Michael Jecks - No Law in the Land

‘So? What do you mean by this?’

‘Sir Baldwin, the son and the father both told you that the sheriff is close to Despenser and the king’s court. Wattere is Despenser’s man. Surely this is all a scheme by Despenser? He has his own men in Devon. That is no surprise, for he and the king will have their men placed in all positions of authority now because their authority is itself being undermined. However, it seems like a great scheme to deprive Simon of his daughter.’

Baldwin winced at the thought. ‘Despenser has already deprived Simon of his home. Why would he want to do this too?’

‘Because he is thoroughly foul,’ Edgar said. ‘He seeks power over others, and when he is thwarted he seeks to destroy them.’

Baldwin need say nothing to that. It was the simple truth. ‘So what will he do now?’

‘I think we have to hope and pray that it is him,’ Edgar said. ‘Because if it were Wattere who took her, and Wattere was not under Despenser’s control, it is likely she could have been taken just for her looks. A man who seeks to rape her and discard her later would be more dangerous. He may already have achieved his aim. And that could mean she has already been killed.’

‘So you say that the best we can hope for is that she has been taken by the most powerful felon in the land?’ Baldwin said. ‘It is a curious hope you dispense, Edgar!’

‘Aye. But at least,’ Edgar said more quietly, ‘it is some kind of hope. Some is better than none, Sir Baldwin.’

Near Bow

The man who had hauled her up into the tree was swarthy and powerful. He had the wild dark hair of a Cornishman, and blue eyes that seemed to look through her without any feeling. Most men on looking at her would give her the impression that they liked her buxom breasts, or would touch her arse with mild enquiry until she slapped invasive hands away, but she had the feeling that this man, if not immune to her charms, was at least without the desire to take her against her will.

He yanked her up from the roadway with such a jerk that she could hook her legs and feet under her, and swing straight over the hedge with ease. Almost immediately he sprang down to the ground at her side, a hand on her back, pushing her down to the grass, while he stayed rigid as a cat staring at a prey, all tension and controlled energy, so focused on the road he might almost have turned to stone.

There was a large thorn still in her hand. She tried to move to look at it, but the pressure on her back increased, subtly, and she heard the sound of the horses increase.

They were there! A group of scruffy, noisy men who would not look out of place in the pictures of demons she had seen on the church walls. Their horses were small, hardy creatures, stocky little fellows with stamina to cover huge distances. The riders were armed and easy in the saddle, like men who were accustomed to long rides with their beasts, and they rode along without chatter or laughter, only a set look of determination. The leader was a large man with a belly and a single eye. The other he had lost. He looked so powerful and full of bile that Agnes had to glance away as a cart rattled past in their wake.

Her sense of inadequacy returned. She was sure that these were the same men who had killed her husband, and the sight of them was enough to prove to her that she could never hope to attack them and win.

The sound of hoofs gradually faded, and as it did, she felt the man’s hand lift away, and then he was moving swiftly back to the hedge. He swarmed up the tree again, and she saw his head lower as he kept his eyes on the party until they were out of sight. ‘It is safe,’ he breathed, and jumped down again, agile as a monkey.

‘Where did you learn to do that?’ she asked.

He looked at her closely, studying her face. ‘You were in Jacobstowe. I saw you there two weeks ago.’

She withdrew, just slightly, from his serious blue eyes. ‘What do you want with me?’

‘Nothing, maid, if by that you mean what do I intend to do to you. I’m not that kind of man. But those men there. Did you see them? Did you recognise them?’

‘No. I’ve never seen them before.’

He nodded, his attention apparently fixed on the hills in the far distance, but the faraway look in his eye seemed to imply that he was thinking of something else.

She felt curiously slighted, as though his lack of concentration on her was an insult. She was unused to such lack of interest. ‘Do you know them? You look like a man who has seen a ghost.’

‘Yes. I feel as though I have,’ he said quietly. Then he looked at her, at the hedge, and up at the tree again. ‘Do you wish me to help you back to the road, maid?’

Nymet Traci

It was hard to see how she could escape. The castle itself was scarcely impregnable, but for Edith to make her way out, she would have to pass between all the guards and servants, and then somehow find a means of climbing the walls, without falling the other side and harming herself. The only real means of escape was by the doors, but she had already seen that the gates tended to remain closed through the day. The only time they were opened was when a rider approached.

She could hear the gates opening now. A low rumbling as the baulks of timber were slid sideways into the recesses in the walls, and then the creaking and squeaking of reluctant metal as they were pushed wide. It was like a Dartmoor gate, she saw: any force pushing at the gates would be pushing them against the rock of the walls, and the great timber locks would prevent them being hauled open from outside. Simple, but most effective.

A party of riders entered, a small cart behind them, and as she watched there was ribald laughter. Four, no, five men were there, and then a big ugly brute with one eye sprang lightly into the bed of the cart and looked about him with satisfaction at the contents. He jumped down with every appearance of happiness, bellowing about him, and she heard the rumble and thump of barrels being rolled and set down from the cart, then moved off towards the buttery and storerooms.

It was a sight to set her heart fluttering. Such joy in the faces of the repellent guards about the place could only mean that the barrels were full of ale or wine. There was no protection for her in here. The men could drink themselves into lust, as all men could, she knew, and if they did, there was little if anything she could do to defend herself here in her little chamber.

As the sounds of revelry rose from the yard, she shivered, feeling a fresh sense of panic. There was no one in all this household upon whom she could place any trust. The idea that the men were steadily drinking themselves to foolishness was appalling. All the more so because she was filled with the empty despair of knowing that she was entirely alone. And she dreaded the reappearance of the man called Basil.

Even Wattere was preferable to him.

Bow

Simon stared at the man. ‘Why do you blame yourself?’

‘He came here. A few days ago. The man Lark. He was here, and he asked the same sort of questions you have, and I was as reluctant to talk to him. But he was a pleasant fellow. Plainly came from around here, too, which made me trust him that much more. There aren’t all that many men who speak your own language. He was from Jacobstowe, and I came originally from Exbourne, so we weren’t too far adrift.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘All about them in the castle. Sir Robert and his son Basil. They rule this country like demons. Everyone has to pay them for anything. If a man doesn’t, he finds his lands on fire, his stables afire, his cattle dead, his sheep stolen. No one may stand against them.’

‘There is the law!’ Simon growled.