Michael Jecks - No Law in the Land

‘What’s her name?’

Simon grunted. ‘Edith. She married Peter, son of-’

‘The merchant Charles? Oh, that’s all right. I can show you the way there,’ the lad said. Suddenly he was all affability. ‘Sorry, lordings, but there are so many strangers who cause mayhem now. Some little scrotes kicked in a couple of doors two nights ago, and when my mate Phil went to talk to them, they kicked him in too. Poor bastard’s up in his bed yet with a broken head. And then there’s been all the other murders outside the city too. Don’t blame you for coming here to stay the night. Dangerous all over the shire nowadays. There’s no law in the land.’

‘It was easy enough when we left,’ Baldwin said.

‘Aye, well, maybe that was a while ago. There are so many men wandering the roads now without any way to support themselves, if you know what I mean.’

As he spoke he took them up the road, along a short lane, and to a large limewashed front.

‘This is it,’ he said, rapping sharply on the door.

Baldwin and Simon thanked him, and Baldwin gave him a penny for his trouble. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m called Gil. Well, my name was Gilbert, but no one calls me that. Thank you, my lord. God speed you all!’ the watchman said as he left them, backing away respectfully with a happy smile on his face.

‘God speed,’ Baldwin said. ‘Be careful, my friend. As you say, the streets can be dangerous.’

Simon was not listening. The door had opened, and as soon as it did, he beamed with pleasure to see his daughter.

Edith’s face was one of utter shock at first as she registered who was waiting on her doorstep. Then, with a gasped ‘Father!’ she flung herself into his arms.

Ashridge, North Tawton

Sir Peregrine de Barnstaple was grateful for the peace. He sank into the chair with a grunt of contentment and closed his eyes for a moment. This was a pleasant manor, made all the more delightful by the absence of the knight who owned it. Although Sir Peregrine would usually be reluctant to enter the house of any man when the master was away, Sir John of Ashridge was rarely here, and always made it plain that he would be delighted were the coroner to visit when he had need of a roof. And rarely had Sir Peregrine had more need than tonight.

The bodies at Jacobstowe appeared to be the beginning of a small epidemic of corpses. There was the son of a merchant who’d slipped on a stone and entirely accidentally struck his head on the wall surrounding a well; a miller who’d stumbled on his way home from the alehouse, only to fall into his own mill pool and drown; a farrier who had been kicked by the destrier he was trying to shoe — that had been a messy death, with his ribs all crushed and blood everywhere. Yes, all in all there had been a flurry of unpleasant deaths and he would be glad to escape the area shortly.

He had only recently been given his duties. For many years he had been a loyal servant of Sir Hugh de Courtenay, the Baron of Devon, and his family. But Sir Peregrine had been so determined to see to the overthrow of Despenser and the other hangers-on in the king’s household that he had eventually made Sir Hugh anxious for his own safety. Although the two men had not fallen out, it became clear in the aftermath of the battle at Boroughbridge that it was not safe for a man to continue to agitate for change. As the bodies of those who had opposed Despenser were tarred and hanged over the gates to all the cities of the realm, while others were quartered and hung in chains at York, London and elsewhere, Sir Peregrine had been forced to leave Sir Hugh’s household.

However Sir Hugh was still his friend. He had managed to see to it that Sir Peregrine was given a number of duties that, while not compensating him for his position in Sir Hugh’s entourage, would at least give him a means of sustaining himself. And he had made it clear to all the knights in his household that those who sought to continue to be viewed favourably by Sir Hugh would do well to look after Sir Peregrine’s interests.

Sir Peregrine ordered food and wine and settled back as a servant boy came in and lighted the fire. Before long, sparks were flying from the tinder and the small sticks set over it, while the lad blew carefully and then began to construct the beginnings of the fire over the top.

It was one of those tasks that always made Sir Peregrine feel intensely sad. This was the sort of duty he would have enjoyed teaching a son. In his life he had met many women, but none had survived to marry him, although many had won his affection. If there was one thing that could have made his life complete, it would have been to be married with a son. A lad he could teach and educate, someone who could take his name and become heir to his little manors and farms. Without an heir, all was pointless.

Later, as the fire roared and he sat before it with a goblet of hot wine and water, feeling the warmth coursing through his veins, he had the call to the next body.

It was to become the most serious murder of his year.

East Gate of Exeter

The man arrived at the gates just in time, cantering as fast as his mount would take him. ‘Urgent messages,’ he called desperately as he saw the gates beginning to move.

The heavy oak timbers squeaked and groaned, but even as Stephen of Shoreditch wondered whether he would be too late, he saw the man peering around the first of the gates.

No one would want to be left out here, he told himself, riding on, casting about him. There were suburbs in all cities, of course, but few had the atmosphere of lowering danger that this one bore.

Riding up the roadway from Heavitree, he had been happy with the sight of all the well-built houses, but here … all was empty, all desolate. No inn or tavern, only a lowering sense of threat. He didn’t like it. Nor did he like the fact of the rumours that even king’s messengers had been captured and killed within the city walls. The life of a man like him was worth nothing after dark and outside a city’s security.

‘Let me through. Urgent messages for the castle,’ he shouted, and drew back his cloak to show the king’s arms on his breast.

‘You’re too late. Come back in the morning.’

‘You want that? You want me to report you to the king? I’ll be pleased, porter. Tell him how I was delayed from delivering his messages. You know what the king does to those who thwart him?’

There was a moment’s silence, and he felt the dark eyes on him. ‘Best get in,’ the old man said at last with a bad grace. ‘And I’ll have you taken to the castle, since your business is so urgent.’

‘God save you, porter.’

‘He’ll have to. No other bugger will,’ the gatekeeper muttered, but drew the door open a little.

St Pancras Lane

Edith felt as though she was going to burst with pleasure to see her father. ‘Come in, Father, come in! God you keep! And Sir Baldwin? I am so glad to see you again.’

Her father saw her hesitation. ‘This is a good friend of ours, daughter. Sir Richard de Welles, the Coroner of Lifton. Sir Richard, this is my daughter Edith.’

‘Mistress, I am delighted to meet you. I have heard much of you from your father. He said you were a beautiful and accomplished woman, and I see he was telling nothing less than the truth.’

‘Please, my lords, come into my hall,’ she said, trying to conceal her delight at his words. Clapping her hands, she summoned a young maidservant. ‘Jane, fetch my husband’s wine.’

She could see her father’s eyes going to the hangings on the wall and the picture at the further end. She was proud of her house, naturally, but it was a delight to see how his eyes gleamed to see such wealth displayed. Not because she wanted him to be jealous, but because she knew he would be happy to see that she was as well off as he could have wished. The house was a proof of that. He need have no fears for her future.