Michael Jecks - No Law in the Land

Afterwards, his master had told him he was grateful. It was as he lay on the dewy grass, knowing only the horror of what his leg had become, while he stared at the thing that had once been a part of him, that the man came out and said he was grateful. His destrier had lived. How Hoppon had hated that beast. And his master. For them he was ruined. His leg would never heal again. The flesh was burned away. The little that remained was withered for ever.

There had been enormous pleasure for him when he had heard that the destrier had reared in the river and drowned them both. That had been a day of joy for Hoppon.

Westminster Palace

Sir Hugh le Despenser lay back in his bed, his wife at his side but carefully not touching. He and Eleanor had not been intimate for some while now. Perhaps he should demand the renewal of the marriage debt, but for many weeks he hadn’t felt the urge. It was as though the worries about the land, the fears about the queen and Mortimer, had conspired to kill off his natural desires.

Perhaps the cause was more because of Eleanor. It could have been the way she looked at him ever since the moment some weeks ago when he and she had fallen out. So much had gone wrong this year. First how the queen had been treated after the beginnings of the war with France, and then the way that she had been sent to France to negotiate with her brother. Nothing seemed to have gone well since those first moments of dispute. Eleanor had become cold, indifferent and argumentative, and in response Hugh had grown angry.

There was so much to occupy him. Some said that he was too unkind, that his thoughts were only ever of his own position, but that wasn’t true. Not entirely. No, he would also spend much time trying to see how to serve his king.

The disastrous matters at Tavistock Abbey were just one example of the turmoil that was rending the kingdom, and on which his mind was constantly bent. Tavistock was hardly a bulwark in the defensive ring about the coast. Despenser was only too well aware of the defences at sea, having himself turned pirate for a short while five years ago. Mortimer could, indeed might, raise an army without any interference from the king or Despenser. There was nothing they could do — all their spies had been captured in recent months, and the intelligence they received tended to rely on the travellers from France who stopped at Canterbury. Prior Henry Eastrey of Christ Church sifted their stories and sent on anything that seemed germane. But the ships in the king’s navy could, and would, hopefully, block any possible invasion from the east. The Cinque Ports were full of ships that could protect the realm from attack.

But a fleet that avoided them and tried to land elsewhere, that was a genuine risk. And if it were able to make its way to the Devon coast, that would be a true disaster. For the lands there had been under the control of the queen, and many of her people were still angry at the way she had been treated — her household disbanded, her knights sent to France or arrested, her children taken away from her, her revenues and estates sequestrated, her movements restricted, and even her personal seal confiscated to prevent secret communication with anyone. Those who felt loyalty to her had been outraged that her royal person could be so demeaned.

There was another aspect, though. Tavistock had been a powerful influence in the West Country under the last abbot, Robert Champeaux. But now he was dead, and for the present, while there was a debate about who should rule the place, the sole benefit of the abbey lay in the money it was producing. While the abbacy was vacant, the abbey must pay a fine each year to the king. The payment was on its way now, Despenser knew. And the money would be useful. Because with it, he hoped to persuade Robert Busse to stand down as abbot, and allow John de Courtenay to take over unchallenged.

Politics. Politics. In the realm, politicking caused grief and hardship to many. And yet he would swear that the little, local politics of a place like Tavistock were more cruel, poignant and dangerous. National politics might affect many people, but down at Tavistock the machinations of the brother monks were threatening the kingdom, because until Sir Hugh could be sure that the fools down there were stable and settled, he must worry all the while that Mortimer’s fleet could round Kent and sail all the way to Devon. With Tavistock still empty of an abbot, Hainault’s mercenaries could sweep up the Tamar to Exeter, that hotbed of malcontents and rebels, and thence, gathering support as they came, ride for London. It would be simple if they were unopposed at the outset, and the easier their journey from the West Country, the quicker would be the collapse of any support for the king. And for Sir Hugh le Despenser.

Yes. All hinged upon Tavistock. Brother Robert Busse was the abbot-elect, but Brother John de Courtenay was the more malleable. With him in position, it would be easier to ensure that the abbey went on a stronger defensive footing and served to protect the coast. And that would make the rest of the kingdom so much more safe.

From bloody Puttock’s words, he believed that Busse was the better man, damn his eyes! He was independent, which was why Sir Hugh distrusted him. Better to have a reliable man like de Courtenay.

And then an idea began to form in Sir Hugh’s head. The initial concept was there before him, of course. It involved the money, and the attempt to subvert the abbot-elect by bribing him and then forcing him to become less independent by blackmailing him. That might still work — but if it failed, there was now this second string to his bow. Simon Puttock, the honourable, decent supporter of Busse. Perhaps he could help. Or his wife …

Didn’t he have a daughter?

Third Saturday following the Feast of the Archangel Michael *

The road they had taken was the same they used the last time that they left Westminster to return to Devon, and Simon was fretful until he at last felt that the looming presence of the king’s palace was out of sight behind him.

‘You look worried, Simon,’ Sir Richard said.

He was sitting back in his saddle, legs thrust forwards, rolling with his mount’s gait, and with a loaf of heavy bread made from rye and wheat in one hand, while in his other he grasped the neck of his wine skin. His eyes were as shrewd as ever, but Simon knew that the main characteristic in them was the gleam of innate kindness and generosity.

‘I want to be as far from the place as possible. You know, Coroner, I feel just now that I have been in danger and hunted for almost all this year. When we left here to go to France with the queen, I was anxious. When I returned with her son, I was fearful. Coming back through France was terrifying, knowing that all the while there were men who sought the destruction of my lord bishop Walter, and now, now I feel sure that Sir Hugh le Despenser has me in the sights of a crossbow.’

‘You don’t like that man — but that’s natural enough. Not many do.’ The Coroner nodded to himself, upending his skin and wiping his beard with the back of his hand.

Simon shook his head. ‘He called me to his chamber two days ago.’

‘What?’ Baldwin asked, startled by this revelation. ‘Why did you not tell us, Simon?’

‘For what purpose? If I told you, it would only give you more to be worried about. And I preferred not to explain the conversation to Bishop Walter.’

‘Well, the good bishop is at his home on Straunde now,’ Baldwin said. ‘So tell us: what did the man want from you?’

Simon touched the nick on his throat where Despenser’s sword had scratched him. ‘He wanted to know what happened in France — in detail. He did not care about much else, but he was amused to hear how we all fled the French court, and then he suggested to me that we three were turncoats and supporters of the queen. That we might renounce our vows to the king!’