Michael Jecks - No Law in the Land
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- Название:No Law in the Land
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- Издательство:Headline
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- Год:2014
- ISBN:9781472219886
- Рейтинг книги:3 / 5. Голосов: 1
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No Law in the Land: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация
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‘Not for us there isn’t. The law is for those who can afford to pay lawyers. What, do you think I could plead against them? They have the ears of the justices, of Despenser — of power.’
‘I have heard of these men before,’ Simon said, remembering his conversation with Sir Peregrine. ‘Was it not this man whose son raped a woman? Sir Robert and his son Basil?’
‘That is the pair. Yes. But they do not travel lightly or alone. The two men have a large host.’
‘What did you do to cost the reeve his life?’
‘I defended my own. When the man had left, two riders came a little later. Basil, and his father’s henchman, Osbert. They threatened me.’
‘With what?’
‘They said that they had heard of a man asking about them. Did I know anything, because they would burn my house with me inside if they heard I’d talked. So I did tell them. But they laughed when I said it was a reeve. They swore they had nothing to fear from a shit-arsed tatterdemalion from Jacobstowe, and rode off still laughing.’
‘But you’d told them already?’
‘Yes. God save me! I told them he’d been here. But they did promise that they’d do nothing about him, Bailiff. You have to believe me! I thought they’d been amused to learn about him because he was so lowly there was nothing for them to fear from him. And … even now …’
‘Yes?’
‘There was no need. He was so far below their station, he could do nothing to harm them.’
‘That is hard to imagine, surely,’ Simon said.
‘Sir Robert was for a long while in the king’s own household. He is a close confidant of Sir Hugh le Despenser. That is a name even I know of, Bailiff. Any man who is a friend of Despenser’s is safe anywhere in the land.’
Simon nodded. He was still musing over the tale he had heard as he left the cottage and mounted his horse. He snapped the reins and kicked with his heels, and the horse trotted off.
‘Well?’ the coroner said, almost unable to contain his frustration. He was not used to being left outside while others spoke.
‘Sir Richard, do you recall Sir Peregrine telling us about that appalling court case? The man whose daughter was raped by the son of a knight?’
‘I lost my wife to a dishonourable cur who should have been slain at birth,’ the coroner said heavily.
‘Yes. I’m sorry, Sir Richard. Of course the matter will still be fresh in your mind. Well, I think that the men who were said to be responsible for that are the same who are responsible for the death of the fellows on their way to the king.’
It was Mark who responded to that. ‘You mean to say that the man who had all those people killed was also a rapist? Why was he not captured and punished?’
‘Because the fellow was a friend to Despenser. And to the sheriff, too, according to Sir Peregrine,’ Sir Richard growled. He glanced over at Simon. ‘That’s what he said?’
‘He was reluctant to talk — he had been told that they wouldn’t hurt the reeve, though.’
‘Hah! And he believed them?’
‘Yes,’ Simon said slowly. He was still thinking about the expression in John Pasmere’s eyes as he spoke of Bill Lark’s death. There was an infinity of self-loathing there, as though the man had himself committed the murder. ‘But the truly fascinating point is that they might have killed the reeve — but why not kill that peasant too? If they were going to silence the man who’d learned about their crime, why would they not kill the informer?’
‘Aye, why?’ the coroner said.
‘Perhaps because they did neither?’ Simon wondered. But that was ridiculous, he knew. There was no point in thinking such thoughts. It was idle. Surely the men who had such notoriety were the same who were responsible for the murders at Abbeyford.
He stopped his mount and stared ahead. Without thinking, he had let his horse have its own head, and he had gradually gone further on the road away from Pasmere’s house, wandering south and slightly east. Now he saw that there was a broad plain in front of them, with trees over to the east, leading along the line of a ridge up to a long, tall, castellated wall. It was solid-looking, and grey like moorstone, and Simon looked it over with an appreciation of the construction.
This, he thought, would be a place that would be very difficult to take by force.
‘Whose place is that?’ Mark asked.
‘That, I think,’ Simon told him, ‘is the house of the men who killed your priests and their party.’
There was little more to be said at that. They could see a path that led up north and slightly east, and taking the chance for a good scout about the walled house, Simon led them up and along it. There was a fine view all over the house’s grounds, and he could see that the place had a goodly stock of fish in a nearby pond. The surface of the water leaped and bubbled as flies approached. Outside the walls there was a huge flock of sheep, and Simon had no doubt that in the summer the woods nearby would echo to the snort and snuffle of pigs. This was no small estate, but a huge working manor, from the size of the space all about.
‘What now?’ Mark said.
‘Now, my boy, we leave before we’re considered as spies,’ the coroner said firmly. ‘Best thing to do is head for the town up there. Bow, isn’t it; Simon? If we go there, we may just learn something to help us. It’s the little towns where you can get the best help, I always say.’
Simon agreed, and they all clapped spurs to their mounts and continued on their way, up past the woods, along the top of a ridge, and then down into the town itself.
They were sitting outside the tavern in the main street, enjoying a few moments away from their saddles, drinking strong ale, when they heard horses approaching.
‘Dear heaven! Baldwin!’ Simon shouted when he recognised his old friend. With a thrill of pure delight, he put down his drinking horn and hurried into the street, stopping at Baldwin’s horse. ‘Baldwin, it’s so good to see you again. I could not hope for better fortune!’
His joy was not reciprocated, he saw, and gradually he grew aware that his friend wore a grim, sad face.
‘Simon, I doubt you will still think that in a moment. I am so sorry. I have dreadful news,’ Baldwin said.
Tavistock Abbey
Robert Busse was happy to hear that the Cardinal de Fargis had arrived at the abbey for further discussions and to hear more evidence. It could hardly be a better time, he thought.
The whole of the previous evening and night, he had been almost unable to sleep. It had not been helped that whenever he looked in the direction of John de Courtenay, he saw a man who seemed to have a little smile fixed to his lips. The man was insufferably proud, of course, and he had always had a hatred for Robert, but that was no excuse for his seeking Robert’s murder. It was astonishing that a man who professed love for all others, and who wanted such an important leadership position in the abbey, could at the same time have been so avaricious that he would pay to have a rival removed.
‘You wished to see me?’ the cardinal said as Robert entered the abbot’s hall and bent to kiss the episcopal ring.
He remained on the floor kneeling, his head bowed. ‘Cardinal, I fear that I have some rather terrible news.’
‘There appears to be little shortage of bad news about here,’ the cardinal commented drily and took his hand away.
‘The king had a messenger here. He came to bring messages.’
‘That is somewhat less than news,’ the cardinal said sharply.
‘Some were for John de Courtenay. And he took messages back from Brother John, too.’
‘Well?’
‘He fell from his horse and died a little way from here. In his shirt were two of the messages. Here they are.’
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