Michael Jecks - No Law in the Land

‘Where is the message?’

Stephen said nothing, merely opened his little satchel and passed the sealed parchment to the knight. Sir Robert took it, still watching Stephen, and gradually circled around the messenger. ‘Osbert, where did you find him?’

‘He was on the road to Crediton. We found him up there about a mile east.’

‘I see. Good. Follow me, man.’

Sir Robert turned abruptly and strode to the back of the hall. There was a heavy studded door there, and he pushed it open. It squeaked and groaned as he did so, and Stephen winced. He would have wiped some lard or goose grease over the hinges to stop that noise if it had been his own house.

Sir Robert stood in a small solar, and as soon as Stephen had followed him, he pushed the door shut and slid the oak bar across in its slots, locking it. He walked to the farther side of the little chamber, grasping a candle as he went, and used it to light a sconce. In this light, he peered down at the letters, frowning with the effort.

‘Your men murdered a man on the road, Sir Robert,’ Stephen said.

‘Eh?’

‘I said, your men murdered a man.’

Sir Robert glanced up, and there was a frown of anger on his face as he looked the messenger over. ‘Are you so young that you didn’t know men are dying every day?’

‘This man’s death was unnecessary. He deprecated your men’s demands for tolls. Did you know that they stop all travellers to take their money?’

‘Messenger, you overstep your welcome here. Did I know? Yes. I knew. And what is more, I ordered them to take tolls on my roads. Because I am in the fortunate position of being responsible to my lord Hugh Despenser for maintaining the law here. In case you hadn’t noticed, we have problems in the country just now, and I have been charged with keeping the peace.’

‘By robbing people?’

Sir Robert’s eyes seemed to film over with ice. ‘By taxing those who can afford it,’ he said.

There was not a sound for a moment or two.

‘My apologies, Sir Robert,’ Stephen said at last.

‘I suggest you go and refresh yourself. You have travelled far,’ Sir Robert said, and watched unblinking as the messenger left the room.

The fool. He was the sort of man who got himself into trouble over trifles. Who cared about some man killed on the roads? There was the possibility of invasion to worry about now, not peasants and other churls. Sir Robert turned back to the parchment, carefully reading the black writing. Since the disaster of robbing those travellers out near Jacobstowe, he had been wondering how to make a little more money. At least this note seemed to show how he might make a profit again.

At last, when Osbert quietly opened the creaking door, he set the parchment aside. ‘Apparently good Sir Hugh wants to have a monk killed,’ he said with a dry smile. ‘I suppose he will pay us for this little service!’

Fourth Saturday after the Feast of the Archangel Michael *

Road between Crediton and Oakhampton

‘So, Simon,’ the coroner said as they jogged along in the early-morning light. ‘What do you think the good cardinal will want to discuss with you?’

‘I don’t know,’ Simon admitted with a shrug of bafflement. ‘All I can hope is that it takes a short time to resolve. You saw how upset Meg was to hear I was being called away again so soon. I could take my fist and hit the man for what he’s doing to me.’

‘Your family has definitely been made to suffer enormously.’ The coroner nodded. ‘A man like me, no children, no woman, it’s a damn sight easier for me. You, you have responsibilities. Something to think of.’

Simon nodded. It was a fact of life that when a liege lord demanded help, a fellow like Simon was forced to obey. No lord would have women in his household. His wife, his children, all would have their own establishment, and naturally, though the womenfolk would have maids, and ladies-in-waiting if they were of sufficient status, the bulk of their staff would still be men. And all those men must leave their wives and children behind.

‘I will not agree to another long period away from my wife,’ he grumbled. ‘It is too much to ask of a man that he should keep discarding all those he loves the most. I missed the last months of my daughter’s life before she married, all because I was dutifully serving the queen, her son and the king. I cannot do more.’

He meant it. In the last months his life had been turned upside down. First there was the problem with his position in Dartmouth, which had soured relations with his wife; then the loss of his job when Abbot Champeaux died; and then the journeys to London and to Paris. He had done enough. Now it was time for him to rebuild his marriage.

‘That is good,’ the coroner said. Then he glanced over at Simon. ‘Did you hear the joke about the one-eyed bishop and the courtesan?’

‘Yes!’

‘Are you sure?’ the coroner asked, hurt. ‘I didn’t think I had told you that one.’

‘Perhaps you told Baldwin and he told me,’ Simon said dishonestly. He had no desire to be forced to listen to one of the coroner’s appalling jokes yet again.

‘Really? What, the one where-’

Simon was saved from hearing any more. ‘What’s going on there?’

They had passed far now from Crediton and Simon’s home, and he looked up at the sun, assessing the time. He thought it must be well into the middle of the morning, which meant it was strange to see so many men milling. He and the coroner exchanged a glance and then put spurs to their mounts.

St Pancras Lane

Edith had enjoyed a good morning. It had been a lovely day so far. The sun was filtering in through the clouds of smoke from the morning fires, and when it kissed her face outside on the way to the baker’s, she could have sworn it was summer again, it felt so welcoming, warm, invigorating. It was what a mother needed while her babe grew in her womb, she told herself, and almost laughed aloud at the thought.

It was a daunting prospect and no doubt about it. There were so many dangers in childbirth. Some of her friends were petrified of the birth, talking themselves into a fever over the possibility of death or miscarriage, but for Edith the risks seemed minor. As she reasoned, so many mothers had given birth with ease over the years, there was no reason to suspect that she would be any different. And anyway, she had good broad hips, and the old woman in the next street had said to her that she could deliver a cog for the king’s navy without pain. Edith only prayed she was right.

Still, it was daunting. To think that even now there was a little child growing inside her was thrilling and terrifying at the same time. She was blessed not to feel sick in the mornings like some mothers, and with the baby, she was saved from the monthly griping and pain, which was a cause of relief and joy. She had always suffered badly when it was her time. Having the babe was not a cause for fear, but the thought that her life was about to change even more was … well, curious, really. She had spent so much of her time in the last two years wishing that people would recognise how mature she was, and now that she had the proof beginning to grow, she was aware only of the fear that her childhood was now over. There was no looking back once a woman had a child of her own. She was then no longer a maid.

The road here was broad as it fed into the high street, and she walked along with her maidservant behind her. No respectable woman would think of leaving home without some form of guard.

‘Wife!’

She felt his voice in her breast. A thrilling, joyous sensation that overwhelmed her as much as it always had. Stopping, she closed her eyes a moment, until she could feel his presence at her side. ‘Oh, my husband. I had not thought to see you here.’