No Law in the Land

Chapter Four

Abbeyford Woods, south of Jacobstowe

‘Well, fellow?’

The tone of the knight was invariably sharp, as though he had no regard for Bill or any of the others. Instead he stood about, still, surveying the damage all around, tapping his foot as though he was waiting for a porter to open a gate for him.

He watched as Bill and the others gathered up the jury and made them stand in a rough semicircle. Then they set out a board and stool ready for the clerk to scribble at, and checked who was and who wasn’t present.

‘All ready, Coroner.’

‘Very well. Clerk, have the jury swear,’ Sir Peregrine de Barnstaple said, and wandered to the nearest of the bodies.

While the jury was sworn in, he stood and surveyed the coppice again. Seeing Bill watching him, he beckoned. ‘Look, Bailiff, I do happily confess that I am new to this task. I have not been a coroner for long. But I would have you tell me, do you have any idea who could have done this?’

‘I have been wondering that myself. It isn’t the locals about here. You can see that.’

‘Why?’

‘Look at us! There aren’t enough to try to attack such a force as this. And why would we kill like this? This wasn’t a simple waylaying, I’d wager. No, these men were attacked and killed for a definite purpose. The man with his eyes put out? Why would a robber do that?’

‘That is what I thought too. So it would be a large band of outlaws, is what you believe?’

‘I can only think so. But …’

‘What?’

‘A gang large enough to do this would have to have been seen or heard, Sir Peregrine.’

‘True enough. So where did they come from? Do you have any idea?’

‘I’ve searched along the roads all about here in the last day or two. There is one direction I think they could have come from. North.’

The coroner shrugged and shook his head. ‘Should that mean something to me? Which castle would they be from? That’s what I need to know. Who are they and where could they have come from? Are they outlaws, is that what you mean?’

Bill eyed him closely, then looked back over the dead bodies. ‘There is no man within my manor who would have done this. North of here there are a number of men-at-arms in the employ of different lords, and there are men at Oakhampton, of course. But a group would have to be very sure of themselves to do such murder. Of the men in the area near here, I don’t know who would dare to attack such a group.’

Sir Peregrine looked at him for a moment. ‘I have the impression you are withholding something from me. Is there anything else you wish to tell me?’

Bill looked up at the coroner. Since first seeing the man, he had been impressed by Sir Peregrine’s haughtiness and self-importance. The man was the perfect example of a knight: arrogant and overbearing. He was typical of all the coroners Bill had ever met: he surely wasn’t interested in justice or protecting the people about here; he was only looking at this as a means of procuring money in amercements for the king. All murders and attacks like this led to the locals being fleeced to swell the king’s purse.

‘I can tell nothing more than you, Sir Peregrine,’ Bill said flatly.

‘Very well. Let us open the inquest and see what may be learned,’ the coroner said, and clapped his hands to get the attention of the men waiting. ‘I call this inquest to order!’

Westminster Palace

Sir Hugh le Despenser was aware of the value of good information, and he appreciated the importance of a man who would happily bring him news. The under-bottler from the Painted Chamber was an expensive ally, but his reports were worth all the money Sir Hugh lavished on him. He paid the man now with twenty shillings, a small fortune, but one that the man’s detailed account fully justified.

‘I am grateful to you, my friend,’ he said as he passed the money over. ‘Let me know more about the king’s mood when you can.’

As the under-bottler left, Sir Hugh stood and rubbed at his forehead. The pressure was unrelenting, and the sensation of having his head in a vice was growing in virulence daily. There was so much for him to do, so much to plan, if he were to be safe. One thing was certain — his new spy was only as good as Despenser’s star. If his position began to wane, the under-bottler would not come to advise him. He would be seeking his next patron, rather. So when the fellow stopped responding to Despenser’s requests, he might have to be taught a lesson at a dagger’s point.

One thing was clear, though. If the queen and Mortimer had become so close that even a cloth-headed fool like Bishop Stapledon could spot it, the matter was more serious than he had realised. That being so, he might have to plan differently, for that could well mean that the queen and the traitor were already so far advanced in their plots that they didn’t care whether the bishop, and therefore the king, were to learn of them. Although there was the other possibility: that the queen had never expected or intended that the bishop should return safely to England. If that was so, then perhaps her devious little mind had been unsettled from its smooth road, and the result could be that the whole of her carefully laid scheme might be thrown into disarray. Although Sir Hugh had no idea how to effect that desirable outcome.

But it might not be her plan at all. Perhaps it was all conceived by Mortimer and the French king. Neither of them was a friend to Sir Hugh, of course, but if a man was being stalked by enemies, it was best to know which adversary was nearest. Was it possible that the bishop himself was also allying himself to the queen? If all the others in France had moved to support her, perhaps the bishop too had …

No. That was impossible. The haughty little bitch would never consider him as a friend. The bishop had seen to it that she had lost all power and influence at court, removing from her all her estates and revenues as soon as war with the French began last year. The result had been a shameful curtailing of her life and freedom, even the removal of her children so that she might not pollute their minds with nonsense about the French. She would only ever plot to see Bishop Walter destroyed, never with him.

Not that the others with the bishop were similarly free of suspicion. The Keeper of the King’s Peace he had loathed for some time, as he had Simon Puttock, and the other knight, the sometime coroner Sir Richard de Welles, was an unknown quantity but appeared to be quite friendly with the other two.

Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, he knew, had been moderately well regarded by the queen before her embassy to France. It would be hardly a surprise if he and she had further cemented their friendship while together in Paris. And Sir Baldwin had been a thorn in Sir Hugh’s side for at least a year.

Puttock was a lesser threat. He was only a peasant, when all was said and done. He was owned by Sir Hugh de Courtenay, Baron of Devon, and could easily be neutralised. In fact he might well already have been — Despenser’s men had bullied him earlier this year. If he tried to do anything to harm Sir Hugh, he would find that there were other problems a wealthy man could bring to bear on him. Still, a fellow with family and no money could be turned into a useful asset.

After all, this Puttock was a known element. Perhaps Sir Hugh should have him brought here to discuss French affairs in private.

Abbeyford Woods, south of Jacobstowe

Bill Lark bent his head and rested on his staff as the verdicts were announced.

Much more of this and he’d be falling asleep while standing, he reckoned. The coroner had been as quick as he could be, admittedly, but the number of bodies to be gathered, studied, stripped naked and rolled over and over before the jury were so many that the matter had taken the best part of the day. And now that the inquest was done, there was the additional work of loading all the bodies on a cart to take them to the little graveyard, where they could be given a decent burial; seeing to the vigil while they were held before the altar; and of course collecting of the money the coroner had imposed as fines on the community for the infringement of the King’s Peace.

‘Bailiff, I am sorry that the vill has to suffer this,’ the coroner said quietly, walking up to join Bill. ‘I had no choice.’

‘I understand.’ And he did. The deodand was a fine imposed to the value of the murder weapon, and in a case like this, where many weapons had been used, each must be separately accounted for the injuries done to each person. Although the coroner had managed to reduce the fines a little by ignoring some of those wounds that would not have killed, he was duty bound to include all those that appeared to be more serious. The other fine, the murdrum, must be imposed where the victims were not known, and since none of these was known to any about here, the full amount must be demanded of the people of the hundred.

‘We are no nearer learning who could have done this,’ the coroner said.

The bailiff could not argue with that. ‘We’ll probably never know. Some outlaws are like that. They arrive in an area, commit a few crimes, and then move on to find better pickings elsewhere. It’s likely we’ll never see them.’

It was all too true. The sort of men who came and committed this type of crime were not locals. It had not been carried out by inexperienced fighters; these victims had been killed by professionals. In any case, in Bill’s experience, once a coroner had pronounced on a death, that was an end to the matter. No coroner would put himself out too much — and without the support even of a coroner, there was little if anything that Bill could himself do. So he would probably never learn more about these deaths. They would be remembered by those who lived here for some years and then forgotten. Perhaps someone might pass by asking about some folks who had disappeared, but in the absence of anything to say who these victims were, no one would ever know, in all likelihood, whether their missing father or husband was lying in a grave at Jacobstowe with the rest of this party or not.

The coroner was scowling at the bodies as they were collected and slung on to the carts. ‘What of the people in the area? I find it hard to imagine that no one saw or heard anyone.’

‘They’d have been sleeping and-’

‘Pig shit! You mean to tell me that a force large enough to kill these men could have ridden away from here without anyone noticing? Do you think I look that much of a fool?’

‘No, Coroner, but you have to understand that we’re so far apart here, many of us, that a force could have ridden between houses and gone without anyone hearing, if they were careful.’

The coroner turned away. ‘They’d have had to go up that road north or south. There’s no track east or west — not nearby. How far north could they have gone?’

‘They didn’t get to Jacobstowe, I know that much.’

‘Then they turned off before that, unless they went south. But south would mean getting closer to Oakhampton,’ the coroner mused.

‘Why are you so troubled by them? They’re someone else’s problem now,’ Bill said.

Sir Peregrine looked at him. ‘No, man. They are our problem. They committed murder here, and I’ll catch them if I can. I don’t give a farthing for the souls of men who slaughter women and children. If I could do anything that would capture them, I’d do it.’

‘We don’t even know who many of them were,’ Bill muttered. ‘Just some monks and their guards — I suppose we can learn their names. But the others?’

There was a clattering, thundering noise from behind them, and Bill turned to see a cart approaching. In the back were five bodies. The two on the top were the children whom they had discovered under the blanket. He thought of his own little Ant as he looked at the two small figures rolling and jerking in the back of the cart. The coroner had seemed the same as all the others, but just now there had been a distinct tone of determination in his voice. It almost made Bill think that he was serious.

‘We’ll learn them,’ Sir Peregrine said firmly. ‘I will not have innocents laid to rest in graves without headstones. Damn the souls of those who did this! I want them hanging!’

‘Then I’ll do what I can,’ Bill said. He sighed resignedly. ‘Coroner, there is perhaps a little more I can tell you. But ’tis only guesswork on my part.’

Coroner Peregrine listened carefully as Bill spoke of the trampled brambles and blood which lay all about. He walked with Bill and studied the bushes before nodding. ‘You know I should fine you for not mentioning all this during my inquest? No matter. I can understand why you didn’t.’ He stood and gazed about him. ‘But I am serious, Lark. I want these bastards, and I will see them swing for this. I rely on you to find them for me. Seek them out. Seek them and let me know where your searches take you. Have your priest write to me at Rougemont Castle in Exeter, and I will come as soon as I may.’

Westminster Palace

Simon was surprised to be asked to go with the man-at-arms, but he had almost finished his meat pie, and he stuffed the remains into his mouth as he stood from the trestle table outside the tavern at the main gate to the palace grounds.

‘Who wants me?’ he asked through his pie.

‘The under-bottler to the Painted Chamber.’

Simon shrugged. Baldwin had left him here to go and make sure that his horse was being cared for. It was typical of the ex-Templar that he would always see to his horse’s well-being before his own. He had once explained his determination to look after his horse. ‘If I need to escape an enemy, Simon, I will want a horse that is fed and watered and without lameness.’

It made sense to a man who was a warrior, Simon supposed. For his part, he would always treat his horse as well as he might, because it was the second most expensive item he owned. The only thing that had ever cost him more was his house, and he believed in looking after his investment.

The bottler was one of the most important men in the king’s household. He controlled many facets of the house, from the rights and privileges of the servants to the quality and quantity of the food provided, as well as seeing to the comfort of guests. It was a little alarming that his deputy had asked to see Simon, but at least Simon had a clear conscience. There was nothing he could have done in the last hours that could have caused offence, so far as he knew. It was possible that he had done something before, during an earlier visit to the palace, but he felt sure that if that was the case, he would already have learned of his error.

Entering the palace by a door he had not used before, Simon was almost instantly disorientated. The man led him along a narrow passage, up a short flight of stairs, along a corridor, and then down a tower with a tightly curved staircase, before stopping at a door. He took Simon’s sword, then knocked, and motioned Simon forward.

Simon opened the door and stopped dead, his eyes freezing on the figure in the middle of the chamber.

‘Please, Bailiff. Enter and close the door behind you,’ Sir Hugh le Despenser said.

Simon took a step back to leave the room.

‘I said to come in.’

Simon’s way was barred by the grinning man-at-arms, who held his staff across his body and pushed Simon back inside.

‘We wouldn’t want any trouble for you at home, would we?’ Despenser said. ‘Your wife would be upset to know that you were prepared to make more problems for her, I expect.’

The mention of his wife was enough. ‘What have you done to my Meg?’ Simon demanded, turning and facing the man.

Despenser smiled at his angry response. ‘Already this year you have made yourself a sore annoyance to me, and I have repaid you as I might, to remind you and your friend the knight that it is better that you respect your betters rather than make trouble for them. I only wish to ask you some questions, nothing more. Enter and sit down and we can have a sensible talk. Otherwise I shall consider involving myself in your affairs again.’

‘What have you done to my wife while I was in France?’ Simon said, not moving.

Despenser looked him up and down without any change of expression. He jerked his head towards a stool in front of his table, then walked around to sit behind it on a large leather-covered chair. ‘I am waiting.’

Simon licked his lips. The man behind him moved away a little, and Simon turned to watch him, but when the man merely shrugged, Simon decided he might as well make the best of it. He pulled the door closed, leaving the guard outside, and walked to the table, staring down at the man on the other side.

Despenser looked worse than Simon remembered from when he had left the country. Then the strain was already showing. Sir Hugh was terrified that the king might go to France himself and leave him behind, which would without doubt lead to his death. Even were he declared regent in the king’s absence, he had made enemies of so many men in the realm that his life would be worthless as soon as Edward’s protection was taken away. The only thing that could be worse was that he might try to go with the king to France, for if anything the French king and his nobles were more repelled by Despenser than were the English. He had once turned pirate while exiled from the king’s side, and during that time he had deliberately captured and robbed a number of French vessels. It had led to the French declaring that were he ever to set foot on French territory again, he would be executed.

The machinations by which he had attempted to protect himself had led to Sir Hugh becoming almost cadaverous. He had grown pale and haggard. But now, if anything, he was a great deal worse. He sat sucking at his forefinger, and when he took it away, Simon saw that there was a rim of blood where he had bitten too close to the quick.

‘You look unwell,’ Simon commented with satisfaction.

‘I want to know all that happened in France. Especially with the queen.’

Simon stared at him. ‘I want to know how my wife is,’ he said again.

‘I have done nothing to harm or alarm her since you left. The only reason I did anything to her was to keep you under control, Master Puttock. For so long as you remain civil to me, she is safe. But leave me once to think that you are being less than frank, and I shall destroy you. Understand me? I will start by making life intolerable for your wife. So hearken to my words. I want to know all, all, that happened in France.’

Simon considered, but he saw no reason to risk antagonising his tormentor further. In all faith, he knew that the man sitting opposite could have him killed in an instant. Likewise, Meg could be injured, or worse, on the whim of Despenser. It would be better, no doubt, to humour him.

He related the story of his journey with Baldwin in the company of the Earl of Chester, recently created Duke of Aquitaine, as the two of them guarded the royal heir on his way to Paris. He told of the arguments between the queen and Bishop Walter, the murder of a French official, and finally of the flight homewards.

‘So the queen actually attempted to threaten the bishop? That is rich!’ Despenser laughed. ‘I suppose the old cockerel bolted as soon as he realised she was serious? The dotard wouldn’t usually recognise a threat until the dagger was pricking his skin!’

‘Bishop Walter had one thought and one only,’ Simon said coldly. ‘To protect the king and the king’s son. To do that he knew he must return alive with news of the difficulties in France.’

‘And to do so he was prepared to leave the king’s son in that nest of vipers? What perspicacity!’

Simon kept his mouth sealed. It was hard to justify the bishop’s actions to any who was not there and had not felt the menace. He did not feel the need to remind Despenser that he himself had hidden away in England to protect himself from the same risk.

Sir Hugh set his head to one side. ‘What of you, Master Bailiff? You and your friends. Did you and Sir Baldwin form an allegiance to the queen that would overrule your oaths to your king? Have you allied yourselves with her?’

‘What do you mean?’

Sir Hugh slowly levered himself to his feet. He rested his hand on his sword hilt, as though to remind Simon that he was unarmed. ‘Don’t think me a fool, Bailiff. I want the truth from you now. Did you make a new vow to support the queen? Have you and your friends returned to England to bring messages for others and help foment rebellion?’

‘I am a mere bailiff. What could I do?’

‘You returned here in the company of two knights.’

‘Sir Baldwin and Sir Richard acknowledge no master other than their king, and nor will they ever. They remain loyal to King Edward.’

‘In truth? That is good, then. Because I would be sorely sad to have to see them killed for dishonour and treachery.’

‘It is your own prerogative, you mean?’ Simon said snidely.

The sword was out and the point rested on Simon’s throat. ‘Do not try to insult me, churl!’ Despenser hissed. ‘I am not of a mind to tolerate your insolence. I am a loyal subject to my king, and I seek to destroy all those who would hurt him. Remember that, if you value your life!’

Simon said nothing, and as Despenser pressed the blade forward slightly, he only stared deep into Despenser’s eyes, even as he felt the skin pricked and a small trickle of blood begin to well.

‘Bailiff, you have some native courage.’

‘It is easy to be brave in the face of cowardice.’

‘You think me a coward, then? Interesting.’ Sir Hugh took his blade from Simon’s throat and gradually moved away. ‘I do all in my power to serve the crown, and you think me a coward?’

‘Drawing a sword on an unarmed man is courage, then?’

‘Living here each day does at least feel like a kind of boldness,’ Despenser said more quietly.

Simon felt a fleeting frown crease his brow. The man did seem to be honest — Simon was sure he could hear a low sigh. And no matter what he thought of Sir Hugh, it was true enough that he would himself be appalled to be left here in this great canker of intrigue and politics. If it weren’t for the tingling of the scratch under his chin, he could almost have felt some sympathy for the man.

Despenser stood at the window. From there he could see all along the eastern reach of the river, with its fabulous array of ships, boats and small craft that plied their trade each day. There were some days like this when he would have been happier to be anywhere else than here in Westminster, on the stinking bog that was Thorney Island.

‘There are so many places in this land that merit a visit, and here I remain,’ he said softly. ‘As caged as the lions in the king’s menagerie.’

Simon said nothing.

‘You have travelled the moors of the Dart — I have never so much as seen them. And yet I have heard so much about them.’

‘They reward a visit,’ Simon said after a few moments of silence.

‘Tavistock is a pleasant town?’

Simon smiled again now. He had thought there must be a purpose to the questioning. Now he thought he saw it. ‘Yes. And a rich abbey.’

‘Which is presently vacant. There is no abbot,’ Sir Hugh said, and turned to face Simon again.

‘It has an abbot.’

Despenser made a dismissive gesture. ‘A fool who will soon be removed, and then there will be a new one.’

‘You think another would be better?’

‘There is a good man there. John de Courtenay would make a thoroughly effectual abbot, I am told. This man in place presently is not competent. And he has been shown to be guilty of necromancy.’

‘No. He has been shown to have visited a man who was capable in those arts,’ Simon corrected him.

‘You quibble. You heard that he has robbed the abbey too?’

‘That is unproven, and I believe unfounded. I do not believe it.’

‘John de Courtenay would be more safe at the helm of a great institution like Tavistock.’

‘Clearly you haven’t met the man,’ Simon said with a grin.

‘You are pathetic. Be gone!’

‘My wife is well?’

‘Why should she not be? Do you think I’d take a peasant woman for my own? I have not even told my men to use her for themselves. But you should remember this, Bailiff. My men are still in Devon, and if I hear that you have been false to your king — or to me — you will be ruined, you and your family, because my anger will know no bounds. Be careful.’