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

‘Master Basil,’ he said, proffering the jug.

William watched as the man drank the ale, then lightly tossed the jug in the bottler’s direction, striding off before the
man had managed to catch it.

‘Who’s he?’ William asked.

‘Sir Robert’s son,’ the man said gruffly. ‘You’d do well to avoid him.’

Wattere couldn’t agree more. He finished his drink and walked out into the sunshine, but here he almost tripped over a cat.

‘Hoi, you cretin! Be careful.’

Wattere was angry, having almost fallen, but there was something about the voice that seemed familiar, and when he turned,
he saw the same man.

Basil was standing in the shadows, pulling on a piece of string that the cat was toying with as he dragged it away. He glanced
at Wattere with contempt, then returned his full attention to the young cat.

It was a lively little thing. Golden, with white patches; almost a kitten. It reared up as the string was flicked upwards
and then crouched to spring forward as it was drawn away. Gradually, pouncing and leaping, it was brought closer and closer
to Basil, who grinned to himself. ‘You brought the girl here, eh?’

‘Yes. She is called Edith.’

‘I don’t give a shit what her name is. She is a fresh little chauntle, isn’t she? Ripe as a berry,’ Basil said with a smack
of his lips.

‘She is a fair little maid, certainly.’

‘I’d bet she could squirm like a snake. Thighs like little pillows, and her lips as luscious as a fig.’

‘She’s only here to be kept safely,’ Wattere said pointedly.

‘Are you telling me what I can and can’t do in my own castle?’ Basil said, looking up. There was an expression of genuine
surprise on his face, Wattere saw.

It gave him the confidence to speak out. ‘This castle is still owned by Sir Hugh le Despenser. Sir Hugh is my master.’

‘Oh.’

‘She is here because he asked me to bring her, and your father holds her for Sir Hugh. She is not to be molested, Master Basil.’

‘Really?’

Wattere felt his senses heighten. It was the way of a man when he was preparing to do battle, for every aspect of perception
to increase. His hearing was never stronger, his nostrils could detect the faintest odours, his eyes appeared to be able to
focus more intently, and as he stood there, the picture of apparent ease, he was aware of each and every muscle in his arms,
in his shoulders, in his thighs, even in the fingers of his hands. All were singing to him the song of war, of killing and
of death. ‘You don’t think my lord Despenser should see his orders honoured?’

‘Of course he should,’ Basil said. He flicked the string and smiled as the cat approached a little, then sprang back out of
his reach, sitting and waiting for the next game. ‘His every whim should be honoured. In any castle he owns.’

‘You realise you are talking about the most powerful man in the kingdom,’ Wattere said.

‘Yes. Not in this castle, though.’

‘What?’

‘In this castle, here in my father’s hall, my father is most powerful. And I am second, man. And if I want something, I
take
it!’ he added. He had withdrawn the string, and now he tied a small lead weight to the end. ‘I can take anything I want –
from here in the castle, from the roads outside, anywhere I want within reach of the castle. And no man will stop me. And
if there is a young, fresh filly waiting to be ridden, I will take her for a ride. I don’t give a shit who her father is,
who her friends are, not even who her supposed guardians are in here. You understand me?’

He had the weight fitted now, and he tossed it lightly to the cat. She leapt up, forelegs straight, back arched, and fell
upon the weight. He drew it away at the last minute, and she crouched, legs beneath her body, purring with ecstasy.

‘Sir Hugh will crush any who tries to damage his property,’ Wattere said.

‘He will crush them, eh?’

Basil flicked the string again. The cat flew forward, a clawed paw striking at it, snagging it, pulling it to her mouth, and
then the string was away again.

‘He will crush
me
, I suppose you mean,’ Basil said, and flicked the string again. As the cat sprang into the air, he twisted his wrist. The
string flew up, the weight whirled, and the string wound itself about the cat’s neck. Another flick of the wrist and there
was a snap like a small twig underfoot. The cat was dead before it hit the ground.

Basil gave the string a jerk, and then whirled the cat’s body around his head a few times before letting it fall to the ground.
In a moment it was free, and he tied the string into a loop, which he dangled about his own neck.

‘Because you are my father’s guest, I will let you live for a while, old man. But don’t forget: here, in my castle, no man
threatens me. Not if he wants to live.’

Copplestone

They had ridden as far as they dared in the dark, but by the time they reached the outskirts of Crediton, even Baldwin was
persuaded to halt for the rest of the night. The moon had shone brightly at the beginning of their journey, but as they rode
into the town, it was only a smudge in the sky behind ever-thicker clouds, and the risk of falling into a hole in the road
was too great. It was not a risk worth taking, and eventually Baldwin had to admit that they would be better off resting.

Their night had passed quietly enough. It was pointless even to hope that they might find a room in an inn or tavern at so
late an hour. If they were to knock on a door in the middle of the night, they would be more likely to earn themselves a stab
from a terrified host, rather than a welcome. They were forced to make the best they could of their situation. Baldwin knew
an old farm not too far from the river, out on the road to Tedburn, and he took Edgar to it. It was out of their way, but
they had made good distance already, and he felt it was justified for a warm and safe rest.

The tenant here was a kindly soul, but Baldwin was reluctant to wake him. No man was happy to be disturbed during the night
watches, and just now, with the ever-present risk of outlaws and murderers, a man some miles from the nearest town was going
to be yet more afraid. Still, Baldwin was sure that he would not mind if they made use of a roof for shelter. The stables
were too close to the house, but there was an old byre he knew of, and he made for it. The cattle weren’t inside – they must
be kept nearer the house, he realised – but the hayloft was filled with the results of the harvest. He and Edgar spent some
while settling their beasts for the night, removing their belongings and the saddles and accoutrements, then rubbing the beasts
down with handfuls of straw and leaving them loose in the stable, while the two men settled themselves up in the hayloft.
It was
not the warmest rest Baldwin had enjoyed, but then he was a man used to travel all over Europe, and chilly nights were all
too common in much of the world. With a bed of hay, his bag under his head for a pillow, and his heavy riding cloak over him,
he was as snug as he could hope to be.

In the morning they had risen early and paid their respects to the farmer.

‘Sir Baldwin, I’m honoured. But why did you stay out there?’

There was little need for explanation, but the old farmer shook his head. ‘A bad business, this. So a man must sleep in a
byre rather than wake a friend? You’d have been welcome in here by my fire, sir.’

‘Your wife, perhaps, would not have been grateful for being woken,’ Baldwin pointed out gently.

‘We’d soon have been used to it,’ she answered. She was a slim woman in her forties, bent with labour, but her smile was as
fresh as a girl’s. ‘And you’ll have to eat with us before setting off again.’

‘Mistress, we would like to—’ Baldwin began, but she clucked her tongue.

‘You are not leaving my house without food, sir. Sit yourselves down, please. I won’t be long.’

By the time they had finished their meal, drunk to the health of their host and hostess, and set off again, the morning was
already well advanced. They took the road back to Crediton, but now at a slower pace. It would be better to warm the horses
gradually in this weather. And when Baldwin saw how badly rutted and potholed their road was, he was glad that they had stopped
for the night. After all, as he reasoned, it would not aid Edith to kill one or both horses and give them the need to acquire
another.

In Crediton, Baldwin made his way to see the dean at the church. As soon as he explained their urgent mission, the dean sent
men to speak to the officers in the town itself, and they were soon returned, one with a large, sandy-haired man. He looked
at Baldwin as he was introduced.

‘Master Thomas, you saw the woman?’ the dean asked.

‘Yes. Reckon so. She was riding through the town with a man at her side.’

‘What did he look like?’ Baldwin asked.

‘A quiet, cheery, amiable man. A narrow face, but friendly. Looked
like the sort who’d be fun to spend an evening with in a tavern. Bright eyes, ready smile.’

Baldwin frowned. ‘Did he have a slight squint?’

Thomas screwed up his face with the effort of recollection. ‘Yes, reckon he did.’

‘Where were they riding?’

‘Out on the Copplestone road, to the west.’

‘Dean, you must excuse us. I think I know who this man is.’

‘Who?’

Baldwin looked at Edgar, who nodded, unsmiling. ‘I think it sounds like Wattere, the man Despenser sent to take Simon’s house
in Lydford.’

Exeter

The sheriff’s court opened with the usual bustle and chaos, with pleaders shouting and demanding space, bawling for ink and
reeds, while their servants and clients milled helplessly and haplessly, taking their places before the clerks and recorders,
shouting to have themselves heard over the general hubbub.

Rougemont Castle was a disorganised place at the best of times, and seeing it in the middle of a court session was not the
best of times. Sir Peregrine crossed the floor, trying to contain his anger at being jostled by so many churls who should
not have dared to cross his path in the streets. But they were here to have their cases heard by the sheriff. It was no surprise
that they were anxious. Some of them might be dead before the week was out.

The guards at the sheriff’s door were standing attentively, but the coroner was a known man, and he was soon in the sheriff’s
office.

‘Well?’ the sheriff demanded as he marched in. He had a large goblet of wine in his hand, and he sipped from it as he looked
at Sir Peregrine. According to the normal conventions, Sir Peregrine did not sit in his presence, for that would be rude.
And from past experience, he knew that Sir James de Cockington would deprecate any such presumption. It was the place of the
more senior man to sit and then, perhaps, to invite his guest to be seated.

There was no such invitation.

‘Sir James, I am alarmed to hear that you have a young man in your gaol. A fellow called Peter?’

‘You mean the lad I’ve held for treason?’

‘Yes. I am sure you know exactly what you are doing, of course.’

‘Preventing a serious case of treason? Yes, I think I know perfectly well what I am doing, sir.’

‘Oh, that is good, then,’ Sir Peregrine said, and bowed preparatory to making good his exit.

The sheriff slammed his goblet down on the table before him. ‘You mean to say you called me in here and delayed my blasted
goat-ballocked court to ask one damned question? What is the meaning of this, Coroner?’

‘I was just worried you weren’t aware. After all, it could be damaging to your reputation, but if you know—’

‘What could be damaging to me?’

‘You know who the boy is, don’t you?’

‘Yes, yes, yes. Of course I do. His wife is the daughter of that petty little bailiff from Lydford and his father is a merchant
and freeman. But even freemen don’t have all the power in the city, you know, and—’

‘No, I meant his circle of friends.’

The sheriff leaned forward eagerly. ‘You mean that he’s got powerful friends, eh?’

Sir Peregrine looked at him and with an effort managed to conceal his contempt. The sheriff was as transparent as the glass
in his window. He was hoping that Peter’s friends were rich so that they could be arrested, and then ransomed. This sheriff
was said to be one of the richest Exeter had ever seen already, and his wealth was based on the bribes and blackmails he charged.

‘He has very powerful friends, yes. Including the nephew of the bishop here. And the nephew has his uncle’s ear.’

‘That is all good. But I have the ear of Despenser,’ the sheriff said smugly.

‘Then it probably doesn’t matter.’

‘What doesn’t?’

Sir Peregrine essayed a look of mild surprise. ‘The nephew – he is a close confidant of the Cardinal de Fargis. You know,
the man who is deciding the case of Tavistock Abbey? The pope’s own special representative here? I just didn’t want you to
be in trouble. After all, the cardinal will report to the king and the pope about the area. About
how his own monk was murdered on his way here, and how the money for the king was stolen by outlaws, and now there’s the tale
of Peter too. I mean, it would sound to some as though all law and order had broken down. That the King’s Peace was no more
in Devon.’

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?