Michael Jecks - No Law in the Land

‘Why? Just tell me why?’ Baldwin said, eyes narrowed. ‘You have nothing against this man, nor his wife, do you? So why do you persecute them?’

‘The king is alarmed, and so is my lord Sir Hugh le Despenser. Men are plotting against them, they believe. So plotters must be found. I have found one.’

‘You hold an innocent man.’

‘I hold a man who has been declared to be guilty of plotting against the king,’ the sheriff said flatly. He leaned back casually. ‘If he’s found guilty, he’ll be executed, just like any other traitor.’

Baldwin rocked on the balls of his feet. The man’s rudeness was justification for assaulting him now, offering him a duel, or simply beating him with Edgar, but that would serve no purpose, other than to ensure that he and Edgar would themselves be outlawed for attacking a king’s sheriff. He could not attack, but he could not allow the man to hold Edith’s husband — nor could he allow himself to be held while Edith was in danger.

‘So, Sir Baldwin,’ the man said with some disdain. ‘If there is no more business, perhaps you should leave me to continue with mine? It was most pleasant to discuss these things with you; however, I am a busy man in the king’s service. I am sure you will understand.’

‘I wish to have the aid of the hue and cry to seek the girl.’

‘Bring me the body, and you can have a posse, Sir Baldwin. But as matters stand, I fear I see no reason to assist you in seeking this child who appears to have fled your … um … hospitality.’

Baldwin had to move this time. Edgar was about to leap. Baldwin knew his man too well, and he also knew that the sheriff could die swiftly at Edgar’s hands. Edgar might look amused and lazily laconic, but that was when he was at his most deadly — and a man trained by the Templars to be a committed killer was always a deadly opponent.

‘Edgar, no,’ Baldwin said softly. He could see that the tension remained in Edgar’s stance, but he knew his man would not disobey. They had been together too long as warriors.

‘I wish you a good day, Sheriff,’ he said. ‘I shall take your advice and seek her myself. However, I recommend you do nothing to upset me or my friends.’

‘You threaten me?’ the sheriff said. He sat straighter in his chair, sneering at the thought of this rural knight trying to menace him.

‘I make no threat. No. But the man you hold is son-in-law to my friend, who is also friend to the king. Insult the lad, and you will pay for it.’

‘You think so? If he’s found guilty of treason, old man, his family and in-laws, as well as his friends , will all be studied in a new light. I should go home and enjoy your peace while you still may.’

Jacobstowe

‘Good lady, we were sad to hear of your loss,’ Simon said.

‘It was a terrible thing. And I can think of nothing but revenge. But how may I win justice for my man?’

‘If we may, we shall aid you,’ Simon said. ‘Can you tell us anything about his death?’

Agnes shook her head, confused. ‘What do you want me to say? He was beaten to death in the road. No one saw anything, no one wanted to know anything. It was just one of those things. A man died, and no one cares.’

‘Many do care, but we need to learn who could be responsible. Did he have any enemies?’

‘Not in the vill here … But the men who killed the travellers, he hated them. He was trying to find out who they were, so he could capture them.’

‘Did he find out?’ Sir Richard rumbled.

‘No. I don’t think so, anyway,’ she admitted. ‘He was trying to learn all he could, but then he died.’

‘That may well mean he learned all he needed,’ Sir Richard said. ‘Where was he when he died?’

She looked at him with a new hope. ‘Hoppon would know.’

‘Who is this Hoppon?’

‘He is the man who lives nearest, I think. He’s at the edge of the woods, near the boundary of our parish. I know he was trying to help Bill to find the men who killed the folks in the woods.’

She took them down from the church to a little house where a woman sat shelling the last of the summer’s peas at the doorway, and left her son there before striding on purposefully southwards.

The land here fell away a little from Jacobstowe itself, and soon they were walking a path that ran along a broad ridge down towards Oakhampton. The woods themselves were very clear, sitting like a saddle over the ridge and both flanks, but before they reached the trees, Agnes took a turn to the left, and followed a trail between hedges that took them down towards a river.

Here, halfway to the water, there was a little hovel. It was nothing more than a single-bay building, with sticks and twigs gleaned from the woods to fill the gaps, and cob daubed over. Once it might have been a clean, pleasant little home, limewashed and well thatched to keep the cold at bay, but now it was sadly dilapidated. The walls had lost all their colour, and were a mixed grey and pale brown with little whiteness remaining; the thatch was faded to the colour of slate, with moss lying heavily on top, and there were holes all over where squirrels and birds had made their homes in it. A large area near the door had been eaten away, and Simon could see the ribs of the roofing poles beneath.

Outside, it was like any other peasant’s house. There was a small vegetable patch with six plots set out, containing kale and other leaves, all of which looked tough and unappetising so late in the season. A rough stockade of hurdles had been built to the side probably for lambs or kids earlier in the year, and was now falling down, but in one asset at least the place was rich. Under the eaves was a good-sized woodpile, with a number of large boughs. Behind were smaller branches and bundles of faggots. At least the house would remain warm in the winter months, Simon thought.

The man who hobbled along from the rear at the sound of their voices was a stooped fellow of some fifty years or so. His name probably came from his gait. One leg was partly crippled, so he must hop on the other to walk, and he used a long pole as a staff to aid his passage, but there was nothing to suggest that he was disabled in any other way. His face was quite handsome, with a strong jawline, heavy brows, and dark, serious eyes, which stood out in his pale face. His hair was almost white, and there was a thick stubble of beard and moustache to show that he had used the last barber to visit the vill, but the colour looked almost out of place. His features did not appear old enough to justify the leaching away of all colour from his hair.

‘Hoppon, these men are here to try to learn all they can about my husband’s death,’ Agnes said as he approached.

Hoppon studied the men seriously for a moment, and then nodded and gave them a bow, while gripping his staff with both hands clasped about it at chest height. ‘My lords, I’m honoured. God give you all success in your searches.’

‘We are interested in all to do with the death of the travellers, as well as this woman’s husband’s murder,’ Sir Richard boomed. ‘Can ye tell us aught about them?’

‘The coroner has been already — he heard all the evidence,’ Hoppon said, glancing at Agnes as he spoke.

‘We know. We’ve seen Sir Peregrine,’ Sir Richard said. ‘But he doesn’t live here, and we want to find out what we can from someone who knows the area.’

‘I’ll tell what I can, but I doubt me it’ll be of much use to you,’ Hoppon said. ‘The travellers were over there. I saw their smoke in the morning, but I didn’t think anything of it. Why should I? There are woodsmen all over the place, what with the winter coming on. People are there all the time to gather their faggots for the fire, and the charcoal burners make enough smoke to hide a city.’