Michael Jecks - No Law in the Land

‘Simon? You all right?’ Sir Richard asked.

Nodding, Simon dropped from his horse and the two hitched their mounts to a ring in the wall. Then, taking a deep breath, Simon walked to his old door and beat upon it with his knuckles.

He felt sick to the pit of his stomach as he wondered who would open it.

Exeter

Edith was walking along a screens passageway, and no matter how fast she walked, she could not reach the door at the far end, although she knew that on the other side was Peter, and she was desperate to get to him, to give him some consolation … And then she stumbled, and was falling, toppling over and over in the dark, and-

And then she came to with a jerk, startled from a heavy doze.

There were voices, and she sat up, still a little befuddled with sleep, rubbing her eyes as she stared towards the door.

Her maid was already there, she saw. Jane stood now at the door, and was peering out. Then she shot back into the room, staring at Edith with a perplexed expression in her eyes. It was enough to make Edith get to her feet. Whatever the horror, she wanted to hear it standing, not sitting like some invalid.

Shortly afterwards, Peter’s father Charles was striding into the room, a scowl on his face, Mistress Jan hurrying in his wake.

Charles was a heavy-set man, attired in a fur-trimmed cloak and a tunic that was embroidered with gold at hem and neck. His usually calm, gentle eyes were now fretful and staring with his anger and concern.

‘So, husband, what did they say?’

‘They say he stands accused of crimes,’ he said, looking directly at Edith as he drew off his gloves, finger by finger. ‘The sheriff said that Peter is considered a dangerous man who would seek the overthrow of the king. He is accused of plotting with others to have the king slain.’

‘But … but that is mad, husband,’ Mistress Jan said weakly.

Edith ran to her side as the older woman began to gasp, her breath coming in staccato gusts. She caught Mistress Jan as the woman started to fall. It was all she could do to support her. Jane ran to them, and she and Edith between them half carried her mother-in-law to a chair.

Her father-in-law watched as they settled Mistress Jan in the chair. There was no expression on his face as he stood gazing at them, only a kind of sad longing in his grey eyes.

Edith straightened. ‘There’s something else, isn’t there? I can see it in your eyes. What is it?’

‘He said … The sheriff said that this was you. If Peter hadn’t married you, none of this would have happened. He said it was because of your father that Peter has been arrested.’

Lydford

Simon and Sir Richard stood in Simon’s little hall, and bowed low to the Cardinal de Fargis. They waited in the doorway until they had taken off their swords and given them to a steward. The bottler arrived and stood near the cardinal as they walked to him, both falling to one knee before him, and kissing his ring.

‘Please, you will stand,’ the cardinal said, motioning with both hands. ‘You bring honour to this little house by coming here. I am delighted to meet you both. Please, take some wine.’

He was a small, dapper man, clad in a thick woollen tunic with a heavy, fur-lined cloak against the chill he obviously felt. The fire was roaring, and Simon could see that Sir Richard felt uncomfortably warm after the cool of the evening air. It was not only him. Simon himself felt rather like a candle left too close to a flame, as though he might at any moment melt and topple to the ground.

Cardinal de Fargis had kindly eyes, Simon thought, unlike so many other men of power and wealth. They were dark brown and intelligent, and like Abbot Champeaux, of blessed memory, he had a way of smiling with them that was entirely irresistible. It was a pleasant change to find a senior churchman who wasn’t peering with shortsightedness, too, Simon felt. The cardinal seemed relaxed, calm and at his ease in their company.

‘I am very glad to meet you at last, Master Puttock.’

‘It is my pleasure, Cardinal.’

‘And yet I understand that this house is a sad … um … the word is memory?’

‘Yes, it is sad that I have lost it, but that is nothing to do with you, Cardinal. For my part, I have only good memories of this house. I was very happy here.’

‘And I believe you used to be a stannary bailiff? Yes?’

‘Well, yes. I was a bailiff on the moors,’ he admitted. He would have liked to glance at Sir Richard, but that could have been considered rude. Any lord would expect an inferior to keep his eyes fixed on him.

‘I think I have need of your assistance,’ the cardinal said. He eyed Simon over the brim of his goblet, and gradually a smile warmed his face. ‘There are some very sad events at the abbey.’

‘I don’t know that I can help with that,’ Simon said. ‘Both men are rather displeased with me.’

‘So I have heard. You would seem to be most even handed with your enemies,’ the cardinal said.

The problems at Tavistock Abbey had begun with the death of Robert Champeaux, the last abbot. The brotherhood of monks had held an election to choose their new abbot. There were two contenders. Robert Busse was chosen by the majority, but John de Courtenay, one of the baronial family of Devon, deprecated the result, and made a series of wild allegations against Robert. Simon had been involved with Robert Busse shortly after John had begun his attacks, and had been horrified to learn that Robert had made use of a necromancer in Exeter to try to influence matters to his own benefit. Not only that; there were also allegations that plate and money had been taken from the abbey. And so, to settle the dispute, the pope had finally decided to send a negotiator to listen to the evidence of both sides and attempt to make peace between the brothers. And if that failed, to knock their heads together.

‘I have much still to do,’ the cardinal continued. ‘And yet there is more. There are troubles on the moors and about the area. Men are taking advantage of the abbey’s weakness in this period of interregnum. I need more men to control the moors.’

‘I would be happy to do that,’ Simon said, ‘but I fear it is impossible for me now.’

‘How impossible?’

‘I have no house here. This was mine, but now, as soon as you leave, it will revert to Sir Hugh le Despenser, and he will take it over. He is no friend to me.’

‘The abbey can provide you with a home.’

‘I have a wife and children. It is better for me that I remain in my own house, where I can be with them,’ Simon said firmly.

The cardinal made some more attempts to persuade him, but after their third cup of wine, he admitted defeat. ‘It is a great pity, though. The land is growing ever more restless.’

‘I know. Only five years ago it was quieter, even though there had been the famine and the little wars up and down the country. I have never seen the sort of outbreaks of violence that there have been recently.’

‘Yes? And what have you seen, Bailiff?’

Simon noticed that he used his old title again, but chose to ignore it. ‘Only on the way here we found one poor man who had been slain at the roadside. And the coroner, Sir Peregrine, told us of another, a reeve — which is all the worse because he was investigating an attack and murders on the road near Jacobstowe.’

‘Attack and murders, you say?’ the cardinal asked. ‘How many died?’

‘He said nineteen. There was one man who may have been in Holy Orders, and a number of others. They had been robbed of a series of carts and horses, and their bodies cast to the ground and left.’

The cardinal was frowning. ‘Did he say how long ago this was?’