No Law in the Land: (Knights Templar 27) (7 page)

The bottler was one of the most important men in the king’s household. He controlled many facets of the house, from the rights
and privileges of the servants to the quality and quantity of the food provided, as well as seeing to the comfort of guests.
It was a little alarming that his deputy had asked to see Simon, but at least Simon had a clear conscience. There was nothing
he could have done in the last hours that could have caused offence, so far as he knew. It was possible that he had done something
before, during an earlier visit to the palace, but he felt sure that if that was the case, he would already have learned of
his error.

Entering the palace by a door he had not used before, Simon was almost instantly disorientated. The man led him along a narrow
passage, up a short flight of stairs, along a corridor, and then down a tower with a tightly curved staircase, before stopping
at a door. He took Simon’s sword, then knocked, and motioned Simon forward.

Simon opened the door and stopped dead, his eyes freezing on the figure in the middle of the chamber.

‘Please, Bailiff. Enter and close the door behind you,’ Sir Hugh le Despenser said.

Simon took a step back to leave the room.

‘I said to come in.’

Simon’s way was barred by the grinning man-at-arms, who held his staff across his body and pushed Simon back inside.

‘We wouldn’t want any trouble for you at home, would we?’ Despenser said. ‘Your wife would be upset to know that you were
prepared to make more problems for her, I expect.’

The mention of his wife was enough. ‘What have you done to my Meg?’ Simon demanded, turning and facing the man.

Despenser smiled at his angry response. ‘Already this year you have made yourself a sore annoyance to me, and I have repaid
you as I might, to remind you and your friend the knight that it is better that you respect your betters rather than make
trouble for them. I only wish to ask you some questions, nothing more. Enter and sit down and we can have a sensible talk.
Otherwise I shall consider involving myself in your affairs again.’

‘What have you done to my wife while I was in France?’ Simon said, not moving.

Despenser looked him up and down without any change of expression. He jerked his head towards a stool in front of his table,
then walked around to sit behind it on a large leather-covered chair. ‘I am waiting.’

Simon licked his lips. The man behind him moved away a little, and Simon turned to watch him, but when the man merely shrugged,
Simon decided he might as well make the best of it. He pulled the door closed, leaving the guard outside, and walked to the
table, staring down at the man on the other side.

Despenser looked worse than Simon remembered from when he had left the country. Then the strain was already showing. Sir Hugh
was terrified that the king might go to France himself and leave him behind, which would without doubt lead to his death.
Even were he declared regent in the king’s absence, he had made enemies of so many men in the realm that his life would be
worthless as soon as Edward’s protection was taken away. The only thing that could be worse was that he might try to go with
the king to France, for if anything the French king and his nobles were more repelled by Despenser than were the English.
He had once turned pirate while exiled from the king’s side, and during that time he had deliberately captured and robbed
a number of French vessels. It had led to the
French declaring that were he ever to set foot on French territory again, he would be executed.

The machinations by which he had attempted to protect himself had led to Sir Hugh becoming almost cadaverous. He had grown
pale and haggard. But now, if anything, he was a great deal worse. He sat sucking at his forefinger, and when he took it away,
Simon saw that there was a rim of blood where he had bitten too close to the quick.

‘You look unwell,’ Simon commented with satisfaction.

‘I want to know all that happened in France. Especially with the queen.’

Simon stared at him. ‘I want to know how my wife is,’ he said again.

‘I have done nothing to harm or alarm her since you left. The only reason I did anything to her was to keep you under control,
Master Puttock. For so long as you remain civil to me, she is safe. But leave me once to think that you are being less than
frank, and I shall destroy you. Understand me? I will start by making life intolerable for your wife. So hearken to my words.
I want to know all,
all
, that happened in France.’

Simon considered, but he saw no reason to risk antagonising his tormentor further. In all faith, he knew that the man sitting
opposite could have him killed in an instant. Likewise, Meg could be injured, or worse, on the whim of Despenser. It would
be better, no doubt, to humour him.

He related the story of his journey with Baldwin in the company of the Earl of Chester, recently created Duke of Aquitaine,
as the two of them guarded the royal heir on his way to Paris. He told of the arguments between the queen and Bishop Walter,
the murder of a French official, and finally of the flight homewards.

‘So the queen actually attempted to threaten the bishop? That is rich!’ Despenser laughed. ‘I suppose the old cockerel bolted
as soon as he realised she was serious? The dotard wouldn’t usually recognise a threat until the dagger was pricking his skin!’

‘Bishop Walter had one thought and one only,’ Simon said coldly. ‘To protect the king and the king’s son. To do that he knew
he must return alive with news of the difficulties in France.’

‘And to do so he was prepared to leave the king’s son in that nest of vipers? What perspicacity!’

Simon kept his mouth sealed. It was hard to justify the bishop’s actions to any who was not there and had not felt the menace.
He did not feel the need to remind Despenser that he himself had hidden away in England to protect himself from the same risk.

Sir Hugh set his head to one side. ‘What of you, Master Bailiff? You and your friends. Did you and Sir Baldwin form an allegiance
to the queen that would overrule your oaths to your king? Have you allied yourselves with her?’

‘What do you mean?’

Sir Hugh slowly levered himself to his feet. He rested his hand on his sword hilt, as though to remind Simon that he was unarmed.
‘Don’t think me a fool, Bailiff. I want the truth from you now. Did you make a new vow to support the queen? Have you and
your friends returned to England to bring messages for others and help foment rebellion?’

‘I am a mere bailiff. What could I do?’

‘You returned here in the company of two knights.’

‘Sir Baldwin and Sir Richard acknowledge no master other than their king, and nor will they ever. They remain loyal to King
Edward.’

‘In truth? That is good, then. Because I would be sorely sad to have to see them killed for dishonour and treachery.’

‘It is your own prerogative, you mean?’ Simon said snidely.

The sword was out and the point rested on Simon’s throat. ‘Do not try to insult me, churl!’ Despenser hissed. ‘I am not of
a mind to tolerate your insolence. I am a loyal subject to my king, and I seek to destroy all those who would hurt him. Remember
that, if you value your life!’

Simon said nothing, and as Despenser pressed the blade forward slightly, he only stared deep into Despenser’s eyes, even as
he felt the skin pricked and a small trickle of blood begin to well.

‘Bailiff, you have some native courage.’

‘It is easy to be brave in the face of cowardice.’

‘You think me a coward, then? Interesting.’ Sir Hugh took his blade from Simon’s throat and gradually moved away. ‘I do all
in my power to serve the crown, and you think me a coward?’

‘Drawing a sword on an unarmed man is courage, then?’

‘Living here each day does at least feel like a kind of boldness,’ Despenser said more quietly.

Simon felt a fleeting frown crease his brow. The man did seem to be honest – Simon was sure he could hear a low sigh. And
no matter what he thought of Sir Hugh, it was true enough that he would himself be appalled to be left here in this great
canker of intrigue and politics. If it weren’t for the tingling of the scratch under his chin, he could almost have felt some
sympathy for the man.

Despenser stood at the window. From there he could see all along the eastern reach of the river, with its fabulous array of
ships, boats and small craft that plied their trade each day. There were some days like this when he would have been happier
to be anywhere else than here in Westminster, on the stinking bog that was Thorney Island.

‘There are so many places in this land that merit a visit, and here I remain,’ he said softly. ‘As caged as the lions in the
king’s menagerie.’

Simon said nothing.

‘You have travelled the moors of the Dart – I have never so much as seen them. And yet I have heard so much about them.’

‘They reward a visit,’ Simon said after a few moments of silence.

‘Tavistock is a pleasant town?’

Simon smiled again now. He had thought there must be a purpose to the questioning. Now he thought he saw it. ‘Yes. And a rich
abbey.’

‘Which is presently vacant. There is no abbot,’ Sir Hugh said, and turned to face Simon again.

‘It has an abbot.’

Despenser made a dismissive gesture. ‘A fool who will soon be removed, and then there will be a new one.’

‘You think another would be better?’

‘There is a good man there. John de Courtenay would make a thoroughly effectual abbot, I am told. This man in place presently
is not competent. And he has been shown to be guilty of necromancy.’

‘No. He has been shown to have visited a man who was capable in those arts,’ Simon corrected him.

‘You quibble. You heard that he has robbed the abbey too?’

‘That is unproven, and I believe unfounded. I do not believe it.’

‘John de Courtenay would be more safe at the helm of a great institution like Tavistock.’

‘Clearly you haven’t met the man,’ Simon said with a grin.

‘You are pathetic. Be gone!’

‘My wife is well?’

‘Why should she not be? Do you think I’d take a peasant woman for my own? I have not even told my men to use her for themselves.
But you should remember this, Bailiff. My men are still in Devon, and if I hear that you have been false to your king – or
to me – you will be ruined, you and your family, because my anger will know no bounds. Be careful.’

Abbeyford

In his house, Hoppon grunted as he heaved on the rope. It was attached by a metal hook to the six-foot length of tree trunk
he was hauling across the floor to the little area of clay where he had his fire. The old trunk was almost burned through.

There were some who laughed at him for this. Aye, they laughed, the pricks. They thought bringing in logs this size was stupid,
that it took too much effort. Well, they were the fools. It took an age to slice a log into short rounds, and when he’d done
it in the past, they burned through on all sides. This way, the log burned from one end only, and it lasted him longer. He’d
carry on with his fires like this. It was how his old man had shown him to build a fire, and if it was good enough for him,
it was good enough for Hoppon too.

He had the log in now, and kicked it slightly until it rolled into the hearth as he wanted. Then he settled down, sitting
on the trunk, and watched as the sparks began to fly again.

They laughed at him. The children laughed to see his anguished gait, hobbling along in the manner that had given him his name.
Aye, they laughed often enough, but some had learned to laugh from a distance. He had caught a lad once, and managed two good
swings of his staff at the little bastard’s backside before the bratchet had escaped his wrath. He’d think again before he
made fun of Hoppon.

That leg was agony much of the time. He had been at his master’s manor, trying to rescue the animals, when a spar from the
roof had fallen on him and trapped him. Christ Jesus, the pain! He still felt it. The sudden eruption of sparks, and then
the baulk of timber falling, and he’d put his hands over his head, the fool, as though that could help him, and it had crashed
into his back, sending him sprawling. A searing, wrenching pain at his shoulder, and then the feeling of unutterably exquisite
burning as the red-hot embers from the spar
scorched off his hose and began to cook his leg. That smell! That torture! Sweet Mother of Christ, but there was nothing to
equal it. He had felt as though he must die just from the feel. It was as though his heart was swelling ready to burst with
the torment. His mind must not be able to cope. If he had possessed a knife or axe, he would have cut his leg from his body,
not from a belief that he might be able to escape, but purely because it would mean that he could leave this ruined, burned
appendage behind, as well as the agony.

He had screamed so loudly that one of the men outside said they thought it was a horse whinnying in terror, but the horses
were all out already. And then someone saw him in there, and three men ran in to lever the beam aside and drag him out, still
screaming.

Afterwards, his master had told him he was grateful. It was as he lay on the dewy grass, knowing only the horror of what his
leg had become, while he stared at the thing that had once been a part of him, that the man came out and said he was grateful.
His destrier had lived. How Hoppon had hated that beast. And his master. For them he was ruined. His leg would never heal
again. The flesh was burned away. The little that remained was withered for ever.

There had been enormous pleasure for him when he had heard that the destrier had reared in the river and drowned them both.
That had been a day of joy for Hoppon.

Westminster Palace

Sir Hugh le Despenser lay back in his bed, his wife at his side but carefully not touching. He and Eleanor had not been intimate
for some while now. Perhaps he should demand the renewal of the marriage debt, but for many weeks he hadn’t felt the urge.
It was as though the worries about the land, the fears about the queen and Mortimer, had conspired to kill off his natural
desires.

Perhaps the cause was more because of Eleanor. It could have been the way she looked at him ever since the moment some weeks
ago when he and she had fallen out. So much had gone wrong this year. First how the queen had been treated after the beginnings
of the war with France, and then the way that she had been sent to France to negotiate with her brother. Nothing seemed to
have gone well since those first moments of dispute. Eleanor had become cold, indifferent and argumentative, and in response
Hugh had grown angry.

There was so much to occupy him. Some said that he was too unkind, that his thoughts were only ever of his own position, but
that wasn’t true. Not entirely. No, he would also spend much time trying to see how to serve his king.

The disastrous matters at Tavistock Abbey were just one example of the turmoil that was rending the kingdom, and on which
his mind was constantly bent. Tavistock was hardly a bulwark in the defensive ring about the coast. Despenser was only too
well aware of the defences at sea, having himself turned pirate for a short while five years ago. Mortimer could, indeed might,
raise an army without any interference from the king or Despenser. There was nothing they could do – all their spies had been
captured in recent months, and the intelligence they received tended to rely on the travellers from France who stopped at
Canterbury. Prior Henry Eastrey of Christ Church sifted their stories and sent on anything that seemed germane. But the ships
in the king’s navy could, and would, hopefully, block any possible invasion from the east. The Cinque Ports were full of ships
that could protect the realm from attack.

But a fleet that avoided them and tried to land elsewhere, that was a genuine risk. And if it were able to make its way to
the Devon coast, that would be a true disaster. For the lands there had been under the control of the queen, and many of her
people were still angry at the way she had been treated – her household disbanded, her knights sent to France or arrested,
her children taken away from her, her revenues and estates sequestrated, her movements restricted, and even her personal seal
confiscated to prevent secret communication with anyone. Those who felt loyalty to her had been outraged that her royal person
could be so demeaned.

There was another aspect, though. Tavistock had been a powerful influence in the West Country under the last abbot, Robert
Champeaux. But now he was dead, and for the present, while there was a debate about who should rule the place, the sole benefit
of the abbey lay in the money it was producing. While the abbacy was vacant, the abbey must pay a fine each year to the king.
The payment was on its way now, Despenser knew. And the money would be useful. Because with it, he hoped to persuade Robert
Busse to stand down as abbot, and allow John de Courtenay to take over unchallenged.

Politics. Politics. In the realm, politicking caused grief and
hardship to many. And yet he would swear that the little, local politics of a place like Tavistock were more cruel, poignant
and dangerous. National politics might affect many people, but down at Tavistock the machinations of the brother monks were
threatening the kingdom, because until Sir Hugh could be sure that the fools down there were stable and settled, he must worry
all the while that Mortimer’s fleet could round Kent and sail all the way to Devon. With Tavistock still empty of an abbot,
Hainault’s mercenaries could sweep up the Tamar to Exeter, that hotbed of malcontents and rebels, and thence, gathering support
as they came, ride for London. It would be simple if they were unopposed at the outset, and the easier their journey from
the West Country, the quicker would be the collapse of any support for the king. And for Sir Hugh le Despenser.

Yes. All hinged upon Tavistock. Brother Robert Busse was the abbot-elect, but Brother John de Courtenay was the more malleable.
With him in position, it would be easier to ensure that the abbey went on a stronger defensive footing and served to protect
the coast. And that would make the rest of the kingdom so much more safe.

From bloody Puttock’s words, he believed that Busse was the better man, damn his eyes! He was independent, which was why Sir
Hugh distrusted him. Better to have a reliable man like de Courtenay.

And then an idea began to form in Sir Hugh’s head. The initial concept was there before him, of course. It involved the money,
and the attempt to subvert the abbot-elect by bribing him and then forcing him to become less independent by blackmailing
him. That might still work – but if it failed, there was now this second string to his bow. Simon Puttock, the honourable,
decent supporter of Busse. Perhaps he could help. Or his wife …

Didn’t he have a daughter?

Third Saturday following the Feast of the Archangel Michael
^*

The road they had taken was the same they used the last time that they left Westminster to return to Devon, and Simon was
fretful until he at
last felt that the looming presence of the king’s palace was out of sight behind him.

‘You look worried, Simon,’ Sir Richard said.

He was sitting back in his saddle, legs thrust forwards, rolling with his mount’s gait, and with a loaf of heavy bread made
from rye and wheat in one hand, while in his other he grasped the neck of his wine skin. His eyes were as shrewd as ever,
but Simon knew that the main characteristic in them was the gleam of innate kindness and generosity.

‘I want to be as far from the place as possible. You know, Coroner, I feel just now that I have been in danger and hunted
for almost all this year. When we left here to go to France with the queen, I was anxious. When I returned with her son, I
was fearful. Coming back through France was terrifying, knowing that all the while there were men who sought the destruction
of my lord bishop Walter, and now, now I feel sure that Sir Hugh le Despenser has me in the sights of a crossbow.’

‘You don’t like that man – but that’s natural enough. Not many do.’ The Coroner nodded to himself, upending his skin and wiping
his beard with the back of his hand.

Simon shook his head. ‘He called me to his chamber two days ago.’

‘What?’ Baldwin asked, startled by this revelation. ‘Why did you not tell us, Simon?’

‘For what purpose? If I told you, it would only give you more to be worried about. And I preferred not to explain the conversation
to Bishop Walter.’

‘Well, the good bishop is at his home on Straunde now,’ Baldwin said. ‘So tell us: what did the man want from you?’

Simon touched the nick on his throat where Despenser’s sword had scratched him. ‘He wanted to know what happened in France
– in detail. He did not care about much else, but he was amused to hear how we all fled the French court, and then he suggested
to me that we three were turncoats and supporters of the queen. That we might renounce our vows to the king!’

‘Is that all?’ Baldwin asked.

‘No. He made more threats against me and my family,’ Simon said. The man’s words were still ringing in his ears. Even when
he slept, he swore he could hear Despenser’s voice. ‘The man will not be satisfied until he sees my body dangling.’

‘He is not a natural leader of men, I would think,’ Sir Richard said with deliberation. He bit off a massive chunk of bread
and chewed for a few moments. ‘I would hope that he will soon fall from his horse and receive a buffet on the head that slows
down his ability to irritate others for a while.’

Baldwin was not sure that Providence would aid the realm so swiftly. ‘The man deserves to be hanged and quartered for all
the harm he has done to the kingdom. It is intolerable that he continues to persecute Simon and others.’

‘At least we will soon be far enough even from him to be secure,’ the coroner said, satisfied with the thought.

‘I wish that were true,’ Simon said quietly. ‘Sadly, I don’t think it is. He is a fierce enemy. He has already bought my house
from under me.’

‘Eh?’ Sir Richard looked over at him, spraying breadcrumbs.

‘He bought my house’s lease. I had it for a seven-year term, and missed the most recent payment because I was in France with
the queen. So Despenser bought it.’

‘Why? Surely he has no need of a house such as yours,’ the coroner said.

Simon smiled. Sir Richard had never been to visit him at his house, but the man would be fully aware of the nature of a stolid
peasant’s home compared with the kind of fine property that Despenser was more used to. ‘You’re right. My farm is only a good-sized
longhouse with a small solar. But Despenser didn’t take it because he wanted to live in it himself. It was much more to do
with his desire to show me that he is my superior in every way, I think. He wanted to stamp out any rebelliousness to his
will that might have remained in me. He sent a man to evict my wife, and it was the purest chance that I had returned before
he could succeed. With Baldwin’s help, we caught the man and had him arrested for a while by the bishop.’

‘So you still have the house?’ Sir Richard asked.

‘No. We were forced out. I delayed matters a little by having a churchman take it, but I don’t know whether he’s still there
or not. My wife should have left and gone to our old home near Sandford.’

‘Sandford?’ the coroner said with a frown.

‘It’s also known as Rookford. A small hamlet north of Crediton,’
Simon explained. ‘It is a good area. Rich red soil, good pastures, and some of the best ciders in the kingdom.’

‘You have some land there?’

‘Oh, yes. We have enough to live on. And perhaps my wife and I can live there quietly, away from the politics in that place,’
he added, jerking a thumb back over his shoulder.

Jacobstowe

Bill woke with a head that itched like a whole pack of hounds with fleas. He scratched at it with a rueful expression, but
it made little difference.

‘It’ll be the midges,’ his wife said without sympathy.

‘Agnes, you have a knack for stating the blasted obvious,’ he muttered.

‘Well, I didn’t tell you to go out there and wait with the bodies, and I didn’t tell you to go out again yesterday to search
for only you know what,’ his wife replied tartly. ‘What do you want from me? Sympathy? Faith, man, you should be so lucky.
If you will go out at night when it’s been raining for so many evenings, what do you expect?’