Michael Jecks - No Law in the Land

He felt his head as an insupportable weight, bringing him forward, the mass of his body dragging him to the floor, but even as he felt his life leaching away into the stones, his face was turned to his son. His last thoughts were for Basil.

Roger was close to the walls when he saw a figure on a horse, and he swiftly thrust Agnes down behind him.

This was so much like the scenes he had witnessed in France. Smoke pouring from a homestead as men and women milled about, terrified in case they would be captured. Today, he had the idea that there would be more killing, from the look of the men who had ridden in so wildly.

The smoke was clearing a little now as most of the thatch and straw was gradually consumed, and soon there was only the reek of old wood and tar and leather burning. At least with that there was less thick smoke, though, and now Roger could peer through the wavy air to see the men beyond. Not that the view was very clear — he was sure he could see the men who had ridden into the place, all standing about with their weapons drawn, but now he could see the men from the house, arguing; he saw the girl turn, the flash of a weapon, and the man behind her screamed hoarsely and fell, even as the knight dropped his sword and another man snatched it up and stabbed once, with all his strength.

‘What is it?’ Agnes demanded.

‘I think this place is less of a threat now,’ Roger said. He stood and began to walk towards the castle, aware that Agnes was hurrying to keep up. In the gateway, he saw the men gathered over in the corner of the wall. As he entered, there was a flash of steel, and he found himself looking into the face of a man who could kill in an instant. It was the kind of face he had seen all too often in France.

‘Who are you?’

Roger said, ‘I am a sailor, on my way to Dartmouth. Nothing to do with these men, except a few days ago I saw them slay a farmer.’

‘I am Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, the Keeper of the King’s Peace. What are you doing here now? A man who witnessed a murder would not normally follow the murderer. He would run to the nearest bailiff or reeve to declare the crime.’

‘It occurred to me that finding a body in an area where I was unknown might not be conducive to a long life. I preferred to think that I could escape attention. But I thought it would repay me to follow some of these fellows and learn where they lived. Then I started to wonder where they were going, to see if they were attacking anyone else.’

‘You waited about here, by your admission, for some days, when you could have been hurrying to your ship? When, as you say, you feared that by remaining here you would be throwing yourself in increased danger?’

‘I am very public-spirited.’

Baldwin looked at him. ‘I don’t have time for this right now, but, friend, I will be speaking to you later. Who is this?’

Mark was still crouched at the side of Wattere in the midst of the ruin and savagery, and he looked up to see the woman at the gate. ‘She is the wife of the reeve who was murdered, Sir Baldwin,’ he said. He had dipped the hem of his robe in a horse trough, and was wiping Wattere’s face with it. ‘She is no threat to you,’ he added sarcastically.

‘Mistress, I am sorry about your loss,’ Baldwin said.

Agnes was walking like a woman in a dream. ‘Where is he?’ she asked.

It was a strange dreamlike experience, being here in the courtyard with bodies lying nearby. She found her toe striking something that rolled, and looking down saw a man’s head, the eyes wide in surprise as they contemplated her, but there was no body beneath it. She carried on walking to where the young woman was sobbing, cradled in the arms of a much older man. At their feet was a young fellow, who rocked back and forth on his knees, wailing quietly, while blood trickled from between the fingers covering his face. Nearby there lay another man, who had a massive wound in his breast that was still slowly oozing blood on to the floor. There was no rage in his face, though, only surprise and a kind of wistfulness.

‘Is he the one?’ she asked.

Simon saw her, and although he could not relinquish his daughter, he nodded. ‘It’s Sir Robert, the man who owned this castle. I think he was the man who ruled those who killed your husband, Agnes. I am sorry.’

‘I am avenged,’ she said quietly, and then spat on the dead man’s face. ‘That is for my husband, a good man, a good father, and a good reeve.’

She turned on her heel, and was about to walk away from that hideous area, but the other woman’s misery called her back, and she went to her and put her own arms about her, looking at Simon as she did so. ‘Let me take her out of here,’ she said, and led Edith out of the courtyard, Simon following.

‘Simon,’ Baldwin said as Simon drew level with him. ‘I couldn’t let my sword go. You do understand that, don’t you? If I’d dropped my sword, they could have overwhelmed us in a moment, and it’d be us who were lying in the dirt instead of them. You understand that, don’t you?’

Simon looked at him, and Baldwin was shocked to see the resentment that burned in his eyes. ‘Tell me, Baldwin. If that had been your little Richalda, and I had refused to drop my sword, what would you have done then?’

Baldwin was silent for only a moment, but then he shook his head. ‘I would have agreed with you, Simon. It is impossible to surrender your weapons to men such as these.’

‘You think so? Or would your friendship have turned to hatred and loathing, Baldwin?’

Tavistock Abbey

In the cloisters, Brother Robert Busse was strolling thoughtfully when he heard his voice called.

Behind him, angrily stalking towards him, his black robes flying so great was his speed, came Brother John de Courtenay.

‘I suppose you think you are mighty clever!’ Brother John hissed.

‘Brother, I think nothing of the sort. However, I have done all I think I need to do to protect myself.’

‘Pah! Protect my arse! You think you’ll be safe from my fellows? You forget who you’re talking to, churl!’

‘Brother John, please, let us be calm.’

‘Calm? I’ve just spent an hour or more in the company of the precious cretin from the pope. You know what he said to me?’

‘He accused you of plotting my murder, I suppose.’

‘Yes … You gave him my notes?’

‘They were found on the messenger, and opened before it was realised quite what they were.’

‘I will not tolerate this, Robert. My family is the most important in the shire, and I swear, I’ll have the post here whether you’ll accept me or not, you understand? If you stand in my way, I’ll-’

‘Kill me? Oh, Brother John,’ Robert said. ‘If you do that now, you will never have this abbey. You don’t understand? We are both in the same position, my friend. If I take any more money or try to do anything else to win the seat, I will be barred from it.’

‘Good!’

‘And conversely, if I die, for whatever reason, whether it be a sudden apoplexy or an accidental fall down the night stairs to the choir, my friend, you will also never win the seat. We are both blocked.’

‘Ballocks!’

‘Quite. Yes, I think I can agree with that sentiment. For now, Brother, I think that we must resort to the expedient of merely accepting whatever fate throws at us.’

Brother Robert watched as the furious Brother John kicked at a stone on the ground, and then made off towards the calefactory.

It was a pleasant thought that the other monk was as bitter and resentful as he himself, he reflected.

Bow

As soon as they arrived in the town, Baldwin sent Mark to seek out the reeve.