No Law in the Land

Chapter Twenty-Five

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?

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.

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.