‘It is not Simon’s fault if Despenser has grown bitter towards him,’ Baldwin said shortly. ‘Simon cannot be blamed for attempting to uphold the rule of the law.’
‘I can blame him!’ Charles spat. ‘I can blame him and anyone else for bringing this disaster upon our house. The bastard should have kept quiet and not threatened the livelihood of his own daughter and son-in-law like this!’
‘It is his daughter I am most concerned about,’ Baldwin said. ‘She is missing now. Have you seen her since last afternoon?’
‘No. She left here in the morning yesterday, and we haven’t seen her since,’ Jan said. She had an earnest expression, as though to confirm that she was indeed keen to help.
‘She stayed at my house, but tried to ride back here first thing in the morning,’ Baldwin admitted. ‘We had no idea she would try such a thing, but I saw she was gone as soon as I rose.’
‘Good!’ Charles said. ‘Perhaps if she is gone, the sheriff will release my boy and let us return to normal!’
‘Husband, good husband,’ Jan murmured. She walked across the floor to his side. ‘Don’t be cruel to her. She is our family now, and this is not her making.’
‘She sprang from the cods of that fool her father,’ Charles said. ‘I rue the day I first saw her.’
Baldwin grunted impatiently. ‘Well, if you will take that attitude, there is little more to be said. I will wish you God speed. However, if you have a brain left in your head, you will try to bring food and wine to your son. He will be in sore need of good food and drink. Also, bribe the guards to look after him and tell you when anything untoward is threatened to him. In that way, you may do him good.’
He turned to leave, but suddenly there was a scraping on the floor and he realised that Charles was flying towards him. Baldwin made no move, but suddenly Edgar was at his side, and with a swift rasp of steel his sword flashed out. The point came to rest on Charles’s throat.
‘Call your dog off me!’ Charles snarled.
Baldwin stepped back, pulling on his gloves. He lifted the sword up and away, but continued walking towards Charles, who took a pace or two backwards at the sight of Baldwin’s face.
‘First, Master Charles, you are lucky to be alive. Most men who try to hurt me while my servant is at my side only ever have the opportunity to make one attempt. Second, my friend Simon is a good, honourable, upright man who would walk over fire to help you and your son. You would do well to attempt similar loyalty in return. Third, his daughter is one of the kindest, most delightful young women in the city. You forget yourself when you do nothing to find her now when she could be lying in a ditch at the side of the road. It is one thing to think only of yourself, but when that means deserting your own daughter-in-law, your behaviour sinks below the level of the meanest felon in the city.’
‘I seek to protect my son.’
‘You should also seek to protect the others who are now in your care,’ Baldwin said. ‘Reflect on that.’
He strode from the room, unable to trust himself to say more. The behaviour of the man struck him as so dishonourable, so demeaning, he would have expected to see it in the actions of a mere tanner or scavenger, not in a man of position and importance.
But perhaps he was being unreasonable. The man was a merchant, not a knight. He was no warrior, but a man of numbers and money. He had no experience of coping with threats and the power of a man with money and men behind him.
Baldwin was still musing on Charles and his problems when he found himself confronted by the watchman again. Gil was frowning and chewing his inner lips.
‘You wanted me?’ Baldwin asked mildly.
‘Sir Baldwin, I don’t know whether it matters or anything, but there’s a man saw Mistress Edith earlier today.’
Baldwin was listening, but after a day of travelling, of being browbeaten by the sheriff, and now with his mind full of thoughts of the man he had just left, it took a moment before he comprehended what Gil had said.
‘What? Are you sure he said today?’
‘Yes. It was old Arthur. I met him at the gate earlier. He said he was sure that he saw the mistress heading back west on the Crediton road. She didn’t look happy, he said, but the man with her was enough to make anyone look unhappy.’
Baldwin felt at last as though he was getting somewhere, and there was a wash of relief that flooded his body as he smiled at Gil, but then he realised what he had said. ‘Edgar, quick! Someone has taken Edith and has forced her to ride west from here. We must hurry and follow.’
‘We will not be able to leave the city now,’ Edgar said. ‘The gates will be shut.’
Baldwin nodded, but he looked at Gil. ‘This lady has been captured, you understand me? She has been taken against her will, and even now she may be lying injured at the side of a road – or suffering much worse at the hands of her captors. Will you aid us?’
‘Any way I can, Sir Baldwin,’ Gil said.
‘I need to leave the city. Now!’
Fourth Tuesday after the Feast of the Archangel Michael*
Nymet Traci
Edith woke with a sore head and the feeling that all was not well. As soon as she opened her eyes, her mouth fell open in a silent scream as the events of the last days came flooding back. She scrabbled away from the bed, falling to the floor and pushing herself backwards to the corner of the wall, where she sat, back jammed hard against it, panting hard like a trapped mouse.
Her hands were sore, but not so bad as she had feared the night before. Her neck was rough too, where the rope had abraded the skin, but generally she did not feel as though she had been too severely treated. In large part, she knew, that was due to the caution of her captor.
Looking about her, the room was a comfortable enough little chamber. She recalled last night seeing that it was in the solar of the hall. Where the knight Sir Robert had one end of the roof space for himself, this room at the opposite end of the hall had been allocated for her. It was warm up here in the eaves, but that was no cause for pleasure on her part. She was aware of an overwhelming rage at her treatment. Stolen away from the road, when she was trying to return to her home and her husband.
Her husband! In her fit of anger at being taken, she had forgotten all about poor Peter, and yet he was still there in the gaol in Exeter, no doubt. He would be terrified, sitting there in the gloom, without companionship or comfort of any sort. Just the thought of his suffering was enough to make the tears well up in her eyes again.
There was a window in the far wall, and she crossed to it, letting the shutter fall down and peering out. The view was to the west, but if she craned her neck she could see the huge rounded mass of Cawsand Beacon over to the south and west. It was enough to make her feel just a little soothed. There were few enough sights that could help her, but the knowledge that Dartmoor was close was itself balm to her soul. She had been so happy there with her parents at Lydford, at their old house.
While she stared, she heard the door open behind her. Instantly she whirled about, keeping to the wall. ‘What do you want?’
The man who had entered was only a little older than her. He had a beard already, which was thick and black, and his eyes were a strange pale grey colour. His body was slim, but powerful. He gave the impression of whipcord instead of muscles. ‘Awake? Good.’
‘Who are you?’
‘You can call me Basil of Nymet Traci, wench.’
She was suddenly aware of his power as he allowed his eyes to slip down her figure. He made her feel as though she was naked, as though he could see through her thin shift, and his gaze passed lingeringly over her breasts and her rounding stomach, down her legs, and back to her face again. ‘It is good to see that the daughter of the troublemaker is so handsome,’ he said. ‘It’ll make the whole process more interesting.’
‘Who are you? What do you want with me?’
‘What I would like with you would be a good roll in the hay, mistress. You look as though you’d be a bawdy wench. Do you kno
w how to waggle your tail? But what you mean to ask is, why are you here, isn’t it? And that is easier to answer. You are being held here to make sure that your father behaves himself.’
‘What does that mean?’ Edith demanded. ‘He will behave honourably at all times.’
‘Oh, you’d best hope not,’ the man chuckled. He stood aside, and a small, frightened woman entered with a trencher holding some pottage and a wooden spoon, with a jug of ale in the other hand. She set them on the floor near Edith, and hurried from the room again. The man looked her over once more, with a smile of appreciation, and then closed the door quietly behind him.
She heard the bolt slide across, and then sat on her mattress, staring down at the food and drink.
It made her feel like throwing up.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jacobstowe
‘Wake up, Simon, it’s time to get moving!’
Simon came to only slowly. The past day, with the travelling and the investigation when they had arrived here, had made him groggy. At least this time it was not a result of the coroner’s carousing for the night, he told himself wearily as he rolled himself off the palliasse. He shivered in the cool morning air as he pulled on a tunic.
‘Ye know, Simon, that drink last night was not all bad. I was quite taken by his strong ale. It was well flavoured, and it’s given me not the faintest after-effect whatever. Sometimes, you know, I can feel a vague lassitude in the morning after a few quarts, but today – no! I feel absolutely wonderful.’
They were in a small room at the rear of the tavern, a lean-to chamber that had all the comforts of a pigsty, but did at least appear to have clean straw in the palliasses, and although Simon was aware of an itch, he didn’t think it was the result of flea bites but of a straw that had stabbed him during the night.
There was a leather pail of water, and Simon went to it and cupped a handful over his head and neck. It was freezing cold, but enormously refreshing, and he closed his eyes and thrust his head into the bucket. ‘Ah, that’s better!’ he gasped.
‘You’re mad. Ye know that, don’t you?’ Sir Richard said with affable amusement. ‘Food’ll be ready in a few moments, so if you want some, ye’d best hurry.’
‘I will take it with me,’ Simon said as he pulled on hosen and boots. ‘I never eat this early in the morning.’
‘You will fade to naught if you’re not careful,’ the coroner said disapprovingly.
The door opened behind him, and Mark entered. He looked dishevelled and pasty, and entirely unamused.
‘Good morrow, monk,’ the coroner said. ‘Been praying?’
‘If my prayers held any force, Sir Richard, you would be dead even now,’ Brother Mark said with cold loathing.
‘Eh? What have I done?’
Simon grinned as he slipped his linen chemise over his head. ‘Mark, do not worry. After the third or fourth night, either you are so tired that you sleep immediately anyway, or you grow accustomed to the snoring.’
‘Me? Snore?’ the coroner demanded with shock. ‘Never snored in me life!’
‘We shall go as soon as the horses are ready?’ Mark asked Simon, studiously ignoring the coroner.
‘Yes. I want to head down past Hoppon’s place and see where the reeve Bill could have been going when he was murdered.’
He wasn’t keen to mention that the only place that appeared to make sense, after talking to the host of the tavern last night, was the castle over towards Bow. It would be better to follow any trail they might and see where it took them, and it was in that frame of mind that he mounted his old rounsey and began to ride off towards Hoppon’s house.
It was a cool morning, but the clouds were very high and the sky was a perfect blue. Looking at it, Simon was convinced that the weather would remain dry and probably would grow quite warm. With that in mind, he didn’t pull on his heavier jerkin, but merely tugged his cloak around him. Later he would be able to loosen it as he became hotter with the ride.
Their road was fine all along to the place where they had been told the reeve’s body had been found. From there Simon eyed the ground carefully, looking for cart tracks and horses’ hoofprints. There were many of them all over the ground here. However, there was no road south that he could see being taken by any of the prints, only a steady movement east.
He continued along after them, his eyes for the most part fixed on the mess of mud and churned grass, but in reality there was no need for him to keep on staring down. The truth was, the men who had come here had been remarkably lax in concealing their way. Others might take a route of stonier paths, or ride up along a stream bed, but these had the arrogance of knights who knew that they were safe from arrest. Their position afforded them total assurance. Well, Simon intended to prove that they were wrong in that conviction.
It was as they rode up a hill that Simon realised how far they had already come. He could see on the side of another hill not far away a town that seemed familiar. He quickly ran through their route. They had already passed Sampford Courtenay and North Tawton, and now they were at the foot of the hill to Bow, he realised. A good distance already. But the trail was not leading them direct to Bow; it was heading more southerly.
There was a little hamlet, and as they trotted towards it, Simon saw an older man in his doorway shelling peas.
After giving the customary greetings, Simon indicated the path he was following. ‘Where do all these go, master?’
The peasant was a kindly old man with a ready smile. His hair was almost pure white, but his eyebrows were grizzled with black to show his original colour. His skin was the same dark, ruddy colour as Simon’s own, and his eyes were as brown as well-cured leather and as sharp as any lawyer’s. His name, he said, was John Pasmere.
‘Why do you want to know, sirs?’ he enquired.
‘Because they could be the prints of murderers,’ Sir Richard said.
The peasant kept his eyes on Simon. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Someone died?’
‘You don’t want to help king’s officers?’ Simon asked.
‘There are people whom it is not a good idea to upset, sir.’
Simon nodded. ‘And some will threaten much to a man who betrays them. Especially when the fellow is dependent upon them for his home.’
‘Aye.’
‘On the other hand, the men here may have set upon a large party travelling through, and robbed the king,’ Simon said. ‘Any who aid outlaws and felons who’ve robbed the king could be viewed as enemies of the king.’
The old man glanced behind Simon at the coroner. ‘Oh, aye? And what would a man do then, I wonder?’ he said sarcastically. ‘Have himself arrested and forced to tell under peine fort et dure?’
‘Very likely,’ Sir Richard grated. ‘Since a man concealing such information is aiding the king’s enemies, I’d personally recommend that it be pursued to the extreme limits of his endurance.’
‘Which would take hardly any time for you, old man,’ Mark said.
John Pasmere peered at the monk. ‘Aren’t you a little young to be warning older men about their life expectancies?’
Simon threw his reins to Mark, in large part to stop the young monk from making any further intervention. ‘Friend, let us enter your home for a moment.’ He dropped from his horse and walked to the house.
Inside it was a sparse little dwelling, but the man had obviously enjoyed the better weather of the summer. He had a filled wood store, his chimney had a whole ham slung over the fire, and there were herbs hanging from the rafters. ‘This is a goodly home.’
‘Meaning, I suppose, that it’ll be a shame to lose it? Look, sir, I know what you are about. You want me to tell you all, and you will threaten me with losing my home and limbs and life if I don’t. You see, the problem I have is, they threaten the same. And to be honest, I think that they will be the more savage about it. You understand my dilemma? I think my choice is made.’
‘That is interesting,’ Simon said. ‘Because I was going to do
nothing but ask you. I have no threats to offer. Only the good of the vill and the shire. Whoever killed that party will continue to kill others. A man who thinks he has nothing to fear from the law is a danger to all.’
‘But he has no fear. Don’t you realise?’
‘Realise what?’
‘The man you seek has been given the right by the king and his friend.’
‘I don’t understand you.’
‘The king has a close friend and adviser,’ John Pasmere said with the attitude of a man tested beyond patience. ‘Despenser. And the man who did all this is a friend of the king’s friend. He has recently come here to take over the manor. With Despenser’s support.’
‘That is no reason to murder travellers. Nor a local reeve merely trying to learn what really happened,’ Simon said.
‘What reeve?’
‘The fellow elected to serve the vill of Jacobstowe. All I’ve heard says he was a good man.’
‘About this tall? Strong fellow?’
‘I don’t know. I never met him. But I heard much. And he didn’t deserve to die, certainly not without having his death avenged.’
‘I saw a man,’ John Pasmere said slowly. ‘He appeared here, just like you, and he was keen to learn who’d killed the travellers. This would be the same man, I think. Bill?’
‘Bill Lark. Yes,’ Simon said.
‘Shite! Those bastards! They think they can just slaughter any, don’t they?’ John Pasmere said, and he slumped down on to his stool.
Simon studied him closely. There was little to show his thoughts, but he had suddenly blanched, and all his strength, which Simon had seen out in the open air, appeared to have fled. He was now just an old man, aged before his time.
‘If you will tell naught, I will leave you, friend,’ Simon said quietly. ‘There’s no threats. But Lark had a wife and child. She’s widowed – the babe’s lost his father. How many others have to die?’
‘Poor bugger,’ John Pasmere said, shaking his head. ‘You say you are a bailiff. Is that true?’
‘Yes. I am,’ Simon said. He was about to explain that this was only a temporary position with the Cardinal de Fargis, that he had lost his old post on Dartmoor, but something made him hold his tongue. There were times, as his friend Baldwin often said, when it was better by far to be silent than to chatter on. Occasionally a witness wanted to talk, and then it was best to wait and listen.
No Law in the Land: (Knights Templar 27) Page 27
