No Law in the Land: (Knights Templar 27)

by Michael Jecks

The sheriff’s face had blanched. ‘But holding a treasonous fellow shows how I am working to bring order back to this godforsaken land,’ he tried.

  Sir Peregrine laughed aloud at that. ‘Oh, yes. But of course the rumours are that you are merely taking bribes for such arrests as you have made. And the allegations are … But I should say no more.’

  ‘Allegations?’

  Sir Peregrine departed the room a short while later, leaving behind him a reflective sheriff.

  Later, when the court closed, it was said that the new sheriff appeared to demonstrate more common sense and deliberated more than at any court remembered in the city for these twenty years past. Some wondered whether at last there was a good, honourable sheriff in the castle.

  Sir Peregrine was content to go to the gaol and order Peter’s release. It was only hard to see what could happen to a lad in so short a space of time. The boy brought from the gaol was thin, with sunken eyes and a nervous, fretful manner.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

  ‘I am no one, my friend. Come, let us take you home.’

  Jacobstowe

  Agnes was glad to wake and find that old Emily was still in her room. Someone would be needed to look after the Ant, and Emily had two grandchildren of nearly Ant’s age. When pressed, she declared herself happy to tend to Ant as well for the day, and so soon, once the chickens were fed and the chores completed, Agnes closed the door behind her.

  There was no sign of the coroner and Simon, and when she asked, she was told that they had left early that morning, heading down to Hoppon’s. Agnes decided that they must have a good idea what they were about, and she was assured that they were still trying to find out what they might about the dead men, so she followed after them.

  Hoppon had not seen them, he said, but the hoofprints were clear enough on the road’s surface, and she was determined to carry on after them, but he persuaded her to pause a while and take an ale with him.

  ‘Why would they have gone on down that way?’ he asked.

  ‘They want to know who killed my Bill,’ she said. ‘It was the same men who killed all the travellers, I suppose.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll find them?’

  She looked at him. ‘Bill had worked out who it was, I think. That’s why they killed him.’

  ‘What a world,’ Hoppon said, shaking his head and staring at the ground. He took a long draught of ale. ‘Maid, there’s no good can come of all this. You realise that? If they do learn who’s done it, it can’t help you. It won’t bring Bill back, will it?’

  Agnes looked away, over towards the woods in the distance. ‘I can see him avenged, though. That would be enough. The thing I dread is knowing that the men who killed my Bill could still walk about the land as free as any other. That thought fills me with horror. One of them could have a daughter, and she could meet my Ant and marry him. Without knowing. That would bring shame to us all. And then there’s the fines imposed on us for the murders. The coroner had no choice but to inflict them, but if we could at least find the culprits, there would be some kind of justice for all the hardship and suffering they have caused.’

  Hoppon nodded with a grunt. ‘Is there any news in the vill about these men? Did they say aught last night about what they meant to do?’

  ‘No. Not that I heard. I think they seek to find the killers, and when they do, they will report to their master.’

  ‘Who? The king?’ Hoppon looked genuinely alarmed at the thought.

  ‘No! I think it’s Tavistock, the abbey, that told them to come here. There was a huge sum of money with those travellers. They want to find it.’

  ‘Oh, yes. They said that there was money there,’ Hoppon agreed. But then he glanced up again. ‘Look, Agnes, you shouldn’t be here, though. It’s not your place as a woman to be hunting down men. You should be at home, looking after your child.’

  She looked at him, very straight. ‘And if they hadn’t killed my man, Hoppon, that’s what I would be doing.’

  There was no further discussion after that. She was grateful for his concern, because it obviously sprang from his desire to help and protect her, but he didn’t understand that she was dedicated to helping find the men who had taken her man away from her. It was essential that she did so. There was a flame of hatred burning in her that would engulf her eventually if she didn’t use it to sear them.

  It was very easy to follow the tracks. The path led her along the narrower grassed routes, but on all, the surface had been heavily churned. That itself was strange. Men who wanted to travel generally wanted to hurry. They would eschew these lanes in favour of the broader ways, like the Crediton road. A little way like this was too narrow, making it straightforward for a man to be waylaid. For so many to have passed this way seemed to her to show that their reasons were clandestine, and that itself made them suspicious. She had no doubts already that these tracks were those of the men who had killed the travellers and who had then silenced her husband for ever.

  She continued for several miles, until she reached the top of a level area and found herself alone. Suddenly she was assailed by doubts. It was the first time since she had made her commitment to find her husband’s murderers that she had been prey to such a heavy emotion, but suddenly she realised she had no idea what to do. What was she chasing after Simon and the coroner for? They had a duty to hunt down killers; they had the duty of seeking the king’s stolen property. But she? She had nothing. She didn’t have a reason to be here, not a reason that was justified in law. And if she did find the killers, if she learned who was responsible for Bill’s death, it would help no one. Least of all her. For what could she do against a gang sufficient to attack and slaughter to the last man a force of nineteen?

  Slumping to the ground, she was overwhelmed with the futility of her quest. She had been fooling herself if she thought that she could help to bring justice to her man. There was no justice for someone like Bill. He wasn’t important enough. Not compared with clerics and a box of gold. The tears welled in her eyes, and she began to sob with the desperate unfairness of it all. It was so dreadful, so miserable, so unfortunate. She was all alone, and poor Bill would be forgotten soon, by all around except for her. There would be no one who would recall his smile, no one to remember his gentle humour. Ant would never be able to recall anything about his own father. And the men responsible would still be about.

  That was the truth. Those who committed the most heinous crimes were secure in the knowledge that none dared attack them.

  And then a spark of resentment flared, caught, and engulfed her again. She would not surrender to the strains of such pathetic feelings. Bill deserved better. She would find his murderers and bring vengeance upon them! ‘I will, I will find you all. All who joined to kill my husband, all will pay!’ she vowed aloud.

  She rose and set off again, filled with determination once more. As she walked, she felt sure that she could sense something. It could have been a horse, but when she looked about her, there was none to be seen. The hedge on her left was thick and stock-proof, so there might have been cattle or a horse in there, she thought, but it was impossible to see. No matter, she thought, and carried on.

  But now she grew aware of something else. A steady, rhythmical drumming on the ground. Not too fast, and not too slow, and then, even as she listened to it, it changed, and became a ragged, discordant percussion, and she knew it was cantering horses. There was a shout, a gleeful shriek, and the noise grew quickly louder.

  She was aware of her heart thundering in her breast as though it was beating in time to the hoofbeats. Panic was rising as she thought that these might well be the very same men who had brought her here today. If they were, she would not be able to escape them. There was no escape from a band such as this. There was no running away from men on horseback, and no hope that standing still and looking chaste would save her.

  There was a small tree that was not cut down, though. She might be able to clamber up it and into the field beyond.
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  It was better than staying here to be caught or raped and killed. She darted to it, and began to scramble up the sapling, but it was too weak to support her. Instead she flung her hands into the hedge itself, hoping to haul herself up, away from the approaching menace, but her hand caught a blackthorn bush, and the long spikes stabbed her fingers, making her sob with the pain.

  There was no hope, she thought, and she was about to let go and fall back into the road when a face appeared above her.

  ‘In God’s name, woman, take my hand!’ Roger hissed urgently.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Nymet Traci

  ‘What about the maid, Father?’

  ‘Oh, the wandering son returns, eh?’ Sir Robert said. He was standing with Osbert near the stables.

  Basil was clad in parti-coloured tunic and hose, the tunic tight over a linen chemise. He swaggered to the horses and patted a neck. ‘You’ve been riding them hard, Father.’

  ‘We were in a hurry. You know I like a good gallop of a morning.’

  ‘Oh, aye. This wench, anyway?’

  Sir Robert clapped his son on the back. ‘You were gone a long time, boy.’

  ‘I was busy.’

  ‘Where, my son?’

  Osbert watched impassively as Sir Robert took hold of his son’s neck.

  ‘Father, that is painful.’

  ‘I am glad. I meant it to be.’

  ‘I want you to let me go, Father.’

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘With a maid in Bow.’

  ‘The whore in the tavern?’

  ‘No, a maid from a farm. She pleases me.’

  ‘She doesn’t please me,’ Sir Robert said.

  ‘What of that? I do not offer her to share with you.’

  ‘I would have you leave her alone. I expected you to be here last evening with Osbert.’

  ‘He is boring company, Father. Whereas my friend is more amusing.’

  ‘You will return when I order in future, son,’ Sir Robert said.

  ‘That hurts!’

  ‘It is meant to.’

  ‘Let go, Father!’

  ‘This is my castle, boy, and I give the orders here.’

  ‘Very well!’

  ‘One of my men said that you’d gone to our guest and offered to sheath yourself in her. Is that right?’

  ‘She’s only a little slut …’

  ‘You cretin!’

  Osbert saw the dagger suddenly drawn, and as soon as it was clear of the sheath, his hand snapped out sharply and grabbed Basil’s wrist. He twisted and pressed with his thumb into the hollow of Basil’s wrist, and the dagger fell to the floor. Osbert placed his foot on top to keep it safe.

  ‘So you were plaguing the girl?’ Sir Robert asked.

  ‘I went to see that she was well, that’s all.’

  ‘I do not want you there, boy.’

  ‘Yes. And I want to see her.’

  ‘I wasn’t clear enough, obviously. When I said I didn’t want you annoying her, what I meant was, I want you to leave her alone. And I still want you to leave her alone. Yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh, and one other thing, boy. If I ever see you draw a knife on me again, I will personally break your arm. Don’t try it again. Is that all right?’

  Basil said nothing, but watched with a baleful eye as his father walked away.

  Osbert said nothing, but remained with his foot on Basil’s knife.

  ‘Get your foot off it. It’s mine.’

  ‘Of course. Your father won’t want it to remain in the dirt, will he?’ Osbert said, stepping away as he released it. He eyed Basil as the boy bent and took it up, and the two men stood for a few moments, Basil with the dagger in his hand, balanced, while Osbert remained seemingly relaxed. But neither was. Both knew that at any moment there could be a sudden flare of death.

  It was Basil who broke the spell of the moment. He gave a short laugh, tossed the knife up and caught it, then thrust it into its sheath again. ‘It’d be unkind to kill someone as old as you. Where’s the honour in slaying an old man?’

  Osbert smiled at the thought. ‘I feel honoured you can think in such terms. You are too kind to me.’

  Basil saw his grin, and his own smile faded in an instant. He slapped the hilt of his sword, spun on his heel and marched away.

  Road near Copplestone

  They had passed through Crediton and were approaching Copplestone when Edgar cleared his throat.

  ‘Sir Baldwin, I am concerned as to why that man would take Mistress Edith.’

  ‘A young woman like her? There is likely only the one reason, Edgar. You appreciate that well enough.’

  Edgar ignored the reminder of his womanising past. ‘But we are both aware of this man Wattere. We know what sort of person he is. He is Despenser’s man in Devon, is he not? The sheriff himself told us that he arrested Peter because the king and Despenser were seeking traitors in the realm. But surely he has some ulterior motive for capturing the boy.’

  ‘I do not follow your thinking,’ Baldwin said.

  ‘We know that Edith’s husband has been captured. The charges against him are such that he will not easily be released. He has nothing of value, but his father has lands. That seems to mean that there could be pressure being brought to bear. But I do not understand why someone would also capture Edith, unless they are seeking to influence Simon directly.’

  ‘Perhaps her capture was a random matter? Nothing to do with her husband’s arrest?’

  ‘Sir, do you believe that?’ Edgar said with a pitying smile. ‘The man Wattere happened to be riding past and found her on her own. He the most committed enemy of her father in the land since their fight. Simon scarred him, do not forget.’

  ‘So? What do you mean by this?’

  ‘Sir Baldwin, the son and the father both told you that the sheriff is close to Despenser and the king’s court. Wattere is Despenser’s man. Surely this is all a scheme by Despenser? He has his own men in Devon. That is no surprise, for he and the king will have their men placed in all positions of authority now because their authority is itself being undermined. However, it seems like a great scheme to deprive Simon of his daughter.’

  Baldwin winced at the thought. ‘Despenser has already deprived Simon of his home. Why would he want to do this too?’

  ‘Because he is thoroughly foul,’ Edgar said. ‘He seeks power over others, and when he is thwarted he seeks to destroy them.’

  Baldwin need say nothing to that. It was the simple truth. ‘So what will he do now?’

  ‘I think we have to hope and pray that it is him,’ Edgar said. ‘Because if it were Wattere who took her, and Wattere was not under Despenser’s control, it is likely she could have been taken just for her looks. A man who seeks to rape her and discard her later would be more dangerous. He may already have achieved his aim. And that could mean she has already been killed.’

  ‘So you say that the best we can hope for is that she has been taken by the most powerful felon in the land?’ Baldwin said. ‘It is a curious hope you dispense, Edgar!’

  ‘Aye. But at least,’ Edgar said more quietly, ‘it is some kind of hope. Some is better than none, Sir Baldwin.’

  Near Bow

  The man who had hauled her up into the tree was swarthy and powerful. He had the wild dark hair of a Cornishman, and blue eyes that seemed to look through her without any feeling. Most men on looking at her would give her the impression that they liked her buxom breasts, or would touch her arse with mild enquiry until she slapped invasive hands away, but she had the feeling that this man, if not immune to her charms, was at least without the desire to take her against her will.

  He yanked her up from the roadway with such a jerk that she could hook her legs and feet under her, and swing straight over the hedge with ease. Almost immediately he sprang down to the ground at her side, a hand on her back, pushing her down to the grass, while he stayed rigid as a cat staring at a prey, all tension and controlled e
nergy, so focused on the road he might almost have turned to stone.

  There was a large thorn still in her hand. She tried to move to look at it, but the pressure on her back increased, subtly, and she heard the sound of the horses increase.

  They were there! A group of scruffy, noisy men who would not look out of place in the pictures of demons she had seen on the church walls. Their horses were small, hardy creatures, stocky little fellows with stamina to cover huge distances. The riders were armed and easy in the saddle, like men who were accustomed to long rides with their beasts, and they rode along without chatter or laughter, only a set look of determination. The leader was a large man with a belly and a single eye. The other he had lost. He looked so powerful and full of bile that Agnes had to glance away as a cart rattled past in their wake.

  Her sense of inadequacy returned. She was sure that these were the same men who had killed her husband, and the sight of them was enough to prove to her that she could never hope to attack them and win.

  The sound of hoofs gradually faded, and as it did, she felt the man’s hand lift away, and then he was moving swiftly back to the hedge. He swarmed up the tree again, and she saw his head lower as he kept his eyes on the party until they were out of sight. ‘It is safe,’ he breathed, and jumped down again, agile as a monkey.

  ‘Where did you learn to do that?’ she asked.

  He looked at her closely, studying her face. ‘You were in Jacobstowe. I saw you there two weeks ago.’

  She withdrew, just slightly, from his serious blue eyes. ‘What do you want with me?’

  ‘Nothing, maid, if by that you mean what do I intend to do to you. I’m not that kind of man. But those men there. Did you see them? Did you recognise them?’

  ‘No. I’ve never seen them before.’

  He nodded, his attention apparently fixed on the hills in the far distance, but the faraway look in his eye seemed to imply that he was thinking of something else.

  She felt curiously slighted, as though his lack of concentration on her was an insult. She was unused to such lack of interest. ‘Do you know them? You look like a man who has seen a ghost.’