No Law in the Land: (Knights Templar 27) (13 page)

She took her leave of him at the top of the road that slipped down a little east of the cathedral close, towards the wall
and his father’s new home, and was making her way back homewards when she heard a strange commotion. Turning back, she saw
her husband encircled by a small group of men, and she felt a quick fear that he was being set upon by a gang of cutpurses,
but then she saw the breast of one of them and realised that these were no outlaws, they were merely a number of the sheriff’s
men.

‘Husband? Are you all right?’ she called.

He turned to her, and in his face she saw a clutching dread. Before he could say anything, she screamed.

She saw the iron-shod staff rise and crack down on his head, saw his knees fold, and his body slump to the road, and even
as she tried to force her legs forward to go to his aid, she was aware of the hand
of her servant clutching at her arm, and then the cobbles seemed to fade and rush towards her at the same time as she fainted.

Road outside Bow

‘
What are you all staring at?
’

What the coroner lacked in subtlety, he more than made up for in volume. As he reined in his beast, the men scattered and
there was a moment’s pregnant silence as they shuffled before the great horse and the rider glowering down at them all.

‘Well? Who’s in charge here?’

A nervous young man of maybe three-and-twenty sidled forward, his eyes fixed on the ground at his feet. He mumbled something,
and Sir Richard scowled. ‘Can’t hear a word you’re saying, man! Speak up, in God’s name. He gave you a tongue so you could
live to tell your tale today. What’s going on here? Eh? You’re all blocking the road.’

‘It’s a body, sire,’ the man muttered.

‘That’s more like it!’ the coroner said with satisfaction. ‘Where’s the stiff, then, eh? One of you lot kill him, did you?’

‘No! It was no one here, Sir Knight. Must have been an unfortunate accident.’

Sir Richard threw a look at Simon, and then dropped heavily to the ground. ‘Show me.’

‘Here, sir. It’s an old farmer called Jack from Begbeer. Jack was no coward, and if a cutpurse tried his luck, or any other
outlaw, he would have tried to send them to the devil on his own.’

‘Didn’t do so well, did he?’ Coroner Richard said without emotion. He had crouched at the side of the body and was studying
the corpse where it lay. ‘Who’s been moving him about? Eh? Don’t know? Who was the first finder?’

‘Me, sir. I found him,’ a lad of maybe thirteen squeaked. ‘I did all I could to raise the hue and cry, but no one heard me
up here, and I had to go into town to tell people there.’

Sir Richard nodded and listened as the men about started to speak of the farmer, how he had always been truculent since his
house had been robbed some time ago, and how he was probably on his way to the market, or on his way back, when he had been
waylaid. ‘Well, this is all well and good, but I don’t see I can help. Have you sent for the coroner?’

‘Yes.’

It was the young fellow who had first spoken. ‘What’s your name, master?’ Sir Richard asked, not unkindly.

‘I am Gilbert, sire. From that cott over there,’ he added helpfully, pointing at a small limewashed building nearby in a copse.
‘I was made reeve.’

Sir Richard looked him over again. He was young and inexperienced, and if Sir Richard was any judge of character, which he
knew he was, the twerp would have all manner of rings run around him daily by the sour-faced men of the vill. ‘Very well,
Master Reeve. When is the coroner expected to be here?’

Gilbert shrugged emphatically. ‘He is based in Exeter. If he’s there, it’ll take a day or so for him to get here, I suppose.
It’ll take our man the same to get to him, so perhaps three days? Unless he’s already away seeing another body, of course.’

Simon shot a look at the coroner. ‘This is not Lifton, Coroner.’

Gilbert looked from one to the other. ‘You’re a coroner too? But then couldn’t you …’

‘I don’t work here. I am king’s coroner to Lifton, not this place.’

Simon could see that Sir Richard was torn; he stood some little while, chewing at his lip. ‘I’ll tell you, though, the coroner
in Exeter will be glad of a little help, I expect. Perhaps if you could … Yes! Gilbert, send your fleetest rider after
the fellow who’s gone to Exeter, all the way to Exeter if need be, and tell the coroner that he’ll have a copy of my inquest
as soon as it’s done. No point sending another man here when I’m already on the spot, eh, Simon?’

‘No. I suppose not,’ Simon said. He was fighting to hold back the frustration. Sir Richard knew how desperate Simon was to
be gone to Tavistock to meet with the Cardinal de Fargis so that he could as soon as possible get home again, and here the
man was, seeking to delay them both with an inquest.

‘Very well. Do it now, Master Gilbert, and when you have done it, in God’s good name fetch a skin or two of wine. Our throats
are parched. And some meat would be good – or perhaps a couple of pies?’

Simon watched the appalled reeve listen to the demand for so much food and drink before he scampered off, calling to others
to fetch the remainder of the jury, to run and ask the vill’s priest to join them, and
to help the coroner in any way he might require, and sending a man after the last messenger as Sir Richard suggested.

‘Did you have to volunteer for this?’ Simon hissed a little later as they tied their mounts to a nearby tree that had a convenient
branch.

Sir Richard looked at him, and there was a serious expression in his eyes. ‘Simon, look about you at this place. What sort
of man would kill a farmer with a single stab to the throat? No one would think he had much money on him. But he was slain
and left for dead in the ditch like a dog. I think he deserves a little time, don’t you?’

Simon felt his face redden at the reproach in the coroner’s voice, and he was about to apologise when the coroner leaned closer
and said quietly, ‘And look at the people here, Simon. They are terrified, if I’m any judge. I’d be willing to gamble that
there’s more to this than the simple waylaying of a single farmer.’

Castle at Bow

Sir Robert was up late, as was usual for him, and dressed himself. He didn’t like to have servants wandering about his private
rooms. Only Osbert was trusted in his chambers, and no one else. There were too many knights and minor lords who had lost
all – including their lives – through being too trusting about their servants. Some for being too trusting of their own sons.

There had been a time when a lord could rely on his men to be loyal. No longer. Now he was fortunate if he could find men
who would serve him for money, let alone for mere loyalty. Sir Robert had no desire to be one of the fools who was killed
in his bed at night just because he failed to see to his own protection. So Osbert and a couple of servants were allowed in
the downstairs chamber with Basil, Sir Robert’s son, while he himself slept alone upstairs.

As he entered his hall, he shot a look about him as usual, making sure where the various men were, and seeing that there was
no possible threat. He was not scared of any man, but danger was no respecter of rank. The merest churl could slip a knife
into his heart, whether he feared the boy or not. No one with a brain would depend on fellows like this. The only men he could
rely on entirely were Osbert and one or two others; perhaps his son, on good days. Os because he was dependable: he had been
with Sir Robert all through those difficult times when Sir Robert was a declared outlaw and must live off the land as best
he could; his precious son, Basil, because he was utterly reliable. He was self-interested, hedonistic, licentious and dissolute,
and Sir Robert would trust him always to do what he perceived as being in his own interests. That they would rarely coincide
with Sir Robert’s own aims would not worry him. He was seventeen years old now, and more than capable of choosing his own
path.

Osbert was standing near the main door from the hall, and he levered himself away from the wall on seeing his master.

Stephen the messenger was standing in the corner farthest from Os, Sir Robert was amused to see. At least the man hadn’t made
life difficult by sitting before the master of the hall said he could. It would have made Sir Robert’s life more troublesome
if he had had to be killed before he could ride to Tavistock.

The messenger bowed. ‘Sir Robert, I hope I see you well?’

‘Messenger, you see me alive. There’s little more to be said for any man,’ Sir Robert said. He was feeling the worse for the
wine of the night before, but when a man had been given good news, there was reason to celebrate. He strode to his table and
peered about for the jug of wine.

‘Will there be another message for me? Do you have a reply for me to take back to London?’

Sir Robert eyed him thoughtfully, although his plan was already laid. He had seen what must be done to make his life easier
the last night, and now it was merely a case of persuading this fool to be a willing partner. ‘Yes. There is one message I
would have you deliver. It is not a reply, though. I wish you to ride to Lydford, and there to take a message to Tavistock.
I will give it to you later.’

‘I am a king’s messenger, and I am supposed to be—’

‘You are here to do Sir Hugh le Despenser’s bidding,’ Sir Robert growled. ‘And you will do that, by Christ, or I’ll have your
ballocks. You understand me?’

Stephen of Shoreditch nodded miserably. ‘Sire.’

‘Good. Now shut up and let me have my breakfast.’

Sir Robert glanced at the messenger and was confident that he was cowed for now. But there was no trusting a man like this.
A messenger might feel that he had a duty to report to the king, anything that happened, and Sir Robert had a conviction that
Sir Hugh le Despenser would be as reluctant as he himself for news of their plan to reach Edward’s ears.

‘Where is my wine?’ he roared at the top of his voice. ‘If that lazy, mother-swyving son of a whore and a churl doesn’t bring
my wine soon, I’ll have him hanged from the tower!’

The steward was already hurrying to bring a big pewter jug and a mazer, and Sir Robert watched him unblinking until the jug
and mazer
were in front of him. Only then did he slam his fist into the man’s belly hard enough to make him retch and collapse to the
floor.

‘In future, I want it here when I get up,’ he said. He pushed the man away with his booted foot, looking around at the men
in the hall. None appeared to take any notice as the steward crawled to the wall, sobbing silently, and Sir Robert took a
long draught of wine.

The only man who looked shocked was the messenger.

Yes, Sir Robert told himself. He would have to remove that horse’s arse before he could report to the king. He was a threat.
‘Os? Go and find my son. I would speak with him and you. Alone.’

Road outside Bow

Simon had swallowed a hunk of bread and some dried meats while he watched the jury. There was not much that could be said,
in fairness. The man was dead, killed from the stab to the throat. However, some members were talking of the fact that he
had been on his way to the market, and many wanted to know what had happened to his goods. A robbery was always alarming in
a small community, because if a robber dared attack one man, he would as likely attack another, and that meant no one was
safe.

‘I find he was murdered, a dagger used to stab him, and I estimate the value of the dagger was a shilling,’ the coroner declared.
He ran through the other details, and as he was finishing, glanced with an air of suspicion down at the clerk busily scribbling,
for he never entirely trusted scribes to put down on paper what he had told them to.

Simon listened with half an ear while he chewed some more meat, but then he looked around at the sound of hoofs trotting.
‘Dear heaven,’ he muttered. Then, louder, ‘Sir Richard! I think you have a visitor.’

‘Eh? What do you mean?’ the coroner thundered, peering past Simon at the newcomer. ‘Who’s that?’

‘It’s the coroner for the area,’ Simon explained. ‘Do you know Sir Peregrine de Barnstaple?’

‘Hell’s teeth! Sir Peregrine? Of course I know him,’ the coroner roared, shouting, ‘
Sir Peregrine! God speed to you!
’

Sir Peregrine was soon with them. Simon thought he looked drawn
and pale, but then he supposed that Sir Peregrine would think the same, looking at him.

‘God speed, Sir Richard. Bailiff Puttock, I am glad to see you again,’ Sir Peregrine said.

‘And I am glad to see you too,’ Simon replied.

‘Is Sir Baldwin with you?’

‘No, he is at his home, I think,’ Simon said. He held out a little of the remaining bread and meat, jerking his head towards
a skin of wine. ‘Will you break your journey with us?’

Sir Peregrine accepted happily. Soon he was sitting at the side of the road on an old fallen trunk, chewing. Nodding at the
corpse as the men of the jury bundled it up and began to lift it to the sumpter horse brought for the purpose, he said, ‘So
you haven’t enough murders of your own, eh, Sir Richard? You have decided to come here and look into mine as well?’

‘I wouldn’t, my dear Sir Peregrine, but we were passing by here, and I could hardly just leave the body lying,’ Sir Richard
said. ‘The fellows here had sent a man to fetch you, but I sought to save you the journey.’

Sir Peregrine nodded and asked who the victim was. When he had glanced through the clerk’s notes, he looked up at Simon. ‘There
seem to be so many murders just lately. I am returning to Exeter from Jacobstowe and another death even now. You know, I thought
four years ago that the country was in a state of confusion and turmoil, but that was nothing compared to the present.’

‘There are so many who were dispossessed after the battle,’ Simon said.

‘Boroughbridge saw the end of much that was good and stable,’ Sir Peregrine agreed. ‘So many families with the head of the
house killed. So many arrested and executed, so many heirs who lost all …’

‘Aye, and too many who forgot their vows,’ Simon was forced to mention. He hated Sir Hugh le Despenser with a passion, but
that could not blind him to the fact that the king was devoted to him. And those who opposed Despenser at Boroughbridge were
forced to choose to rebel against their lawful anointed king as well.

‘No excuse,’ Sir Richard said uncompromisingly. ‘Can’t have just anyone runnin’ round the place killing and taking whatever
they want.
That’s no way to run a country. No, we have our duties – as do the sheriffs and keepers of the king’s peace and so on.’

‘Have you experience of our new sheriff?’ Sir Peregrine enquired mildly.

‘No. Who is he?’

‘A repellent worm called Sir James de Cockington. Nasty little man. He came into office only a very short while ago, at the
beginning of the month, and I think he’s one of Despenser’s men.’

Sir Richard did not know Sir Peregrine well. As a fellow knight, Sir Peregrine was familiar to him, but no more than that.
The coroner was surprised to hear such a frank opinion. ‘You say so, sir?’

‘I do. The man would sell his mother for a farthing, and probably complain at the meanness of the sale,’ Sir Peregrine said
drily. ‘In my years, I have known many sheriffs – some honourable men, some corrupt – and yet I find it hard to do justice
to this fool and knave. The English language lacks sufficient emphasis for my contempt.’

Simon was grinning. ‘What form does this man’s dishonourable conduct take?’

Sir Peregrine looked over at him pensively. Simon had expected a light-hearted response, and thought that the coroner was
merely thinking of a sarcastic word or two, but then Sir Peregrine looked up at the sky overhead.

‘Simon, I can only think of one recent incident. It is indicative, I think, and instructive, too. A man’s daughter was captured
by a youth, who made play with her. You know my meaning, I am sure. The poor child was distraught at her treatment, and almost
lost her mind. Now we three are all men of the law, but men of the world as well. We have all seen accusations of rape, and
we all know, I am sure, that many are conceived as cheaper methods of ensnaring a fellow into wedlock. I do not dispute that
sometimes there are less amiable motives behind such acts, but we all know these things happen. Once the girl has been ravished,
she will have no other husband, whether she wishes it or no. Well, in this case, the sheriff listened to the pleas in his
court, and decided that there was no case to answer. The boy’s father had paid for his decision, and it was, if there was
genuine offence given, that the girl must marry the boy.’

‘It is one resolution, as you say,’ Sir Richard said, lifting a wineskin
and draining it. ‘Usually has the desired effect. Child has a father, mother a husband. Good solution to the embarrassment.’

‘Less good when the girl’s family has already been told that their daughter will be given to the boy’s servants to do with
as they will if she demands marriage of him. Not that there was any need. The lad was at no risk. He had done too good a job
of terrifying the poor child already. She dared not ask for his hand.’

‘So what happened?’ Simon asked, although he had a feeling he already knew the answer.

‘The boy got off scot free, naturally. His father bit his thumb at the girl’s father in open court. I saw him. Her father
tried to leap at him, but some fellows about him held him back, and the family watched as their persecutors walked free. And
then she was open to punishment for making a false accusation. She knew that she would either be punished herself, or exposed
to ridicule by the man who had already raped her. She pulled out a knife, shrieked that the man was guilty, and stabbed herself
in the breast.’ He looked at Sir Richard. ‘You’ve seen such things, I am sure. She died instantly.’

‘The poor child,’ Simon said.

‘Aye,’ Sir Richard agreed, shaking his head slowly. ‘That is not a good tale.’

‘Two days later her father too was dead,’ Sir Peregrine said. ‘It was said that he lost his mind and his heart when he saw
his daughter die and there was nothing he could do to help her. He saw her with the dagger in her hand and guessed what she
would do, but because of the men holding his arms to keep him from his tormentor, he could not reach her until too late.’

‘He died from a broken heart, then?’ Simon said.

‘No. He was murdered in his turn. One assumes that the father or the son responsible for his daughter’s death felt sure that
he would seek to bring condign judgement upon their heads. The only good aspect is that so many saw her state of mind that
her priest had no hesitation in declaring that her suicide was committed while she was unbalanced. She was given all the benefits
of a Christian burial.’ Sir Peregrine nodded with a sort of cold deliberation at the memory. ‘That is the state of the law
in this land, Bailiff. That is the realm we live in now.’

‘Who was the man who did this?’ Sir Richard growled. ‘I would meet with him.’

‘The son was Master Basil, the father Sir Robert, both of Nymet Traci, near Bow,’ Sir Peregrine said. ‘And I think that they
are killing others now, as well.’

‘You were talking of the sheriff, though,’ Simon pointed out.

‘Oh yes. You see, the sheriff is a close friend to Sir Robert and his son. He was justice in the court that found them innocent.
He knew, oh, he knew what they were like. But they are all a part of the same intolerable clan – they are all associates of
Despenser.’

Exeter

Pounding on the door with her fist, Edith sobbed and screamed for it to be opened, while her maid at her side tried to calm
her, without success.

‘Mother! Father! Please, open the door!’ She was panting, and there was a pain thundering in her head at the memory of the
scene she had witnessed, but there was little she could do – her entire being was concentrated on having the door opened to
her so that she could demand the aid of her father-in-law in rescuing her husband.

It was an age before she finally heard the bolts shoot on the other side of the door, and at last she could stumble inside.