Michael Jecks - No Law in the Land

There was no such invitation.

‘Sir James, I am alarmed to hear that you have a young man in your gaol. A fellow called Peter?’

‘You mean the lad I’ve held for treason?’

‘Yes. I am sure you know exactly what you are doing, of course.’

‘Preventing a serious case of treason? Yes, I think I know perfectly well what I am doing, sir.’

‘Oh, that is good, then,’ Sir Peregrine said, and bowed preparatory to making good his exit.

The sheriff slammed his goblet down on the table before him. ‘You mean to say you called me in here and delayed my blasted goat-ballocked court to ask one damned question? What is the meaning of this, Coroner?’

‘I was just worried you weren’t aware. After all, it could be damaging to your reputation, but if you know-’

‘What could be damaging to me?’

‘You know who the boy is, don’t you?’

‘Yes, yes, yes. Of course I do. His wife is the daughter of that petty little bailiff from Lydford and his father is a merchant and freeman. But even freemen don’t have all the power in the city, you know, and-’

‘No, I meant his circle of friends.’

The sheriff leaned forward eagerly. ‘You mean that he’s got powerful friends, eh?’

Sir Peregrine looked at him and with an effort managed to conceal his contempt. The sheriff was as transparent as the glass in his window. He was hoping that Peter’s friends were rich so that they could be arrested, and then ransomed. This sheriff was said to be one of the richest Exeter had ever seen already, and his wealth was based on the bribes and blackmails he charged.

‘He has very powerful friends, yes. Including the nephew of the bishop here. And the nephew has his uncle’s ear.’

‘That is all good. But I have the ear of Despenser,’ the sheriff said smugly.

‘Then it probably doesn’t matter.’

‘What doesn’t?’

Sir Peregrine essayed a look of mild surprise. ‘The nephew — he is a close confidant of the Cardinal de Fargis. You know, the man who is deciding the case of Tavistock Abbey? The pope’s own special representative here? I just didn’t want you to be in trouble. After all, the cardinal will report to the king and the pope about the area. About how his own monk was murdered on his way here, and how the money for the king was stolen by outlaws, and now there’s the tale of Peter too. I mean, it would sound to some as though all law and order had broken down. That the King’s Peace was no more in Devon.’

The sheriff’s face had blanched. ‘But holding a treasonous fellow shows how I am working to bring order back to this godforsaken land,’ he tried.

Sir Peregrine laughed aloud at that. ‘Oh, yes. But of course the rumours are that you are merely taking bribes for such arrests as you have made. And the allegations are … But I should say no more.’

‘Allegations?’

Sir Peregrine departed the room a short while later, leaving behind him a reflective sheriff.

Later, when the court closed, it was said that the new sheriff appeared to demonstrate more common sense and deliberated more than at any court remembered in the city for these twenty years past. Some wondered whether at last there was a good, honourable sheriff in the castle.

Sir Peregrine was content to go to the gaol and order Peter’s release. It was only hard to see what could happen to a lad in so short a space of time. The boy brought from the gaol was thin, with sunken eyes and a nervous, fretful manner.

‘Who are you?’ he asked.

‘I am no one, my friend. Come, let us take you home.’

Jacobstowe

Agnes was glad to wake and find that old Emily was still in her room. Someone would be needed to look after the Ant, and Emily had two grandchildren of nearly Ant’s age. When pressed, she declared herself happy to tend to Ant as well for the day, and so soon, once the chickens were fed and the chores completed, Agnes closed the door behind her.

There was no sign of the coroner and Simon, and when she asked, she was told that they had left early that morning, heading down to Hoppon’s. Agnes decided that they must have a good idea what they were about, and she was assured that they were still trying to find out what they might about the dead men, so she followed after them.

Hoppon had not seen them, he said, but the hoofprints were clear enough on the road’s surface, and she was determined to carry on after them, but he persuaded her to pause a while and take an ale with him.

‘Why would they have gone on down that way?’ he asked.

‘They want to know who killed my Bill,’ she said. ‘It was the same men who killed all the travellers, I suppose.’

‘Do you think they’ll find them?’

She looked at him. ‘Bill had worked out who it was, I think. That’s why they killed him.’

‘What a world,’ Hoppon said, shaking his head and staring at the ground. He took a long draught of ale. ‘Maid, there’s no good can come of all this. You realise that? If they do learn who’s done it, it can’t help you. It won’t bring Bill back, will it?’

Agnes looked away, over towards the woods in the distance. ‘I can see him avenged, though. That would be enough. The thing I dread is knowing that the men who killed my Bill could still walk about the land as free as any other. That thought fills me with horror. One of them could have a daughter, and she could meet my Ant and marry him. Without knowing. That would bring shame to us all. And then there’s the fines imposed on us for the murders. The coroner had no choice but to inflict them, but if we could at least find the culprits, there would be some kind of justice for all the hardship and suffering they have caused.’

Hoppon nodded with a grunt. ‘Is there any news in the vill about these men? Did they say aught last night about what they meant to do?’

‘No. Not that I heard. I think they seek to find the killers, and when they do, they will report to their master.’

‘Who? The king?’ Hoppon looked genuinely alarmed at the thought.

‘No! I think it’s Tavistock, the abbey, that told them to come here. There was a huge sum of money with those travellers. They want to find it.’

‘Oh, yes. They said that there was money there,’ Hoppon agreed. But then he glanced up again. ‘Look, Agnes, you shouldn’t be here, though. It’s not your place as a woman to be hunting down men. You should be at home, looking after your child.’

She looked at him, very straight. ‘And if they hadn’t killed my man, Hoppon, that’s what I would be doing.’

There was no further discussion after that. She was grateful for his concern, because it obviously sprang from his desire to help and protect her, but he didn’t understand that she was dedicated to helping find the men who had taken her man away from her. It was essential that she did so. There was a flame of hatred burning in her that would engulf her eventually if she didn’t use it to sear them.

It was very easy to follow the tracks. The path led her along the narrower grassed routes, but on all, the surface had been heavily churned. That itself was strange. Men who wanted to travel generally wanted to hurry. They would eschew these lanes in favour of the broader ways, like the Crediton road. A little way like this was too narrow, making it straightforward for a man to be waylaid. For so many to have passed this way seemed to her to show that their reasons were clandestine, and that itself made them suspicious. She had no doubts already that these tracks were those of the men who had killed the travellers and who had then silenced her husband for ever.

She continued for several miles, until she reached the top of a level area and found herself alone. Suddenly she was assailed by doubts. It was the first time since she had made her commitment to find her husband’s murderers that she had been prey to such a heavy emotion, but suddenly she realised she had no idea what to do. What was she chasing after Simon and the coroner for? They had a duty to hunt down killers; they had the duty of seeking the king’s stolen property. But she? She had nothing. She didn’t have a reason to be here, not a reason that was justified in law. And if she did find the killers, if she learned who was responsible for Bill’s death, it would help no one. Least of all her. For what could she do against a gang sufficient to attack and slaughter to the last man a force of nineteen?