Michael Jecks - No Law in the Land

As he entered his hall, he shot a look about him as usual, making sure where the various men were, and seeing that there was no possible threat. He was not scared of any man, but danger was no respecter of rank. The merest churl could slip a knife into his heart, whether he feared the boy or not. No one with a brain would depend on fellows like this. The only men he could rely on entirely were Osbert and one or two others; perhaps his son, on good days. Os because he was dependable: he had been with Sir Robert all through those difficult times when Sir Robert was a declared outlaw and must live off the land as best he could; his precious son, Basil, because he was utterly reliable. He was self-interested, hedonistic, licentious and dissolute, and Sir Robert would trust him always to do what he perceived as being in his own interests. That they would rarely coincide with Sir Robert’s own aims would not worry him. He was seventeen years old now, and more than capable of choosing his own path.

Osbert was standing near the main door from the hall, and he levered himself away from the wall on seeing his master.

Stephen the messenger was standing in the corner farthest from Os, Sir Robert was amused to see. At least the man hadn’t made life difficult by sitting before the master of the hall said he could. It would have made Sir Robert’s life more troublesome if he had had to be killed before he could ride to Tavistock.

The messenger bowed. ‘Sir Robert, I hope I see you well?’

‘Messenger, you see me alive. There’s little more to be said for any man,’ Sir Robert said. He was feeling the worse for the wine of the night before, but when a man had been given good news, there was reason to celebrate. He strode to his table and peered about for the jug of wine.

‘Will there be another message for me? Do you have a reply for me to take back to London?’

Sir Robert eyed him thoughtfully, although his plan was already laid. He had seen what must be done to make his life easier the last night, and now it was merely a case of persuading this fool to be a willing partner. ‘Yes. There is one message I would have you deliver. It is not a reply, though. I wish you to ride to Lydford, and there to take a message to Tavistock. I will give it to you later.’

‘I am a king’s messenger, and I am supposed to be-’

‘You are here to do Sir Hugh le Despenser’s bidding,’ Sir Robert growled. ‘And you will do that, by Christ, or I’ll have your ballocks. You understand me?’

Stephen of Shoreditch nodded miserably. ‘Sire.’

‘Good. Now shut up and let me have my breakfast.’

Sir Robert glanced at the messenger and was confident that he was cowed for now. But there was no trusting a man like this. A messenger might feel that he had a duty to report to the king, anything that happened, and Sir Robert had a conviction that Sir Hugh le Despenser would be as reluctant as he himself for news of their plan to reach Edward’s ears.

‘Where is my wine?’ he roared at the top of his voice. ‘If that lazy, mother-swyving son of a whore and a churl doesn’t bring my wine soon, I’ll have him hanged from the tower!’

The steward was already hurrying to bring a big pewter jug and a mazer, and Sir Robert watched him unblinking until the jug and mazer were in front of him. Only then did he slam his fist into the man’s belly hard enough to make him retch and collapse to the floor.

‘In future, I want it here when I get up,’ he said. He pushed the man away with his booted foot, looking around at the men in the hall. None appeared to take any notice as the steward crawled to the wall, sobbing silently, and Sir Robert took a long draught of wine.

The only man who looked shocked was the messenger.

Yes, Sir Robert told himself. He would have to remove that horse’s arse before he could report to the king. He was a threat. ‘Os? Go and find my son. I would speak with him and you. Alone.’

Road outside Bow

Simon had swallowed a hunk of bread and some dried meats while he watched the jury. There was not much that could be said, in fairness. The man was dead, killed from the stab to the throat. However, some members were talking of the fact that he had been on his way to the market, and many wanted to know what had happened to his goods. A robbery was always alarming in a small community, because if a robber dared attack one man, he would as likely attack another, and that meant no one was safe.

‘I find he was murdered, a dagger used to stab him, and I estimate the value of the dagger was a shilling,’ the coroner declared. He ran through the other details, and as he was finishing, glanced with an air of suspicion down at the clerk busily scribbling, for he never entirely trusted scribes to put down on paper what he had told them to.

Simon listened with half an ear while he chewed some more meat, but then he looked around at the sound of hoofs trotting. ‘Dear heaven,’ he muttered. Then, louder, ‘Sir Richard! I think you have a visitor.’

‘Eh? What do you mean?’ the coroner thundered, peering past Simon at the newcomer. ‘Who’s that?’

‘It’s the coroner for the area,’ Simon explained. ‘Do you know Sir Peregrine de Barnstaple?’

‘Hell’s teeth! Sir Peregrine? Of course I know him,’ the coroner roared, shouting, ‘ Sir Peregrine! God speed to you! ’

Sir Peregrine was soon with them. Simon thought he looked drawn and pale, but then he supposed that Sir Peregrine would think the same, looking at him.

‘God speed, Sir Richard. Bailiff Puttock, I am glad to see you again,’ Sir Peregrine said.

‘And I am glad to see you too,’ Simon replied.

‘Is Sir Baldwin with you?’

‘No, he is at his home, I think,’ Simon said. He held out a little of the remaining bread and meat, jerking his head towards a skin of wine. ‘Will you break your journey with us?’

Sir Peregrine accepted happily. Soon he was sitting at the side of the road on an old fallen trunk, chewing. Nodding at the corpse as the men of the jury bundled it up and began to lift it to the sumpter horse brought for the purpose, he said, ‘So you haven’t enough murders of your own, eh, Sir Richard? You have decided to come here and look into mine as well?’

‘I wouldn’t, my dear Sir Peregrine, but we were passing by here, and I could hardly just leave the body lying,’ Sir Richard said. ‘The fellows here had sent a man to fetch you, but I sought to save you the journey.’

Sir Peregrine nodded and asked who the victim was. When he had glanced through the clerk’s notes, he looked up at Simon. ‘There seem to be so many murders just lately. I am returning to Exeter from Jacobstowe and another death even now. You know, I thought four years ago that the country was in a state of confusion and turmoil, but that was nothing compared to the present.’

‘There are so many who were dispossessed after the battle,’ Simon said.

‘Boroughbridge saw the end of much that was good and stable,’ Sir Peregrine agreed. ‘So many families with the head of the house killed. So many arrested and executed, so many heirs who lost all …’

‘Aye, and too many who forgot their vows,’ Simon was forced to mention. He hated Sir Hugh le Despenser with a passion, but that could not blind him to the fact that the king was devoted to him. And those who opposed Despenser at Boroughbridge were forced to choose to rebel against their lawful anointed king as well.

‘No excuse,’ Sir Richard said uncompromisingly. ‘Can’t have just anyone runnin’ round the place killing and taking whatever they want. That’s no way to run a country. No, we have our duties — as do the sheriffs and keepers of the king’s peace and so on.’

‘Have you experience of our new sheriff?’ Sir Peregrine enquired mildly.