Michael Jecks - No Law in the Land

‘But I don’t know where he will be!’

‘Nor do I — but you can be sure that he will either be in the tavern or over in the market somewhere. Go and find him. Tell him we have these men and needs must have them held securely somewhere. Do you go! Now!’

It took the monk little time to find the reeve, and in a short while the men were all held in the gaol, which was by no means large enough to accommodate them all, but there being nowhere else for them to be placed, Baldwin advised them to make the best of their situation. He was more concerned about his old friend Simon.

Simon would not look at him, but instead spent his time with his arm about Edith’s shoulder, his whole attention fixed upon her. Even when Baldwin quietly called his name, Simon did not respond.

There were several men who had been wounded, not only Basil. Most of the others were suffering from the fire or from the terrified horses, rather than from the weapons of Simon or Sir Richard.

The boys sent to look after the horses, whom they had seen as they rode hell-for-leather to the castle, had all clearly taken the view that they would be better served by making themselves scarce than by waiting, and Baldwin had a shrewd idea that the animals would be discovered in one of the many horse-trading markets about Exeter before long. The boys would be long gone, though, and he was not overly worried about them. With luck, some of them might discover a talent for avoiding crime in future. But when he mentioned them to Sir Richard, he had another interest.

‘Not bothered about those little scrotes. It was the other bastard with the face like an axe had gone through it that worried me. Where did he get to?’

Baldwin suddenly recalled the one-eyed man who had been holding on to Wattere as they arrived. ‘I didn’t see him.’

‘No, nor I, but I had me hands a little full with those other arses. Still, it’d be a shame if the knight’s sergeant escaped us.’

Baldwin agreed. He bellowed to a lone watchman, who stood looking confused at the door, and told him to see if he could organise a posse to go and track down the one-eyed man.

They were sitting now in an inn that lay at the southern side of the road, a strange little building on top of steps that had been carved from the hillside, which was here steep. For all that the accommodation was peculiar, it was a comfortable chamber, with a cheery fire roaring in the hearth in the middle of the floor, and an amiable young wench to serve them, while her father, the host, held a wary eye on them to ensure that his little strumpet was not harmed by this sudden infusion of strangers. For Baldwin’s part, he was alarmed to see that his own servant was demonstrating his old amorous skills with the girl. He resolved to speak with Edgar later and remind him of his wife back home at Furnshill.

For now, though, as trenchers were brought to them filled with slices of good bacon and some thickened pease pudding, Baldwin was happy to eat and not remonstrate. He noticed the wandering sailor as he ate, though, and soon beckoned the man across.

Looking Roger all over, he nodded. ‘So you assuredly are a sailor. I’ve only ever seen such rough hands on men who spend their lives hauling ropes.’

‘I am. Although I confess I haven’t always been one. In the past I was a fighter. But the French put an end to all that.’

‘You were there when they invaded?’

‘Yes. I was in a little town there.’

‘Which?’

‘Have you heard of a place called Montpezat?’

Baldwin considered. ‘It was the town held against the French last year, was it not?’

‘Yes. And when they took it, they razed it to the ground. It was all over that little bastide at Saint-Sardos.’

Brother Mark frowned. ‘What happened there? I never understood.’

Baldwin explained. ‘The Abbot of Sarlat in France wanted to build his new little town, because he knew it would make him money, but also because he knew it would embarrass our king. Although Sarlat was in France, Saint-Sardos is in English territory. But the abbot claimed that any territory owned by his abbey, because his abbey was in France, could be viewed as privileged. In other words, if he had a daughter house of his abbey or some manors within English jurisdiction, he thought he should be able to build fortress towns there. So he decided with Saint-Sardos, even though the seneschal of Guyenne had said already that such construction was illegal. When the abbot went ahead and began building, Raymond Bernard of Montpezat and Ralph Basset the seneschal went to stop the works. Tempers grew heated, and the French official in charge at the site was hanged from his own flagpole where he’d been flying the French flag. That is why we went to war with France.’

‘And it’s why all the French lands have been taken,’ Roger finished. ‘The French overran the duchy when Raymond and Ralph refused to surrender to French justice, and utterly destroyed Montpezat. I was lucky to escape with my life.’

‘And you came back to England,’ Baldwin said.

‘Where else would I go? I thought that the best thing to do was to return here and find employment. But that failed, so I thought to find work on ships, and I’ve been working on them for some little while. I was raised near Brixham, and much of my childhood was spent on the water, so it was no hardship to turn to sailing again. But there are few places on ships for a man like me. And although I’ve been up to Barnstaple and all over the north and south, I’ve found no work. It is hard.’

‘Why are you still about here?’ Sir Richard said.

‘I told you. I saw a man killed. It was the one-eyed man and that young cub you captured up there when your friend’s daughter stabbed his eye.’

Simon was at a nearby bench with Edith, and he shot a look at them as Roger spoke. Baldwin saw his look, but did not allow Simon’s anger to distract him. ‘So you say you saw one murder, but did not report it or go to escape — instead you remained up here and discovered for yourself where the men came from. Why?’

‘Because if I could show who the men were who’d killed, I thought they might be captured.’

‘There is much here, my friend, that you aren’t tellin’ us,’ the coroner grunted. He rested his elbows on the table and studied Roger fixedly.

‘Sir, I do not know how I might convince you,’ Roger said.

‘Begin by telling the truth,’ Baldwin said flatly.

Roger sucked his teeth. The man before him had dark, intense eyes, with the look of someone who had seen enough of the world, perhaps, to understand the strange gusts and currents that could drive a man on to the shoals of ruin. That was how he viewed his own life, certainly. He had known fabulous wealth for some months, but they had been followed by disaster and the anguish of ignominy and humiliation. He had drunk the bitter dregs of existence, and although he had returned here to England, yet there seemed little respite. Every opportunity he had attempted, he had failed. No seaman would allow him on his vessel, no peasant would accept his assistance, no lord his service. His life was already at its lowest ebb.

He took a deep breath. ‘While in France, after Montpezat, I became a wanderer. It was dangerous to be English and alone.’

‘Yes, I can imagine that,’ Sir Richard said. ‘What of it?’

Baldwin put a restraining hand on his arm as Roger continued.

‘I joined a gang of men who had been with Raymond. We escaped before the castle was surrounded, and made off, living from the land as we might.’

Sir Richard and Baldwin said nothing. They had both been involved in warfare. Both knew to what he alluded: the inevitable concomitant of warfare was living off the land, which meant killing and robbing the local peasantry. Some wandering bands of mercenaries made a lot of money, occasionally winning small castles for themselves.