Michael Jecks - No Law in the Land

‘Pasmere!’ he shouted from the roadway. ‘Are you in there?’

There was a muttered oath from inside, and then Pasmere’s face appeared. He glanced at the faces before him, before scratching at his beard. ‘What?’

Simon could see that something had changed about the man. His face was paler, and for a moment Simon thought that the old man was struck down with a disease. There were stories of men and women who had succumbed, and not all had died of the famine that hurt so many in the last years, but then he saw the reddened eyes and realised that this was only a man who had been weeping.

‘Friend Pasmere, are you well?’ he enquired.

‘I’m fine. What’s the matter? You get lost yesterday or something?’

Sir Richard moved forward on his mount. ‘You should remember to be civil to officers of the king’s law.’

‘Why? A civil man can be killed as easily as a rude one,’ Pasmere snapped. ‘I am only a feeble old peasant, yet two knights, you, Bailiff, and these others can feel free to come and demand answers of me. Why should I answer if I don’t wish to?’

‘Friend, I only asked if you were well,’ Simon said soothingly. ‘Something has happened to you. Can we help?’

‘No. It’s nothing.’

For some reason Simon felt sympathy for the man. Perhaps it was the aura of general despair about him, or the feeling Simon had that he too was all alone now, having lost his friend in the last day, but he felt that there was a connection between his own misery and that of this old man. He said nothing, but dismounted and walked over to John Pasmere.

‘Pasmere, I cannot swear to be able to help you, but you are grieving. Let me help you if I may.’

‘You cannot help me.’

‘Tell him to speak about his son,’ Sir Richard said. ‘In God’s name, we have to find that murderous puppy!’

‘I have no son,’ Pasmere said. ‘He is dead to me.’

‘Why is that?’ Baldwin demanded from his horse.

Simon said nothing at first, but he held Pasmere’s gaze, and gradually he saw the anger pass from the older man’s face. ‘Master, I am sorry. There is nothing more painful than to lose a son.’

‘You have?’

‘My boy was younger. There is no day I don’t miss him.’

‘I will miss mine too,’ Pasmere said, and sighed. ‘He was a good boy when he was young, you know? Always loyal and keen. Clever, too, with his hands. He could fashion anything out of wood, if you gave him a good knife to work with. Aye, he had the brain of a man apprenticed as a craftsman, he did. But then all went sour.’

‘Why was that?’ Simon asked.

‘He went up to fight for the king at Bannockburn, twelve years ago. He got that wound and lost his eye up there in the Scots’ lands, and never trusted his lords again. The king was there, and his own master, but they fled when they saw the battle turn against them. All those men wallowing in the brooks and mud, and those who ordered them to go left them to die. It was a miracle that Os didn’t. Perhaps it would have been better if he had,’ he added musingly.

‘What happened?’

‘Oh, he was fortunate. Some Scot took him in and nursed him back to life, but from that moment he was bitter about people — especially the king and those who made wars and then ran away when it grew warm. The king did pay him a shilling for his service, and Sir Robert paid him the same, and he was welcomed back to Sir Robert’s household when he was healthy enough. And then the fool made enemies in the king’s court, and all were forced to turn outlaw. My boy stayed with his master in all that time, and when Sir Robert returned to Nymet Traci, he brought Os with him.’

‘We have to find him, you know that?’ Simon said. ‘We will find him and catch him if we may, but if he refuses to surrender to us, we’ll have to take him any way we can.’

‘He is not my son any more,’ Pasmere said.

‘Where did he go?’ Simon asked.

Pasmere remained staring at him. He could not speak at first. Then, ‘If you had a son as old as mine, would you be able to betray him? Ever?’

Simon shook his head. He gave Pasmere his hand.

It was then that Roger returned from behind the house. ‘Sir Baldwin? I think I have found his tracks.’

Hoppon’s house

Tab was as alert as ever, Hoppon saw.

At first he thought it might be the men returning from Pasmere’s place, but then he heard the squeaking of an axle, and realised that it was not coming from the road they had taken, but instead from the ancient road further to the north of him.

It was enough to make him frown. There were all kinds of stories about that old road: how in years past some army had swept down and through this part of the country, leaving behind roads and forts. But they were daft old legends so far as Hoppon was concerned. The idea that some race of giants had lived here was more likely true. Still, the road was real enough. He had dug around up there once when he was younger, and a short way down under the grasses he had found a solid, paved roadway. When he looked east, it stretched for miles, probably as far as Crediton. Now that would have been a magnificent task, building a road all the way up there. Not that anyone used it any more. They all stuck to the muddier routes because they were more gentle in the way that they flowed around hills rather than taking a direct line straight up and over them. It was easier for people with heavy carts or packhorses.

But there were some few who knew the old roadways and used them. Sometimes, when he had been younger, Hoppon himself had been known to make use of them. They were appallingly overgrown in places, it was true, but they were still the best for those who knew of them, when there was wheeled transport to consider. Especially when the wheeled transport was something best kept from public view. And a man who was trying to evade the king’s officers would be well advised to make use of such a secret route.

Hoppon listened as the noise grew closer. Tab began to rumble deep in his throat, and he put his hand gently over the dog’s muzzle. ‘Be still, boy! No need for that. Let him be.’

He listened, and the noise slowed slightly. That would be where the incline rose towards the top of the hill towards Jacobstowe. If he was right, and this was Osbert, why was the man heading in this direction? It would surely have made more sense for him to go east, towards Crediton and Exeter, rather than here, towards the scene of his crime.

Hoppon listened wonderingly, as the sounds began to dim again, but then he pulled a bitter face and grimaced as he pulled himself upwards once more. ‘Ach, come on, Tab. Can’t let him just run like that. What’ll happen if he escapes? He’ll only find some other poor bugger to kill and rob, and then where’d we be? Guilty as hell, that’s where, for allowing him to run and kill again. He might be a neighbour, but he’s still an evil bastard. Can’t have him escaping.’

Roman road

Simon was remounted almost before Roger had finished speaking. He slapped the rein ends against his beast’s rump and was already moving even as Pasmere called, ‘Don’t hurt my boy! Please, don’t hurt him!’

It was a plaintive call that Simon would remember in his dreams for many months to come.

Roger was running to keep up. He took them to the back of the house where the barrow had been stored, and pointed out where the line in the dirt and grass showed the wheels’ passage. There was nothing to discuss. The last desperate plea from Pasmere was proof enough that Osbert had come this way, and the four men began to make their cautious way forward.

Simon hated entering thick woods like these when there was a risk of ambush. He had not been overly concerned back at Abbeyford after that attack, for the inquest itself had already been conducted, and none of the perpetrators was likely to have been there still. Whereas here there was the distinct possibility that Osbert was still close by. The only thing that was assured was that if he was pushing an old barrow, he would likely be too tired to think about pursuit. He was probably content to think that the attack on the castle was an end to the matter from his point of view. Simon knew that all too often criminals displayed astonishing foolishness after an initial success. It was as though their early achievements led them to believe that they were safe from all further dangers.