No Law in the Land: (Knights Templar 27)

by Michael Jecks

  He had thrown them! They had thought he was stupid enough to just run out into the open country, but he wasn’t so dull witted. He wasn’t some gull ready to swallow any garbage slipped to him. He’d deliberately let the barrow run on and left it under a hedge, before grabbing his money and clutching its massive weight to his chest.

  Crouched over, his back complaining at the unnatural gait, he ran as fast as he could, through a hole in a hedge, and from there back the way he had come.

  The chest was a terrible weight. The mass of coins inside the box meant that it was all he could do to manage a restricted hobble. It was like clutching a man’s weight concentrated into metal and wood of only some two feet by one and one. But although a pound in money weighed less than a pound of silver, the thing was unbearably massive. He would have to throw it aside soon, if he couldn’t …

  He managed to keep on going until he reached a gate. Sobbing with the effort, he yanked it wide, and stumbled into the street. There before him was the huge tower of the church. He threw a fearful glance all about him – in the last resort he could claim sanctuary inside that, but he didn’t want to. Better by far to find a horse or some hiding place. Panting, his eye turned this way and that, desperate for a decision, but he could see nothing. It was then that he heard a scream.

  Edith almost fell to the floor when she recognised him. She had seen the monk hurrying through the vill, and then the clear notes of the horn had shivered on the air and she had rushed back indoors with Ant and Agnes, hiding as the sound of hoofs came and passed by. If there was a felon in the vill, it was no time for her or the others to be out on the street. Too many people were knocked down by fools galloping their beasts in the middle of towns. And she had no desire to be killed by a felon trying to escape the law.

  ‘It’s quiet now,’ Agnes had said after they had been hiding inside for a while. She had been quite still as they waited, as though utterly petrified, holding the Ant close to her, his head at her throat, her hand over the fragile skull as though to protect it against any harm. It made Edith realise just how much she would suffer were she to lose her own husband. She couldn’t – to lose Peter would be to lose herself, she knew. It would remove the first structural plank on which her life depended. Especially now that she had the beginnings of new life in her womb. The idea that she should – that she could – lose her husband before he had even seen their child was so devastating that she had felt the room to grow stuffy, hot, unbearable. She rose and pulled a shawl over her shoulders, walking outside cautiously.

  The sound of riders had faded to nothing now, but still she peered about the open area carefully before stepping out into the cool air. It would be an irony of some poignancy, she thought, were she to be slain now in the road, when only the day before she had been saved from death by her father and Sir Baldwin.

  She was standing and smiling to herself at the singular nature of fate when a figure appeared around a corner. It was the monk, but he must be in pain, for he was bent almost double, as though nursing a terrible wound in his belly, and for an instant, that was her sole thought: that a felon had stabbed him, or he had fallen prey to the horses of the hue and cry, and was soon to collapse.

  That was why she began to move towards him, but then he looked up and saw her, and she recognised him instantly.

  He realised who she was at the same moment, and he felt his face twist with rage. The bitch was here! There was no chance he’d escape the bastards now. She knew him, that much was clear. Her face crumpled, and there was a blanched horror in her eyes that he couldn’t miss. But now there was the sound of men approaching.

  Shit! Shit! All his plans were going awry as he stood here dithering. There was a need to get away, to be miles from here as quickly as he could, but he couldn’t just run, not with this box. And now that bitch had seen him, he was sure to be followed. They would know exactly where he had gone. He had to kill her, if he wanted any possibility of escape.

  ‘No!’ she cried, and her face was contorted with fear. But he knew what he must do.

  He accordingly took a pace forward, and set the chest on the ground, as though exhausted, before drawing his knife and approaching her.

  There was a scream, and a baby began to cry, and he saw that there was another slut behind her, this one with a pup at her tit. Another one to remove. But then, when he looked back at the blonde, he saw that there was something else in her eyes: a wildness, such as a cornered cat might show. She was scared, yes, but she’d made a decision to sell her life as dearly as she could. Even as he stepped over the dirt and mud, she darted back, pushing the other maid before her, and then reappeared in the doorway with a long knife. And she held it like she knew what to do with it.

  ‘Ach, shite,’ he muttered to himself.

  Because just then he heard the hoofs returning. They had learned his little trick and were coming back. If they saw him here, he would have no choice but to surrender. They were too close already. Shite! If they caught him here in the open, they’d cut him to pieces.

  He turned and fled back to his chest. Hefting it, he felt his belly muscles start to tear, his shoulders begin to sing with the agony of strain and tension. There was only one place he could go. Ahead of him was the gate, and he hurled himself towards it, aware all the while of the sounds coming closer and closer, the hoofs, the horn blowing, the roars and bellows. With a convulsive effort, he hefted the box on to the gate, then with a heave that made him see spots before his eyes, he hoisted it up and over, to fall with a rattle and crash at the other side. The gate had a thong holding it. He lifted it, slipped inside and shut the gate. Then, with the last strength he could summon, he picked up the chest again, and covered the last twenty yards to the church door. There he shoved the door wide and made his way with faltering steps to the altar, where at last he could drop the chest and fall to the floor, gripping the altar cloth with trembling hands. He bent down over the cloth and kissed it.

  ‘I claim sanctuary!’

  Brother Mark was in the vestry, a small shed that would have collapsed under its own weight had the church’s walls not been so close that it could lean like an old horse against a tree. The priest here was an accommodating fellow by the name of Father James, and he had made the monk most welcome, especially when he heard that he was sent by the cardinal to learn all he could about the murders at Abbeyford.

  They had been chatting in a desultory fashion, as monks and priests were wont to do, neither trusting the other entirely, for the monk thought the priest a little too worldly, and the priest thought him an arrogant fool, but they had begun to notice some mutual interests, and after some little while their conversation had grown a great deal more amiable. By the time of the shouting from within the church, both had drunk a goodly portion of wine, and their friendship had been sealed.

  ‘What on earth is that?’ the priest demanded as the clamour began.

  ‘My heavens, I think I recognise that voice,’ Mark declared as he heard the coroner’s bellow. No one could have missed his shout.

  The two rose hurriedly, James spilling his wine, and both hurried out into the cold air, running about the church to the door at the north and rushing in.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ Father James demanded as he saw the men ranged about the altar, his altar. His rage was entirely unfeigned. He was unused to seeing people brawling in his church, and he would be answerable before God if he was going to permit it now. ‘You, sir – yes, you! Leave hold of that fellow at once!’

  Sir Richard glanced up guiltily. ‘Ah, I know that this looks bad, Father, and I apologise … Oh, that you there, Brother? Could you explain about this fellow?’

  Mark shook his head. ‘That disreputable-looking figure is actually the coroner for Lifton or somewhere. The man he has grabbed is one of Sir Robert de Traci’s retinue, and responsible for much of the trouble about here. He was the fellow who led all those travellers to Abbeyford and saw them slain.’

  ‘And what is he doing here
?’ Father James asked of Osbert, ignoring Sir Richard’s expostulations at his description.

  ‘I claim sanctuary, Father. I demand it. If these men take me, they’ll see me dead. I must be protected.’

  ‘Release him,’ Father James said.

  ‘This man has killed, Father,’ Baldwin said. ‘He led those travellers to their doom, he oversaw the torture of a monk, brother to your friend Mark there, and killed that man, Pietro de Torrino, and also Brother Anselm from Tavistock. We found the brother’s body earlier, I’m afraid, Mark. He has killed another man today, a fellow called Hoppon, and he has robbed the king of a hundred pounds. It’s in the casket beside him. Do you mean to tell me that a known, unrepentant felon like this can demand sanctuary?’

  ‘Yes. He has reached the safety of the altar. You will not take him from here, not for the requisite forty days. He is as safe and inviolable as a new-born innocent babe. Let him free!’

  ‘Father, he is a murderer,’ Sir Richard repeated.

  It was Roger who shook his head and muttered, ‘We have no rights in here, Sir Richard. Master Simon, we should leave this place. The law as you know it has no effect once you enter the doors.’

  Sir Baldwin was cool as he took Sir Richard’s arm. ‘Come, Sir Richard. There is no more for us to do in here. You are a coroner, though, and you can enforce the laws as they apply.’

  The coroner nodded. He reluctantly allowed his grip on Osbert to relax. ‘Do you have a weapon about you? Answer quickly!’

  Osbert licked his lips. He had wanted to keep at least one knife about him, but it was correct that if he wished to remain safe, he must adhere to the law. He pulled his knife from within his robe and gave it to the coroner.

  ‘Right, you dishonourable and dishonest felon, you have the right to remain here for forty days and nights. After that time, I can come in to fetch you. You will either have to leave of your own free will, which means surrendering to the full weight of the law, or you will have to agree to abjure the realm. You understand? Either hang, or run to exile. There’s nothing else for you.’

  Osbert nodded grimly. But in forty days, even the most observant guards could fail in their duties. It was likely that he would be able to escape in ten days or so. The coroner and his friends would not remain here all that time.

  ‘In the meantime,’ Baldwin said, and bent down, ‘you will not be permitted to profit by your theft.’

  ‘No!’ Osbert shouted, but he dared not relinquish his grip on the altar cloth, and could only look on in horror as Baldwin pulled the casket away from him.

  ‘All those murdered people, and all for a few pennies that you cannot even hold on to,’ he said. ‘I hope you feel it was worthwhile.’

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Jacobstowe

  Mark watched them go, Father James walking with them, and felt a strange bubbling resentment deep in his breast.

  This man was safe now, secure and protected with the full strength of the Church behind him. No man might touch him, unless he was captured outside the church, and then, if he was molested, his attacker would be guilty of a serious offence, just as a man who tried to drag him from the church would be. A man who committed such a desecration of the church could expect to be hanged.

  ‘Bring me water, monk. I’m thirsty.’

  Mark allowed a fleeting frown to pass over his face. ‘Perhaps you should fetch it yourself.’

  ‘I am your guest here,’ Osbert said.

  ‘No. You are the guest of Father James. He is gone to ensure that the money you stole is safe.’

  The dig struck home. A cloud settled on Osbert’s features. ‘After all that effort and trouble, to lose it all here is enough to make a man turn to the Church. What do you think? Is there a church I could go to for a job? Perhaps a lay brother’s position in Tavistock, eh? That’d be good. You and me, we could sit and chat. Talk about the fun we’ve had in the last week or so, eh? You looking for me, and me hiding from you. Oh, so you’re back?’

  Mark turned to find that Roger had returned inside. ‘I am here to make sure you don’t try to run.’

  ‘You think you could stop me?’ Osbert sneered.

  Mark pressed him. ‘Why did you kill Anselm? He was never a threat to you, was he?’

  ‘Him? He was a fool. Jesus! You’d have thought the cretin would have realised that bringing a puppy might just make for problems in the future, wouldn’t you? How would he think to look after it?’

  ‘And that was why you killed him? Not so you could take his share?’

  ‘Look, he wanted to join me. It was Basil’s idea in the first place, to get one of the monks on our side, and Anselm was the easiest man to pick. He was bored stupid with his companions in any case. Did you know that? He was perfectly happy to sell them to us. That was before he knew he was going with the money, of course. It was easy to persuade him, letting him come and help me take the money.’

  Mark was revolted. ‘So he wanted to share the money? That was all?’

  ‘Yes. For so much coin, most men will forget their morals. He was happy to see all those folk die in exchange for his share. I killed the only guard, and he helped me to carry the money out of the camp. Then …’ He paused. ‘Then I helped him take it away and hide it, and I went back to see that there was no alarm. Easy.’

  ‘And the dogs?’ Roger had been silent for so long, Osbert seemed surprised to hear him.

  ‘What of the dogs? I didn’t want them raising the alarm.’

  ‘It seemed unnecessary to kill them. Just like the murder of the children.’

  Osbert looked at him blankly. ‘They were only dogs.’

  Roger nodded. ‘Brother, you remain if you must, but I cannot share the same room as this dunghill rat. He makes me want to puke.’

  Mark wanted to speak, but found he couldn’t. His mouth was too dry. There was no mistaking the revulsion in Roger’s eyes as he turned and left the church, and Mark felt much the same. Anselm had very likely done as Osbert had said. The poor fellow had entered the Church when he was young, and it would be no surprise that a man, even a monk, would be willing to commit a crime for such wealth. Split two ways, his share of a hundred pounds would be two years’ income for even a well-paid man. It was a staggering sum for one used to no possessions whatever.

  ‘There is one thing, of course,’ Osbert said in a sly tone. ‘Now I’ve nothing. But the man who’d help me escape from here could share in the money with me. A full fifty pounds, maybe more, would be his share. Just think of that.’

  Mark did think, but not of the money. Instead he was remembering Anselm, the cheerful, joking, ironic monk who had lightened the atmosphere of the abbey so often. It was hard to believe that he was actually dead. Somehow Mark had hoped that he had survived the attack when his body hadn’t been found with Pietro’s. That this man had killed him, after he had perverted him from his brothers, was repugnant.

  ‘Fifty pounds.’

  Osbert looked up. ‘It’s a lot of money. It was enough to tempt your brother.’

  ‘My brother? But you killed Anselm, didn’t you?’

  ‘He wanted to run away from me. He was dangerous to me as well as to himself. All I did was hasten his end by a very little while. And he didn’t suffer. I killed him quickly.’

  ‘So you might do that to me, too.’

  ‘I’ll swear here and now, as I believe in Jesus and in God, that I will not kill you or hurt you if you help me escape.’

  Mark thought hard, and his gaze went from Osbert to the door open behind him. The money was vast. A man could live like a lord on fifty pounds.

  In his scrip was the little enamelled green crucifix that Pietro had worn. He drew it out now, and studied it. It was so pretty, he thought it should never have been worn by a monk. Clearly the brothers in foreign abbeys took their vows of poverty less seriously than did the English.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ Osbert said sharply.

  ‘I found it under a bush near the glade where you killed
all the travellers.’

  ‘It was taken by Anselm. I threw it away. I didn’t want him stealing from the others.’

  Mark frowned. ‘He took it? But you said that he was gone with the money when you returned.’

  ‘Aye. And then I went back to—’

  ‘So how did he take this from Pietro? If Pietro was asleep, having a man take his crucifix would waken him.’

  ‘Perhaps he knocked him on the head to take it? I don’t know. But he had the crucifix later and I took it from him.’

  ‘No. He wouldn’t have stolen from Pietro. He would have been fearful in case he woke the man. It would only have been taken when Pietro was dead.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘If you had taken it, you wouldn’t have thrown this away. It’s gold and enamel. Surely it’s worth a lot of money. You killed Pietro and then stole this for yourself, didn’t you? And Anselm saw you and took it away.’

  ‘He snatched it from me! I didn’t know the fool would come back. I’d made him go so that he’d be safe. I was trying to look after him, but he came back. Some sort of guilt or something. He wanted to see what he had caused to happen. And he saw me there with the others. I saw him too, the prick! All I was going to do was tell him to go back to where he was safe, but the fool wouldn’t. He told me I was cursed if I tried to take the crucifix from a dead monk. Damn his soul for a fool! I hit him when he threw it away, though.’

  ‘He was right,’ Mark said quietly. ‘Perhaps the crucifix itself is cursed.’

  ‘You think a lump of metal can be cursed, Brother? Then throw it away yourself. Come, though, you didn’t answer me. Will you help me? Half the money will be yours if you do.’

  ‘How would you get it?’

  ‘If you will help me, we can get it easily. Those fools won’t think to guard it well. They’ll take it back to Tavistock, I expect. In the middle of the night, you help me out of here, and we’ll find them, and then it’s just a little tap on their heads and we’ll have the chest without needing to kill anyone. It’ll make no difference to anyone, Brother. If you help me, you’ll have half and I’ll escape earlier, that’s all.’