Michael Jecks - No Law in the Land

He couldn’t have planned it better himself.

As he stood and dusted the dirt from his tunic and hose, he was already plotting. He had enough money now to go to London if he wanted. He could buy a house and live in style. But that wasn’t his desire. A man who was content to take a bit of money and rest was ready for his grave, in Osbert’s opinion. No, he wanted more. More excitement, more pleasure, more money, more fun. Perhaps he ought to see whether he could go to the king’s French territories. There were big profits to be made there, so they said, so long as the English recovered all their lands. Here in England there was too much interference all the time. Over there, a man with muscle and a sword might just make some money. All those French peasants were so weakly that a bold man should be able to live well.

It was a thought.

He pulled his cloak about him and set off homewards. It would take him some little while to get there, but at least he knew all these roads. And then tomorrow he would be able to start to plan.

After all, now that his old life at Nymet Traci was gone, it left him with some decisions to make. And although these would have had to have been taken before long, he hadn’t expected them to be forced upon him so soon. He had expected a few more months at the castle.

No matter. He would hurry home, and make up his mind about the rest of his life.

Fourth Wednesday after the Feast of the Archangel Michael *

Jacobstowe

They rode into the vill from Bow in the middle of the morning.

Their departure had been delayed while they waited for news of Osbert, but there was other business to be taken in hand too. Wattere was still clinging on to life, with a determination that even Simon found grudgingly impressive. Baldwin made provision for him. There was little point in keeping him in gaol, for there was no possibility of his escaping, and the local priest said he would be happy to have the dreadfully injured man in his home, where he could be watched and nursed. It was unlikely to be for long.

As they rode, Baldwin was thoughtful. Simon had been civil to him, but there was a strong undercurrent in all that he said and did, and Baldwin was aware of the lingering resentment whenever he looked into Simon’s eyes, but he couldn’t apologise. There was nothing wrong in what he had done. If he had passed over his own weapon, just as Simon had, it was certain that Sir Robert would be alive, and they would not. It was clear to Baldwin that the worst way in which a man could deal with a threat was to instantly surrender. Better by far to have an opponent who could carry out a threat and then suffer for it than an enemy who could threaten without compunction or fear of consequences.

‘Do you wish to know what he said?’ Baldwin asked Simon. His old friend looked away, towards Edith, but did give a curt nod of the head.

Before leaving, Baldwin had visited the men in the town’s little gaol. In truth, he would have preferred not to have gone to the noisome little chamber. It was filled with the odour of faeces, of damp rocks and earth, and the chill was relentless. One man, when Baldwin looked about him, was very still, and wore the grey sheen of death. He was one of those who had been struck down by the horses, Baldwin recalled. He nodded to Basil, and the watchman with him grabbed the fellow by the shoulder, yanking him to his feet and half dragging him out through the door, while the others glared and snivelled.

‘What do you want with me now?’

Basil had spirit, Baldwin saw. The fellow might be a most unappealing sight, with his right eye ruined, and blood and pus dribbling down his cheek, but for all that, and although he must have been in pain, he stared at Baldwin without apology.

‘Your father is dead. You know that?’

‘Yes. And as soon as I may, I will have the whole matter laid before the king and my lord Despenser,’ Basil spat. ‘And when your own part is explained in these affairs, in the murder of my father, in the ravaging of my manor, the destruction of the stables and sheds, the wanton-’

‘Be silent, viper! I am not here to listen to your feeble threats. Do you think you can intimidate me as you did those poor devils on the roads about here?’

‘You tell me to be silent? You old cretin! You will not be so proud when you are before Sir Hugh le Despenser and trying to explain yourself. You rode into our manor, you-’

‘Released a woman whom you had captured, illegally, and against all the rules of chivalry, fellow. And proved that you had been attacking all who passed near and robbing them of their goods. I think there is not a court in the land that would protect you. No matter how many jurors the good Sir Hugh were to place at the court’s disposal.’

‘He would be able to provide many, you piece of shit,’ Basil blustered, leaning forward. ‘He will buy up all the jurors, and the judge, too, in order to break you.’

‘Even when we show that you robbed the party on its way to the king? You stole the king’s silver when you robbed those men.’

‘We didn’t,’ Basil sneered. ‘Show we did it!’

‘I shall,’ Baldwin said. ‘You killed not only a group of archers, boy; you slaughtered two monks. You will not be set before a court that Sir Hugh can buy up. You will stand accused before a court in Exeter, in the presence of Bishop Walter. And he will have the pleasure of convicting you to die on his own gallows.’

Basil was shocked by that. ‘We didn’t kill two monks! We only found the one. The other one must have made off before we got there, rot his bowels!’

‘Hardly likely,’ Baldwin said.

‘It’s the truth!’

Gradually Basil had told the whole story: how the man Osbert had insinuated himself into the group of travellers, how he had persuaded them to turn north from Oakhampton, to avoid the known danger of Sir Robert’s men, while in reality leading them all into Sir Robert’s trap.

Baldwin repeated the story now as they jogged down a hill near the tiny vill of Sampford Courtenay, and even as they rode, Simon’s attention was taken by the tale. ‘You mean they’d been planning this for some days, then?’

‘They must have been,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘Simon, just consider the effort involved. They had to make sure that this man Osbert was ready to join the group at the earliest moment, probably not long after they left Tavistock. He had to have time to get to know them, after all. And probably to start to spread concern about the depredations of his own master. He wanted them to be so fearful of Sir Robert that they would willingly and swiftly agree to his suggestion of an alternative road to Exeter, bypassing Bow completely. They could hardly go south, not with the paucity of roads in that direction; their only path must take them north. And that meant Abbeyford Woods. The rest of Sir Robert’s men knew where he would lead them.’

Mark was frowning. ‘But Anselm, he would know that was a daft idea.’

‘That was, I think, the point,’ Baldwin said caustically. ‘One stranger would be unlikely to swing all behind him. But if there was another there, a man who was viewed as knowledgeable, who was wearing the cloth, that would inevitably help.’

‘You mean he colluded in this? No!’ Mark was emphatic. ‘I will not allow that! To suggest such a slander is a disgrace, Sir Baldwin. You shame yourself more than his cloth and our order when you say such things. Where is your evidence? What proof do you have, eh?’

It was Simon who shook his head sadly. ‘Mark, Baldwin’s right. Look at it sensibly. Sir Robert needed details of the men in the guard. And if Anselm had nothing to do with it, where is he now? What happened to him after the robbery? Why wasn’t he there with all the other bodies?’