Michael Jecks - No Law in the Land

Wattere’s face had paled. Now he too looked up over the priest’s shoulder, and his eyes were wide. ‘You can’t take me! I won’t go, Osbert. You did for me with that murderous puppy your master … You say I betrayed you? You betrayed all!’

The priest mumbled calmingly as Wattere spat and shouted, but there was no soothing him. He was like a man having his arm removed, twisting and wrenching, screaming as his wound opened and gaped again, shrieking abuse at the man he supposed was before him.

‘Go! Won’t anyone take this man away? Leave me alone!’

The father had to lean down to hold him in the cot, he flailed so hard, and in the end he had to accept defeat, and bellowed for help. A boy had been outside, and he came in at a run when he heard the priest call, sitting on the wounded man’s knees while the priest tried to hold Wattere’s upper torso down, trying to avoid pressing on the wound but attempting to keep him still.

It was not to last long. With a last curse at the spectre whom no one else could see, there was an end. Later the priest would wonder whether the noise he heard was authentic, or whether his mind had imagined it, but he thought he heard a sound like a small cord being broken as the man’s spirit left him. The body, empty now, sagged like a sack of old beans, and there was a slight gasp, then a rattle from his throat, and the priest made the sign of the cross over his staring eyes, beginning to recite the Pater Noster.

He would have thought nothing more about it, had not the news come to him later that the man who was the sergeant of the evil devil at Nymet Traci had been called Osbert. And that he had disappeared.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Sunday before the Feast of St Martin in Winter *

Exeter

Edith was glad to be home. As she entered her house once more, and saw her maid busying herself at the fire, it felt as though she had dreamed the last few days. The arrest of her husband, her capture by the hideous Wattere, her suffering and terror of rape by the son of Sir Robert de Traci, all faded as soon as she crossed her own threshold again.

‘Father, Sir Baldwin, please, be seated,’ she said and went to fetch wine for them. She would have to throw them out soon. It was good to have them escort her home, while Baldwin had sent Edgar back to his own house to tell Jeanne what had been happening, but at the gates they had heard that her husband had been released and was back at his parents’ home to recover from his ordeal.

The wine was served, Simon heating his dagger’s blade in the fire and then stirring the wine with it to warm it, and she watched with appreciation as the two men began to chat. It had been a very hard evening the previous day, and much of the journey today had been quiet, but she felt sure that the pair were recovering their friendship. She had worked hard to try to ensure it. At her parents’ home, she had managed to draw her mother to one side and explain what had happened, but Meg had been too shocked by the story to take it all in. And then, of course, the news that her daughter was soon to be a mother in her turn was enough to drive all other thoughts from her mind.

Soon the wine was drunk and the two men exchanged a look.

‘You should fetch your husband home,’ Baldwin said.

‘Are you sure that I cannot get you anything more?’ Edith said.

‘Seeing you here, happy and safe, is all I could wish for,’ he answered.

‘We can escort you to Peter, anyway,’ Simon said. ‘We will ride on from there.’

And so it was quickly agreed. The two men led their horses, and they walked with her along the narrow ways until they came to the house where her parents-in-law lived. There, at the doorway, Baldwin took his leave. ‘Simon, old friend. I hope to see you again soon.’

Simon grasped his hand, and nodded his head. ‘I am sorry for my foul temper, Baldwin,’ he said, still a little stiffly.

‘Simon, I can understand. I only hope you realise that I acted in what I thought was the best interests of all of us.’

Simon took a deep breath. ‘Yes. I know you did. And I am truly sorry that I doubted you at the time — but what would you do or say? My daughter was there …’

‘There is no need to say anything,’ Baldwin said gently. And he meant it. He could only imagine how Simon must have felt at the sight of his daughter being threatened with rape and humiliation. It was a scene he would remember for the rest of his life.

Edith took her leave of them both and knocked on the door. It was soon opened, and she was led through to the hall.

‘Peter!’ she cried at the sight of him. She ran in, and fell to her knees at his side, placing her head on his breast. ‘Oh, Peter, I thought I had lost you!’

‘I am all right.’

‘Peter, are you all right? Really? You look so thin, you poor darling. I was so scared for you.’

‘I survived it,’ he said with a shudder at the memory.

‘It was no thanks to your family, though,’ Charles said, entering the hall from the solar. ‘If it weren’t for your father, none of this would have happened. You realise that, don’t you? It was all your family’s foolish politicking against Despenser that made this happen. It is a disgrace that a good, honourable, decent fellow like my boy should be arrested and all but killed, just because his father-in-law has an unhealthy fixation with politics.’

‘It was not my father’s fault!’ Edith said hotly.

‘No? It was your father’s connections with the abbey that led to your capture, from all I have heard, and it was your father’s disputes with Despenser that meant you and my son were such easy prey. What will happen next time? Will my son be arrested and hanged just so your father can strike a small legal blow and feel himself the better for it? Do you want Peter’s blood on your hands?’

‘No!’

‘Well, if you are associated with your father, I believe that is what must inevitably happen.’

‘It won’t happen again, will it, Peter?’ she said, tenderly stroking his cheek.

‘No,’ Charles said. ‘It won’t, because I will not permit it. Edith, child, I am sorry: either you must leave your husband and return to your parents, or you must renounce your birth to your father and live here.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘It is very easy. Either you tell your father and mother that you will not see them ever again, that you reject them entirely; or you must leave Peter and go to them to live. I will not permit this danger to remain. Make your choice!’

Monday before the Feast of St Martin in Winter *

Thorney Island

Sir Hugh le Despenser received the messenger with a reserved welcome, but although he was less than enthusiastic, his interest was piqued. It was rare that he would have a messenger from a cardinal, and Cardinal de Fargis was an intriguing individual.

‘The Cardinal de Fargis bade me bring you this,’ the messenger said.

He was only a short little man, and his accent showed that he was not English, but from somewhere on the continent. Despenser had not travelled about the lands south of France, but he thought that this fellow had a similar accent to someone he had met once from Rome.

He opened the little scroll and read it, before looking up sharply. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

‘He asked me to give you this, too,’ the messenger said imperturbably. It was a second little scroll, the pair of them being from John de Courtenay, apparently.

Despenser threw them both down on the table. ‘These are strange indeed. And what have they to do with me?’

‘My master would like you to know that he is aware of these two and their contents. Also that he has made them known to the Holy Father, the pope. He urges you to desist from meddling further in the affairs of the abbey at Tavistock.’