No Law in the Land

Chapter Eleven

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.

‘Dear God, child, what has happened?’

It was her mother-in-law, and even as Edith sank down, incapable of supporting herself, so great was her relief at seeing a friendly face, she was aware of a feeling of enormous gratitude that it was Jan, rather than her more stern husband, Charles, who stood there as the servant opened the door to her.

Edith gabbled in her panic. ‘Mother, Mother, they’ve arrested poor Peter. He was taken just now. A man hit him, hit him hard with a staff, and … and …’

‘Be still, my dear,’ Mistress Jan said. She was a short, dark-haired woman with a matronly figure. She knelt at Edith’s side, holding her close. ‘Child, you are freezing. You need a fire.’

‘I am fine, it’s Peter we …’ Edith protested, anxious that Jan didn’t believe her. Then, looking up, she saw the lines of fear in the older woman’s face, the glittering in the dark eyes, and the compassion.

‘I know. But if he’s been taken to the castle, there is little we may do until we have a pleader to go and learn what he has been accused of, and why. You need to calm yourself, Edith, and I insist that you come to the fire and rest a while.’ She held up a hand to stop dispute. ‘Meantime I shall send a boy to my husband to acquaint him with the facts. There is nothing more we can do until he arrives.’

Edith wanted to protest. She wanted to be doing something, anything, to help Peter, but there was a comfort in Peter’s mother’s voice. This woman was as worried as she was — perhaps more so. Edith couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to hear that her own son had been taken, nor how difficult it would be to try to remain calm enough to soothe another woman while feeling that her own world was shattered.

‘There is nothing more we can do,’ the woman repeated. She helped Edith up and through to the hall. ‘Sit here, and try to relax. After all, you’ve a duty to protect the child.’

‘You knew?’ Edith asked with frank astonishment.

‘You thought you’d kept it hidden?’ Mistress Jan chuckled tiredly.

She hurried from the room, and Edith was left before the fire, her maid beside her. Edith stared at the flames, and outwardly gave every sign of composure, but when she tried to think of her husband, her breath caught in her throat. She found herself sobbing like an old woman, with dry, hacking, choking sounds, and she discovered that all her thoughts were grim and dark as she clutched her maid’s arm for support.

Road to Oakhampton

They had left Sir Peregrine when the sun was already past its zenith by a good half-hour. He had plenty of business to conduct himself, and was keen to get at least as far as Crediton before nightfall. That should not be any trouble, but Simon and Sir Richard still had many miles to go.

‘What did you think of his words?’ Sir Richard asked.

‘I think that he is plainly alarmed by the way the law is becoming so disdained,’ Simon said. He jogged along in the saddle for a few moments, thinking again about the way Sir Peregrine had commented upon the murders in the area. ‘I was shocked to hear of the murder of the reeve, I confess. Most wandering bands would avoid harming a man such as he, if they can avoid it.’

‘Aye. But the buggers are all over the place now. Indolent, idle and armed. It makes it all more problematic. If there’s a gang that is prepared to kill twenty-odd people, that is a crime to be pursued, certainly.’

‘Yes,’ Simon agreed. ‘Who would do that, too? A madman, surely.’

‘No. Certainly not. An armed band desperate for money or food, perhaps, but certainly not a fool. They were clever enough to kill the whole lot, so there could be no witnesses, and then they took all that was worthwhile.’

‘From what Sir Peregrine said, the clerical fellow had been wealthy,’ Simon recalled. ‘Rings and all the trappings. What kind of man would have stayed out in the wilds when there must be dozens of taverns along that road?’

‘A man who feared being trapped?’ Sir Richard wondered. ‘I have often kept out of the smaller, less salubrious establishments while travelling, in case I may be set upon.’

Simon looked at him. Sir Richard had never, to his knowledge, avoided the meanest, foulest drinking dens. More commonly he would cheerfully declare that the better deals for wine or ale could be found in them. And then he would berate the keeper of the tavern until the very best drinks and foods were brought out for him. ‘I had noticed,’ he said with careful moderation.

‘How far do you reckon we may travel today?’ Sir Richard asked after a little while.

‘I hope that by dark we should have reached Lydford,’ Simon said.

He was not happy as they rode, though. For all that he had a most redoubtable companion in the figure of the coroner, this was one of the first times while passing through Devon that he had been aware of a sense of urgency and nervousness. Each great tree appeared to cast a curious shadow. At one point he was close to shouting a warning at Sir Richard when he saw a shadow suddenly shift, and it was only the quick realisation that it was in fact the movement of a branch causing it that stopped his voice. This was ridiculous! For him, a man in his middle years, to be so skittish in the face of fears was foolish in the extreme.

‘I have heard of other families that live outside the law,’ Sir Richard murmured.

‘Sorry?’ Simon asked, jolted from his reverie.

‘This man Sir Robert de Traci and his appalling son. They sound dangerous to me. A man and his son who can work without the law. That makes a deadly combination.’

‘The sheriff would appear to have allied himself with them,’ Simon observed.

‘Aye, well, there’s many a sheriff — and judge — who will do that. I have heard of one sheriff who captured a fellow and kept him in gaol, torturing him until he confessed to some crimes, then forced him to name his friends as accomplices, just so he could fine them. Others will all too often take bribes to persuade a jury to go one way so that a guilty man will walk free — or to convict and hang another just so the guilty can pay him for his freedom. Cannot abide that. The thought of an innocent man being punished while the guilty is left to commit another crime is disgusting.’

‘I don’t know this man from Bow. Nor the sheriff,’ Simon mentioned.

‘Sir Robert’s been there a while. Surprised you haven’t met him yet.’ Sir Richard explained how the knight had been a member of the king’s household until he allied himself with the king’s enemies, and after that had been outlawed. ‘I had no idea he’d been restored to his former positions.’

‘Surely the king wouldn’t give him back his lands and life if he had been a traitor?’

The coroner grunted in response to that. ‘Enough others have been pardoned for all their crimes.’

‘I have tended to avoid these parts in recent years,’ Simon said. ‘Living on the moors, then down at Dartmouth; and recently I’ve been away so much that Bow doesn’t seem a natural place to visit.’

‘Aye, well, by the sound of things you should continue to avoid the place,’ was Sir Richard’s considered comment.

They dropped down into Oakhampton in the middle of the afternoon, much to the delight of Sir Richard, who, in the absence of a full wineskin, was growing almost morose. Then they took the Cornwall road past the castle, and on to the road south.

Simon would have liked to have left the roads, and at Prewley Moor he cast a longing glance to the moors themselves, but he was forced to agree with Sir Richard that it would have been foolhardy. There was no need to leave the roadway here. It was a good trail, with cleared verges for almost all the route to Lydford, and when they were approaching the town, they would be perfectly safe in any case. Better by far to keep to the road and make their journey more swiftly.

It was still an hour before nightfall when they trotted gently into the town where Simon had lived for such a long while. He cast about him as they went, fearing that they might even now be assailed by the men of Sir Hugh le Despenser, especially William atte Wattere, but for all his fears, there was no sign of anyone. Only some loud singing from the tavern as they passed, and the occasional barking of a dog, told them that people still lived here.

‘This is my house,’ Simon said as they reached the long, low building. He stopped a moment and looked at it, feeling a distinct sense of alienation. The place had been his for such a long time, it was most curious to think that it had been taken from him so swiftly and easily. There was a shocking ruthlessness in the way that Despenser had gone about it, searching for a weakness in Simon’s life, and then exploiting it without compunction. He had learned about Simon’s lease while Simon was abroad on a mission for the king. A little pressure on the leaseholder was all that was needed, and Despenser owned the place. The most powerful man in the land after only the king himself was not the man to make an enemy.

So Simon had lost his home, but more importantly he had also lost his peace of mind. Any pleasure in his possessions was now marred by the realisation that they could be taken from him at any time. He had no control over his own destiny.

Of course a man always knew that the most valuable asset he owned, his life, could be snatched away in a moment. It took only a freak accident, a whim on the part of God Himself, and a man’s soul was taken from him. Sometimes it was malevolent fate that men blamed, sometimes the evil in others, but Simon had been raised and educated at the Church of the Holy Cross and the Mother of Him Who Hung Thereon, the canonical church at Crediton, and the teachings of the canons there had influenced his life and thinking ever since.

His life was not something Simon had ever bothered to trouble himself over. He had a simple faith that because he was a Christian, when he died he would be taken up to heaven. There was no point troubling himself over the world and worldly things when the real life was yet to come. And yet he found more and more that the things he cared about most deeply were all too easily taken from him. Perhaps it was because of this, he thought, staring at the house. Such a solid, massive structure, so permanent, it seemed impossible to think that it could be taken from him in a matter of days, no matter what he tried to do to keep it. There was an inevitability about such things. Those things he loved most dearly, they were themselves the very things he would find being targeted by an enemy such as Sir Hugh le Despenser.

‘Simon? You all right?’ Sir Richard asked.

Nodding, Simon dropped from his horse and the two hitched their mounts to a ring in the wall. Then, taking a deep breath, Simon walked to his old door and beat upon it with his knuckles.

He felt sick to the pit of his stomach as he wondered who would open it.