Michael Jecks - No Law in the Land

There was no sign of the man at first, but Simon could see the marks in the filth of the road, turning to the right, heading east of north. He shouted and pointed, pulling his horse round in a tight turn. The poor creature slipped, his hoofs throwing up huge clods of mud and foulness, and Simon thought he was about to lose his seat and tumble to the ground, but then the horse gave a convulsive push with both hind legs, and Simon felt the surge of power at his backside, then they were hurtling dangerously along a narrow little lane. There was a turning, and this time he wasn’t so lucky. He felt the horse start to slide, and had only just time to kick both feet from the stirrups as the world seemed to swerve around him. For a heart-stopping moment he appeared to be suspended in mid-air, with all the time in the world to notice Osbert further down the road staring back over his shoulder, to see Baldwin reaching out in a futile attempt to save him before Simon could hit the ground; and then the sudden acceleration of the mud and grasses as they rushed upwards to meet him.

The landing was not so much painful as simply numbing. It was as though his entire body was jarred, with each and every bone dislocating and resetting itself. All he could do for a moment was remain still, wondering when the pain would begin to affect him. It was not easy to tell. There was such a sensation of shock that such a thing could have happened, that he was sure there would be an overwhelming agony in all parts of his body at any moment.

‘Simon, are you all right, my friend?’

Gradually easing himself up, Simon took stock. ‘Yes,’ he said with some surprise. ‘I think I am.’

‘Then mount, man! We’ll lose him else!’

Simon shook his head. He felt as though he had been woolgathering for an hour or more, and when he looked about him, the others were all with him still, each of them looking more concerned about his welfare than they were at the thought that the felon could escape. ‘Get after him, then!’ he shouted.

His horse, God be praised, had survived the fall. There was a slight lameness in the front right leg, but nothing serious, he thought, gently handling it. Perhaps it was a strain. If so, a ride might help it to heal.

He climbed into his saddle again and followed after the others as they trotted along the road. But soon it became obvious that they had made an error. The track continued for some few yards and then stopped. There they found a barrow. But it was empty, and there was no sign of Osbert.

He had thrown them! They had thought he was stupid enough to just run out into the open country, but he wasn’t so dull witted. He wasn’t some gull ready to swallow any garbage slipped to him. He’d deliberately let the barrow run on and left it under a hedge, before grabbing his money and clutching its massive weight to his chest.

Crouched over, his back complaining at the unnatural gait, he ran as fast as he could, through a hole in a hedge, and from there back the way he had come.

The chest was a terrible weight. The mass of coins inside the box meant that it was all he could do to manage a restricted hobble. It was like clutching a man’s weight concentrated into metal and wood of only some two feet by one and one. But although a pound in money weighed less than a pound of silver, the thing was unbearably massive. He would have to throw it aside soon, if he couldn’t …

He managed to keep on going until he reached a gate. Sobbing with the effort, he yanked it wide, and stumbled into the street. There before him was the huge tower of the church. He threw a fearful glance all about him — in the last resort he could claim sanctuary inside that, but he didn’t want to. Better by far to find a horse or some hiding place. Panting, his eye turned this way and that, desperate for a decision, but he could see nothing. It was then that he heard a scream.

Edith almost fell to the floor when she recognised him. She had seen the monk hurrying through the vill, and then the clear notes of the horn had shivered on the air and she had rushed back indoors with Ant and Agnes, hiding as the sound of hoofs came and passed by. If there was a felon in the vill, it was no time for her or the others to be out on the street. Too many people were knocked down by fools galloping their beasts in the middle of towns. And she had no desire to be killed by a felon trying to escape the law.

‘It’s quiet now,’ Agnes had said after they had been hiding inside for a while. She had been quite still as they waited, as though utterly petrified, holding the Ant close to her, his head at her throat, her hand over the fragile skull as though to protect it against any harm. It made Edith realise just how much she would suffer were she to lose her own husband. She couldn’t — to lose Peter would be to lose herself, she knew. It would remove the first structural plank on which her life depended. Especially now that she had the beginnings of new life in her womb. The idea that she should — that she could — lose her husband before he had even seen their child was so devastating that she had felt the room to grow stuffy, hot, unbearable. She rose and pulled a shawl over her shoulders, walking outside cautiously.

The sound of riders had faded to nothing now, but still she peered about the open area carefully before stepping out into the cool air. It would be an irony of some poignancy, she thought, were she to be slain now in the road, when only the day before she had been saved from death by her father and Sir Baldwin.

She was standing and smiling to herself at the singular nature of fate when a figure appeared around a corner. It was the monk, but he must be in pain, for he was bent almost double, as though nursing a terrible wound in his belly, and for an instant, that was her sole thought: that a felon had stabbed him, or he had fallen prey to the horses of the hue and cry, and was soon to collapse.

That was why she began to move towards him, but then he looked up and saw her, and she recognised him instantly.

He realised who she was at the same moment, and he felt his face twist with rage. The bitch was here! There was no chance he’d escape the bastards now. She knew him, that much was clear. Her face crumpled, and there was a blanched horror in her eyes that he couldn’t miss. But now there was the sound of men approaching.

Shit! Shit! All his plans were going awry as he stood here dithering. There was a need to get away, to be miles from here as quickly as he could, but he couldn’t just run, not with this box. And now that bitch had seen him, he was sure to be followed. They would know exactly where he had gone. He had to kill her, if he wanted any possibility of escape.

‘No!’ she cried, and her face was contorted with fear. But he knew what he must do.

He accordingly took a pace forward, and set the chest on the ground, as though exhausted, before drawing his knife and approaching her.

There was a scream, and a baby began to cry, and he saw that there was another slut behind her, this one with a pup at her tit. Another one to remove. But then, when he looked back at the blonde, he saw that there was something else in her eyes: a wildness, such as a cornered cat might show. She was scared, yes, but she’d made a decision to sell her life as dearly as she could. Even as he stepped over the dirt and mud, she darted back, pushing the other maid before her, and then reappeared in the doorway with a long knife. And she held it like she knew what to do with it.

‘Ach, shite,’ he muttered to himself.

Because just then he heard the hoofs returning. They had learned his little trick and were coming back. If they saw him here, he would have no choice but to surrender. They were too close already. Shite! If they caught him here in the open, they’d cut him to pieces.