No Law in the Land

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Bow

Simon sat back as Baldwin spoke. He felt as though his veins had been opened. It was as though the blood from his body was draining into a pool at his feet as Baldwin described the sudden arrest of Peter, the boy’s incarceration, and Edith’s disappearance.

‘But surely she could have gone to-’

‘She would only have gone to your home or back to Exeter,’ Baldwin said. ‘Unless you can think of somewhere else? But that does not explain how it was that a man saw her, and another in Crediton thought he saw her in the company of a man who looked like William atte Wattere.’

‘Sweet Jesus! This is all the work of that prick-eared cur. Christ’s ballocks, if I learn that Despenser’s had anything to do with this, I’ll have his cods on my knife in a week. Dear Christ, if she’s hurt …’

Baldwin put his hand out, only to have Simon knock it away as he bellowed, enraged. ‘That mother-swyving churl, the illegitimate son of a diseased sow, the god forsaken dunghill swine, the-’

This time Baldwin set his hand on his friend’s shoulder and gripped it hard. ‘Ranting will not help anyone. And at present we do not know that the man has anything to do with her capture. No! Rather than swearing and making oaths that must only raise the humours in your heart, use your head, man. What we need is a means of finding her, first, and then we must betake ourselves to think of a way of rescuing her.’

‘Baldwin, if there is even a hair of her head that is hurt by this prick, I’ll have his heart! I knew she shouldn’t have married that milksop youth, in Christ’s name. He was always too feeble.’

‘Simon, he is a boy. He was taken on the sheriff’s orders. What would you expect him to do against that kind of force? And once in gaol, he had no choice, no means to help his wife. Do not blame a victim for the actions of his persecutor.’

‘Perhaps you are right,’ Simon said, and then he bent his head and let his face fall into his open hands. ‘Poor Edith! Oh God, if someone’s raped her …’

‘If that was to happen, I would personally help you to take vengeance,’ Baldwin said.

Simon nodded, but suddenly he couldn’t trust his voice. The thought that his little girl could be held by some churl who might even now be defiling her was so hideously terrifying that he could not fully comprehend it. Instead his mind seemed to slow, and his breathing grew shallow, while his heart raced. It felt as though his body was packed with ice, and he shivered, even as his breath started to sob in his throat. It was not right! Surely his little Edith hadn’t been hurt. Wouldn’t he have felt it, wouldn’t he have known, if she had been molested? But he hadn’t known that she had been captured. Surely he should have done, if he were a good father? Shouldn’t a father’s relationship with his daughter mean that he would know as soon as she was alarmed, scared or in danger? It was the least a man should feel. And yet he was a failure in that as in so many things. Here he was, a useless bailiff without a bailiwick, searching for the killers of people he didn’t know, while his own daughter was the subject of capture and possibly molestation. He should have been there, at home, for her.

‘Don’t blame yourself, Bailiff,’ Coroner Richard said. He was at Simon’s side, his head lowered, glowering about them with a truculence that seemed entirely out of place for him. ‘It ain’t your fault some bastard’s done this.’

‘It is my fault,’ Simon said, sniffing hard. ‘If I’d-’

‘Nothing, my friend. If you had been there, all that might have happened was that you’d got yourself killed. That wouldn’t help anyone. And if someone else decides to break your peace by attacking your little girl, it ain’t your fault, it’s theirs. Don’t blame yourself.’

‘How did you know how I feel?’ Simon asked, looking at the coroner from the corner of his eye.

‘My wife was killed, remember? I told you. A miserable, lying cur of a felon whom I’d had working for me as steward and bottler took a liking to her, and when I was away, raped and killed her, before killing my dog too. Poor brute tried to protect her, but the bastard cut his throat. And I know exactly what you’re thinkin’. It’s what I was thinkin’ too. I blamed meself, and I didn’t think about anyone else. It was just my guilt I swam in. And it was stupid. Because I didn’t kill the hound, I didn’t kill my wife. It was him. All him. Hope he’s rotting in hell now, learning how hot it can be. But that’s not the point. Point is, life’s here to get on with. And to be fair, I waited until I’d killed him before I set about wallowin’. You, Bailiff, have a job to do. You have to find her, save her, and then kill the bastards who’ve done this.’

‘How do we do that?’ Simon asked. He stood up and stared about him. ‘Where would they have brought her?’

Baldwin chewed his inner lip. ‘They passed through Crediton. We do know that. We hope that they passed this way after Copplestone, but I have no means of confirming that.’

It was Edgar who sniffed and looked up at the sky. Clouds were forming south-west over the moors.

‘What is it, man?’ the coroner demanded.

‘We know that the sheriff is allied to Despenser. We know that Wattere is Despenser’s man. And we know that he was heading this way with her. Unless he acted on his own, I would think Wattere took his orders the same as always. That means Despenser took Edith, and would want her to be held somewhere safe, I’d imagine. Perhaps he seeks to blackmail the bailiff into some action that would not usually occur to him? While holding the bailiff’s daughter, he would have a powerful incentive for the bailiff’s compliance.’

‘You think so?’

‘If he was — excuse my bluntness, Bailiff — if he was intending merely to rape and slay the maid, he would do so without the risk of parading her through the county. We’d have found her yesterday in a ditch near Exeter. Instead he brought her all the way to Crediton and beyond. Surely that means he has some other objective for her than merely seeing her slain.’

Simon gaped suddenly and stared at the coroner. ‘Dear God, and we were told by Pasmere that Sir Robert of Nymet Traci was an ally of Despenser! She could be here.’

Nymet Traci

In her room, Edith huddled by her bed, shivering, her arms wrapped about her. It was less the cold that troubled her, more the continuing fear of what would happen. She should have made her escape on the way here. At the time, though, terror had controlled her, and the idea of trying to gallop away had been just too daunting. However, the result was that she was stuck here with all these men and now she was petrified that she might not escape. She had heard of plenty of women who had been kidnapped, and none had escaped rape — and some women had been forced to endure much worse.

It was so terrifying that she felt she had no energy. If she had been told that she could be so enervated by such a situation, she would have laughed. The idea that being taken by a man like Wattere could lead to a maid being so petrified with terror that she might be incapable even of rational thought would have struck her as the merest nonsense. She was an intelligent woman. She knew how to defend herself. If there was a knife at hand, she would have used it to protect herself and her maidenhead from ravishment. But it was one thing to laugh during a conversation in front of her fire, perhaps with her father or her husband near to hand, and friends who were enjoying themselves with her. Here, in a chilly room, with her soul frozen in her heart, where every sound made her think that the foul man who had leered at her this morning was approaching again, it was different. And there was no weapon in the room. Not even a knife for eating.

The thought made her rise. There must be something here she could use. If the man returned and tried to force himself on her, she could lie back as though compliant, perhaps, and then strike him. A shard of metal or glass … A long pin. Her brooch would do service, she thought, pulling it from her shoulder. It had a long bronze pin that was weak generally, but she could use it for stabbing at a man’s eye. The floor was of wood, but the walls were stone. She could sharpen the pin on that.

But as she was about to rush to the wall, she heard steps. The hurried steps of a man who was eager to take advantage of a woman who was entirely at his mercy. She looked at the wall, but there was no time. Instead she gripped the brooch in her fist, so that the long pin protruded. If he came too close, she would stab him with all her might, she told herself. She had never fought with anybody, and the thought was almost more alarming than resigning herself to being raped. The idea of stabbing a man’s eye as he approached her with puckered lips was enough to make her stomach spasm. She saw in her mind’s eye the spurt of the humours as the pin punctured it, she felt the splatter of it on her face, and she had to avert her face from the vision, but not with any diminution of resolve. If he intended to rape her, she would sell her body as dearly as she might.

There was a rattle of bolts on the door, and she felt the bile rise into her throat. The acid made her want to choke. But then there was a knock, a gentle, apologetic little tap of a knuckle.

‘Who is it?’ she asked.

‘William atte Wattere,’ he answered. ‘Mistress, do you object if I enter?’

She felt the solid, reassuring weight of the brooch in her hand. In God’s hands. She was in His hands. Although she was reluctant to let Wattere in, she knew she couldn’t stop him if he insisted. At least he didn’t sound drunk.

‘What authority have I in me to prevent you?’ she said bitterly. ‘And what strength?’ she added sadly.

The door opened quietly and in the doorway stood Wattere. His anxiety was obvious from the first moment she saw him. ‘Well?’ she demanded.

He did not enter for a moment or two. Then he whipped off his hood and licked his lips before stepping over the threshold. ‘Mistress, I am come to apologise.’

His words made her heart leap in her breast. ‘There’s been a mistake?’ but as soon as she spoke, she knew that it was unimportant. Whether there had been a mistake in capturing her or not at the outset, the men here at this castle were not likely to release her — not until they had received a payment at least. In Basil’s case there would be a different type of reckoning, too.

He curled his lip. ‘Truth is, you were to be held here safely. There wasn’t to be any nonsense. You were only a toy to be bargained with, I swear. You weren’t to be harmed.’

‘You took me against my will, held me here, and I wasn’t to be harmed?’ she spat.

‘No. You were only to be kept here until … well, until my lord Despenser achieved what he needed. And then you could be released.’

‘And what, pray, was his object with me?’ she demanded sourly.

‘You were to help force the abbey of Tavistock to his will. With you here, he felt sure that Robert Busse would surrender his claim to the abbacy, and then John de Courtenay would win it for himself.’

‘What have they to do with me?’

‘Little. But Busse is a friend of your father’s. Sir Hugh considered that if you were held, your father would move heaven and earth to seek your release, and he’d persuade Busse to give up his claim. If not, he thought your father could even slay the abbot to give the seat to John de Courtenay.’

‘He was in his cups when he thought of this. Why would Busse listen to my father on a matter such as this? And my father wouldn’t kill a man for that. For me.’

But she knew it was a lie. Simon would commit any crime to protect her. He would kill a man, he would rob, steal, or even commit suicide for her. He was as entirely devoted to her as a father could be.

Then another thought struck her. ‘Why are you apologising to me now?’

‘Because it’s going wrong, maid. I am sorry. I am really sorry. But you have to protect yourself against Basil. He’s no better than a common cowman. I think he means you … means you harm.’

She was still suddenly as she felt ice enter her heart. ‘You mean he will rape me?’

‘I think he intends to. And there’s nothing I can do to save you.’

‘You say so? You brought me here, churl! If you wanted, you could at least stay at my door and stop anyone from entering.’

‘Fight a man like him? If I was whole, I could do that. But I have wounds still from your father,’ he said with a slight sneer. He felt sorry for this woman, but her father would only ever know his enmity. He detested Simon Puttock and would do nothing to help him. And yet this woman was not her father. It was leaving him feeling torn. ‘I am sorry.’

‘Then you could take me away from here, man! Don’t leave me here to be raped and slain by a fool in a drunken fit! What can I do to protect myself?’

Wattere winced and looked away as she stood. ‘Mistress …’ Suddenly a vision appeared before him: a picture of a dead cat, gold and white, with scarlet blood dribbling from its mouth, the head hanging at an impossible angle like a man swinging from a gibbet. It was enough to make his resolve waver as he looked back at this lovely fair-haired … child. ‘What can I do?’

‘Work out a way to take me from here,’ she pleaded. ‘I am only weak, I’ve no weapons, nothing! You brought me to this — surely you can think of a way to help me escape?’

He stared down at her, and thought of the cat. The idea of this maid lying on the bed, blood at her thighs, was enough to make him feel a surge of guilt. The other idea, that the next time he saw her she might be lying on the bed with her neck broken, a trickle of blood lying at her mouth’s corner, was enough to reinforce the guilt and urge him to action.

‘I will see what may be done,’ he said. He hesitated, and then reached behind his back. Withdrawing a small dagger, he gave it to her, and then stood with his breath stilled, half expecting her to stab him.

But no. Instead she gave him a thin smile and took the knife, which she secreted inside her tunic. ‘For that I thank you, Master William. But please, please try to think of a means of escape for me? Please?’

He felt a strange twisting in his breast — an impossible urge to grab the knife back and return to normalcy; but then a pull at his soul made him stop himself. He could not force this woman, this girl, to submit to Basil. That man was no better than a felon waylaying a maid in the street. The difference was, he had her at his power because Wattere had brought her here. It would be better for her to kill herself than submit.

No, Simon Puttock was no friend to him, but his daughter was no more Wattere’s enemy than was the Archbishop of Canterbury. She did not deserve this fate.

‘I will do what I can,’ he said with a firm nod of his head. Then he turned and fled before her tears of gratitude could melt his heart any more.

Road near Nymet Traci

Agnes was not sure about this hard-handed stranger. He looked too worn and battered. Of course, many travellers looked worse, but that was little consolation. This one looked like a man who would have little compunction in taking a woman for his own, and she would not allow that. No man would have her, she resolved.

He had swung her out into the road, and now he followed her, as nimble as before.

‘So you are a sailor, then,’ she said as he dropped lightly at her feet.

‘You know many sailors up here?’ he asked with some surprise.

‘We see them. Often they come past here as they walk from coast to coast.’

‘I can believe it,’ he said wryly. ‘But there are no jobs at either coast.’

‘Not even for you?’

‘Plainly you see more in me than the shipmasters of Devon,’ he said mildly. But already he was staring along the road in the direction the men had taken, back east. ‘Did you know any of those men?’

‘No. I’m not from near here. I live in-’

‘Jacobstowe. Yes — I know.’

‘You sound as though you know them, though.’

‘I saw them a few days ago. That one-eyed bastard in front? He was up the road from here, and I saw him kill a man.’

‘Who?’

‘Just some farmer,’ Roger said.

Agnes felt her face blanch. Her legs began to fail her, and she felt herself waver. ‘Who?’

‘Don’t know. Just some fellow on his way to market, I think.’

He realised her weakness, and quickly took her elbow, holding on to her until the spasm had passed.

‘Are you well, mistress? Do you want to sit?’

‘No, I am fine. But I want to see that one-eyed devil hanging.’

He nodded, as though this was the most natural desire of any woman. ‘Let’s see if we can tell where they were going. I think they must live not far away from here, for it was close by where I saw them kill the farmer.’