning to move.

  The heavy oak timbers squeaked and groaned, but even as Stephen of Shoreditch wondered whether he would be too late, he saw the man peering around the first of the gates.

  No one would want to be left out here, he told himself, riding on, casting about him. There were suburbs in all cities, of course, but few had the atmosphere of lowering danger that this one bore.

  Riding up the roadway from Heavitree, he had been happy with the sight of all the well-built houses, but here … all was empty, all desolate. No inn or tavern, only a lowering sense of threat. He didn’t like it. Nor did he like the fact of the rumours that even king’s messengers had been captured and killed within the city walls. The life of a man like him was worth nothing after dark and outside a city’s security.

  ‘Let me through. Urgent messages for the castle,’ he shouted, and drew back his cloak to show the king’s arms on his breast.

  ‘You’re too late. Come back in the morning.’

  ‘You want that? You want me to report you to the king? I’ll be pleased, porter. Tell him how I was delayed from delivering his messages. You know what the king does to those who thwart him?’

  There was a moment’s silence, and he felt the dark eyes on him. ‘Best get in,’ the old man said at last with a bad grace. ‘And I’ll have you taken to the castle, since your business is so urgent.’

  ‘God save you, porter.’

  ‘He’ll have to. No other bugger will,’ the gatekeeper muttered, but drew the door open a little.

  St Pancras Lane

  Edith felt as though she was going to burst with pleasure to see her father. ‘Come in, Father, come in! God you keep! And Sir Baldwin? I am so glad to see you again.’

  Her father saw her hesitation. ‘This is a good friend of ours, daughter. Sir Richard de Welles, the Coroner of Lifton. Sir Richard, this is my daughter Edith.’

  ‘Mistress, I am delighted to meet you. I have heard much of you from your father. He said you were a beautiful and accomplished woman, and I see he was telling nothing less than the truth.’

  ‘Please, my lords, come into my hall,’ she said, trying to conceal her delight at his words. Clapping her hands, she summoned a young maidservant. ‘Jane, fetch my husband’s wine.’

  She could see her father’s eyes going to the hangings on the wall and the picture at the further end. She was proud of her house, naturally, but it was a delight to see how his eyes gleamed to see such wealth displayed. Not because she wanted him to be jealous, but because she knew he would be happy to see that she was as well off as he could have wished. The house was a proof of that. He need have no fears for her future.

  As soon as the maid was back, Edith stood in the middle of the hall and dispensed wine to the visitors. ‘You will excuse my husband. He has been out working with his father, but I am sure that he will soon return, and he will be so pleased to see you, Father.’

  ‘Aye, well, I’ll be pleased to see him too,’ her father said gruffly.

  His tone made her smile. ‘And now, what are you doing here? I had heard from Mother that she was moving back to the old house, of course. I was sorry about that, Father.’

  He nodded.

  Edith had seen the effect of the man sent to bully her family from their home in Lydford. The man, William atte Wattere, had been in their hall, fighting her father, when she entered with her fiancé to ask Simon’s permission to marry. The sight had terrified her. It was the first time she had witnessed her father in a fight, and although there was a fierce pride in her heart when she saw him knock the sword of his enemy away and force the fellow to submit, the scene had petrified her. Afterwards she had upbraided her husband-to-be for not leaping to the defence of her father, but as he had reasonably pointed out, he was not trained in the use of a sword, and Simon was. If he had joined in, he would have been as likely to be killed as to help Simon.

  ‘We are just returned from France,’ her father said.

  As he spoke, telling her about travelling with the bishop all the way to Paris to protect the king’s heir, and their dangerous adventures while over there, Edith sat and listened attentively.

  It was good. She hadn’t seen her father since May, when she had been married, and now, perhaps for the first time, she felt as though she was being treated as an adult, equal in maturity with him. Always before she had felt that Simon was humouring her, as any father would, but not now. With her marriage, she had crossed a great gulf, and where before she was a child, now she was a woman. Patting her belly, she knew how true that was.

  Simon didn’t notice, but she saw Baldwin’s dark eyes flash towards her. He was always so understanding, she thought. He had a quick intuition that was almost feminine. Now she said nothing, but merely smiled. It would be wrong for her to tell Sir Baldwin before her mother.

  ‘So you are on your way home again now?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Simon said with a quiet stillness that she understood only too well.

  She leaned forward and rested her hand on his. ‘Father, I know it was awful the way that man behaved, but you are better at Sandford anyway. I’m happy to know that you are nearer us.’

  ‘It was just the thought that he could evict me so easily, without any compunction,’ Simon said.

  Baldwin shot a look at Edith. ‘It is the way of such men, Simon. You have to appreciate that there is no safety for any man in the realm while Despenser holds so much power. At least now he has done all he intends, so far as we can tell. Go home to Sandford, run your farm and enjoy life.’

  ‘Sir Baldwin is right, Father. And the good thing for me is that I can visit you sometimes. It’s only half a day’s journey from here, and it will be very pleasant to see you and Mother more often.’

  ‘Have you seen Meg?’ Simon asked.

  ‘She is fine, Father. If anything, I think she is hap
pier now than she has been for a long time.’

  ‘Yes. I can imagine that,’ Simon said quietly.

  ‘And I am happier,’ Edith repeated. ‘I know that while you are closer to us here, we can help you if you need anything.’

  ‘I don’t think you need any help anyway,’ Simon said with a smile, turning the goblet over in his hand.

  Edith smiled. ‘My husband is a good man,’ she said with quiet certainty.

  Fourth Friday after the Feast of the Archangel Michael*

  Sandford Barton, Sandford

  Simon saw the smoke rising from the chimney as he breasted the hill and could stare down at the house.

  ‘A goodly home,’ Sir Richard said.

  ‘But what is that for?’ Simon said.

  ‘It is a house, Simon,’ the coroner said with some surprise. ‘What else is it for but to help old devils like you and me to rest weary bones in front of a fire. What do you mean?’

  ‘That thing! The chimney!’ When he had last been here to his old home, it had been a simple longhouse, with the stable block at the eastern end, living accommodation on the western, and the happy sight of smoke billowing from the eaves at either end. Now it appeared to have sprouted a large red sandstone chimney. ‘I don’t understand it. What was she thinking of?’

  ‘Does it matter? So long as there is some ale down there, and a bite for lunch, I don’t care about the position of a chimney, old friend,’ the coroner said pragmatically.

  ‘No, of course,’ Simon said, smiling, and spurred his mount down the road towards his home.

  His feelings had nothing to do with the chimney, if he was honest. It was the unsettled feeling he had had since leaving Exeter. Somehow all the while on the journey here from London, his problems had seemed to be fading. All he had been aware of was the sense of relief that he would soon be reunited with his wife. And the fact that Sir Hugh le Despenser was more than a hundred miles to the east. There was no escaping the fact that Simon felt the poisonous fellow was the source of all his woes and hardship.