No Law in the Land: (Knights Templar 27) (9 page)

‘Baldwin!’ Simon protested. ‘It’ll be dark before we get even remotely close to your home. It is now nearly sunset. We shall
have to stay in Exeter the night.’

Baldwin looked ahead at the sun starting to sink down below the hills westwards, then up at the clouds looming overhead, before
reluctantly nodding. ‘I suppose we’d be unlikely to make it home tonight.’

‘Not even a remote chance,’ Simon said. He shifted in his saddle. ‘We’ve made excellent time in the last four days. I don’t
intend to break my neck for the sake of saving a few hours tomorrow morning. Much though I’d like to see Jeanne and Richalda
and little Baldwin, not to mention my own family, there’s no point flogging our way over the country in the dark.’

‘True enough,’ Baldwin agreed. The potholes could be lethal in dim light. There was a man last year who had seen a hat floating
in a puddle in a roadway, and when he lifted it, discovered the owner was still wearing it. The poor fellow had already drowned.
There were so many little holes in the road, and occasionally they would grow more vast as a result of sudden rainfall, and
the unwary would die. Even much shallower holes held their own risks, for they could break a horse’s leg, throw a rider, and
result in the deaths of both.

Sir Richard sucked at his teeth. ‘There’s usually a room at a little tavern I know,’ he said hopefully. ‘Excellent ale, better
wine, and the food’s acceptable too. I’d—’

Simon hastily interrupted. ‘I am sure that my daughter would be happy to give us some space in her home.’

‘Your daughter?’ Sir Richard asked.

‘Yes. Edith married on the morrow of the Feast of Gordianus and Epimachus,
^*
and lives now with her man in Exeter,’ Simon said. ‘Peter is a keen merchant. Was apprenticed, but now he’s working with
his father, who’s a merchant too. With any luck he’ll be allowed to enter the Freedom of the City, and then who knows? My
grandchildren may be born into the city themselves, and have all the advantages.’

Baldwin smiled at his expression. ‘You would like that, wouldn’t you, Simon?’

‘Like it? The idea is wonderful,’ Simon said, a little more sharply than he intended. He tried to cover his tone with a chuckle
and an apologetic grin. ‘You come from a knightly family, Baldwin. You can’t quite appreciate the difference between being
born a free man and being born a serf. The idea that my grandchildren will have the benefit of being born in the city is marvellous.
I’d never have expected that.’

‘Then let’s go and see her house,’ Sir Richard said. ‘Any daughter of yours must be a sight to behold – especially if she
has access to her own wine cellar,’ he added hopefully.

St Pancras Lane, Exeter

‘Are you sure you know where you’re going?’ Baldwin asked for the third time.

‘I have only heard where the house is, I haven’t been here before,’ Simon said.

He was rapidly growing alarmed. Edith had told him that her house was down this lane, he was sure. The place, she had said,
had a limewashed front, with two large windows and a second storey that hung over the street. It had been the home to her
husband Peter when he was younger, but Peter’s parents had built a new house further east, nearer the Guild Hall, and had
given their older house to Peter and his wife. He was their only son, after all.

‘Well if you can’t find it,’ the coroner said happily, ‘there’s a very excellent-looking tavern over there. Perhaps they have
a room that we could share, eh? God’s blood, but a haunch of meat and a jug of good strong Guyennois wine would go down very
well. There’s a gap there where my belly used to be. My brain’s telling me all’s well, but my heart reckons some evil bastard’s
cut my throat.’

‘It must be here,’ Simon said.

The three were standing near the line of houses on the eastern side of the road, and now he looked up and down again. ‘If
we don’t get there soon, we’ll be breaking the curfew.’

‘Talk of the devil,’ Sir Richard said, jerking his head.

Approaching them with a scowl that would have graced a mastiff was a tall, gangly fellow. He wore a leather jerkin, his hood
was over his ears, and his waxed cloak rustled noisily. Yet although he was not the most prepossessing figure, the staff in
his hands was a tool to be reckoned with. ‘You are out late, masters.’

‘Aye,’ Sir Richard said. ‘We are a little confused in our ways, I think.’

‘Confused, eh? Perhaps you’d like me to help unconfuse you?’

Baldwin glanced at the others. They were all cloaked against the chill, and he wondered whether the lad had realised that
two of them were knights. Certainly his tone was not respectful. If anything, he
sounded peevishly suspicious. Even as Baldwin turned to glance back, he saw the lad was gripping his staff more truculently.
It was pointing at Sir Richard – which did, at least, demonstrate to Baldwin that the fellow knew how to spot the most dangerous
of the three.

‘Friend,’ Baldwin said, ‘please be calm. This man here is the father of a mistress who lives along this road, but we have
not visited her home before. She only married earlier this year.’

‘What’s her name?’

Simon grunted. ‘Edith. She married Peter, son of—’

‘The merchant Charles? Oh, that’s all right. I can show you the way there,’ the lad said. Suddenly he was all affability.
‘Sorry, lordings, but there are so many strangers who cause mayhem now. Some little scrotes kicked in a couple of doors two
nights ago, and when my mate Phil went to talk to them, they kicked him in too. Poor bastard’s up in his bed yet with a broken
head. And then there’s been all the other murders outside the city too. Don’t blame you for coming here to stay the night.
Dangerous all over the shire nowadays. There’s no law in the land.’

‘It was easy enough when we left,’ Baldwin said.

‘Aye, well, maybe that was a while ago. There are so many men wandering the roads now without any way to support themselves,
if you know what I mean.’

As he spoke he took them up the road, along a short lane, and to a large limewashed front.

‘This is it,’ he said, rapping sharply on the door.

Baldwin and Simon thanked him, and Baldwin gave him a penny for his trouble. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m called Gil. Well, my name was Gilbert, but no one calls me that. Thank you, my lord. God speed you all!’ the watchman
said as he left them, backing away respectfully with a happy smile on his face.

‘God speed,’ Baldwin said. ‘Be careful, my friend. As you say, the streets can be dangerous.’

Simon was not listening. The door had opened, and as soon as it did, he beamed with pleasure to see his daughter.

Edith’s face was one of utter shock at first as she registered who was waiting on her doorstep. Then, with a gasped ‘Father!’
she flung herself into his arms.

Ashridge, North Tawton

Sir Peregrine de Barnstaple was grateful for the peace. He sank into the chair with a grunt of contentment and closed his
eyes for a moment. This was a pleasant manor, made all the more delightful by the absence of the knight who owned it. Although
Sir Peregrine would usually be reluctant to enter the house of any man when the master was away, Sir John of Ashridge was
rarely here, and always made it plain that he would be delighted were the coroner to visit when he had need of a roof. And
rarely had Sir Peregrine had more need than tonight.

The bodies at Jacobstowe appeared to be the beginning of a small epidemic of corpses. There was the son of a merchant who’d
slipped on a stone and entirely accidentally struck his head on the wall surrounding a well; a miller who’d stumbled on his
way home from the alehouse, only to fall into his own mill pool and drown; a farrier who had been kicked by the destrier he
was trying to shoe – that had been a messy death, with his ribs all crushed and blood everywhere. Yes, all in all there had
been a flurry of unpleasant deaths and he would be glad to escape the area shortly.

He had only recently been given his duties. For many years he had been a loyal servant of Sir Hugh de Courtenay, the Baron
of Devon, and his family. But Sir Peregrine had been so determined to see to the overthrow of Despenser and the other hangers-on
in the king’s household that he had eventually made Sir Hugh anxious for his own safety. Although the two men had not fallen
out, it became clear in the aftermath of the battle at Boroughbridge that it was not safe for a man to continue to agitate
for change. As the bodies of those who had opposed Despenser were tarred and hanged over the gates to all the cities of the
realm, while others were quartered and hung in chains at York, London and elsewhere, Sir Peregrine had been forced to leave
Sir Hugh’s household.

However Sir Hugh was still his friend. He had managed to see to it that Sir Peregrine was given a number of duties that, while
not compensating him for his position in Sir Hugh’s entourage, would at least give him a means of sustaining himself. And
he had made it clear to all the knights in his household that those who sought to continue to be viewed favourably by Sir
Hugh would do well to look after Sir Peregrine’s interests.

Sir Peregrine ordered food and wine and settled back as a servant boy came in and lighted the fire. Before long, sparks were
flying from the tinder and the small sticks set over it, while the lad blew carefully and then began to construct the beginnings
of the fire over the top.

It was one of those tasks that always made Sir Peregrine feel intensely sad. This was the sort of duty he would have enjoyed
teaching a son. In his life he had met many women, but none had survived to marry him, although many had won his affection.
If there was one thing that could have made his life complete, it would have been to be married with a son. A lad he could
teach and educate, someone who could take his name and become heir to his little manors and farms. Without an heir, all was
pointless.

Later, as the fire roared and he sat before it with a goblet of hot wine and water, feeling the warmth coursing through his
veins, he had the call to the next body.

It was to become the most serious murder of his year.

East Gate of Exeter

The man arrived at the gates just in time, cantering as fast as his mount would take him. ‘Urgent messages,’ he called desperately
as he saw the gates beginning to move.

The heavy oak timbers squeaked and groaned, but even as Stephen of Shoreditch wondered whether he would be too late, he saw
the man peering around the first of the gates.

No one would want to be left out here, he told himself, riding on, casting about him. There were suburbs in all cities, of
course, but few had the atmosphere of lowering danger that this one bore.

Riding up the roadway from Heavitree, he had been happy with the sight of all the well-built houses, but here … all was
empty, all desolate. No inn or tavern, only a lowering sense of threat. He didn’t like it. Nor did he like the fact of the
rumours that even king’s
messengers had been captured and killed within the city walls. The life of a man like him was worth nothing after dark and
outside a city’s security.

‘Let me through. Urgent messages for the castle,’ he shouted, and drew back his cloak to show the king’s arms on his breast.

‘You’re too late. Come back in the morning.’

‘You want that? You want me to report you to the king? I’ll be pleased, porter. Tell him how I was delayed from delivering
his messages. You know what the king does to those who thwart him?’

There was a moment’s silence, and he felt the dark eyes on him. ‘Best get in,’ the old man said at last with a bad grace.
‘And I’ll have you taken to the castle, since your business is
so
urgent.’

‘God save you, porter.’

‘He’ll have to. No other bugger will,’ the gatekeeper muttered, but drew the door open a little.

St Pancras Lane

Edith felt as though she was going to burst with pleasure to see her father. ‘Come in, Father, come in! God you keep! And
Sir Baldwin? I am so glad to see you again.’

Her father saw her hesitation. ‘This is a good friend of ours, daughter. Sir Richard de Welles, the Coroner of Lifton. Sir
Richard, this is my daughter Edith.’

‘Mistress, I am delighted to meet you. I have heard much of you from your father. He said you were a beautiful and accomplished
woman, and I see he was telling nothing less than the truth.’

‘Please, my lords, come into my hall,’ she said, trying to conceal her delight at his words. Clapping her hands, she summoned
a young maidservant. ‘Jane, fetch my husband’s wine.’

She could see her father’s eyes going to the hangings on the wall and the picture at the further end. She was proud of her
house, naturally, but it was a delight to see how his eyes gleamed to see such wealth displayed. Not because she wanted him
to be jealous, but because she knew he would be happy to see that she was as well off as he could have wished. The house was
a proof of that. He need have no fears for her future.

As soon as the maid was back, Edith stood in the middle of the hall and dispensed wine to the visitors. ‘You will excuse my
husband. He
has been out working with his father, but I am sure that he will soon return, and he will be so pleased to see you, Father.’

‘Aye, well, I’ll be pleased to see him too,’ her father said gruffly.

His tone made her smile. ‘And now, what are you doing here? I had heard from Mother that she was moving back to the old house,
of course. I was sorry about that, Father.’

He nodded.

Edith had seen the effect of the man sent to bully her family from their home in Lydford. The man, William atte Wattere, had
been in their hall, fighting her father, when she entered with her fiancé to ask Simon’s permission to marry. The sight had
terrified her. It was the first time she had witnessed her father in a fight, and although there was a fierce pride in her
heart when she saw him knock the sword of his enemy away and force the fellow to submit, the scene had petrified her. Afterwards
she had upbraided her husband-to-be for not leaping to the defence of her father, but as he had reasonably pointed out, he
was not trained in the use of a sword, and Simon was. If he had joined in, he would have been as likely to be killed as to
help Simon.

‘We are just returned from France,’ her father said.

As he spoke, telling her about travelling with the bishop all the way to Paris to protect the king’s heir, and their dangerous
adventures while over there, Edith sat and listened attentively.

It was good. She hadn’t seen her father since May, when she had been married, and now, perhaps for the first time, she felt
as though she was being treated as an adult, equal in maturity with him. Always before she had felt that Simon was humouring
her, as any father would, but not now. With her marriage, she had crossed a great gulf, and where before she was a child,
now she was a woman. Patting her belly, she knew how true that was.

Simon didn’t notice, but she saw Baldwin’s dark eyes flash towards her. He was always so understanding, she thought. He had
a quick intuition that was almost feminine. Now she said nothing, but merely smiled. It would be wrong for her to tell Sir
Baldwin before her mother.

‘So you are on your way home again now?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ Simon said with a quiet stillness that she understood only too well.

She leaned forward and rested her hand on his. ‘Father, I know it was awful the way that man behaved, but you are better at
Sandford anyway. I’m happy to know that you are nearer us.’

‘It was just the thought that he could evict me so easily, without any compunction,’ Simon said.

Baldwin shot a look at Edith. ‘It is the way of such men, Simon. You have to appreciate that there is no safety for any man
in the realm while Despenser holds so much power. At least now he has done all he intends, so far as we can tell. Go home
to Sandford, run your farm and enjoy life.’

‘Sir Baldwin is right, Father. And the good thing for me is that I can visit you sometimes. It’s only half a day’s journey
from here, and it will be very pleasant to see you and Mother more often.’

‘Have you seen Meg?’ Simon asked.

‘She is fine, Father. If anything, I think she is happier now than she has been for a long time.’

‘Yes. I can imagine that,’ Simon said quietly.

‘And I am happier,’ Edith repeated. ‘I know that while you are closer to us here, we can help you if you need anything.’

‘I don’t think you need any help anyway,’ Simon said with a smile, turning the goblet over in his hand.

Edith smiled. ‘My husband is a good man,’ she said with quiet certainty.

Fourth Friday after the Feast of the Archangel Michael
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Sandford Barton, Sandford

Simon saw the smoke rising from the chimney as he breasted the hill and could stare down at the house.

‘A goodly home,’ Sir Richard said.

‘But what is that for?’ Simon said.

‘It is a
house
, Simon,’ the coroner said with some surprise. ‘What else is it for but to help old devils like you and me to rest weary bones
in front of a fire. What do you mean?’

‘That thing! The chimney!’ When he had last been here to his old
home, it had been a simple longhouse, with the stable block at the eastern end, living accommodation on the western, and the
happy sight of smoke billowing from the eaves at either end. Now it appeared to have sprouted a large red sandstone chimney.
‘I don’t understand it. What was she thinking of?’

‘Does it matter? So long as there is some ale down there, and a bite for lunch, I don’t care about the position of a chimney,
old friend,’ the coroner said pragmatically.

‘No, of course,’ Simon said, smiling, and spurred his mount down the road towards his home.

His feelings had nothing to do with the chimney, if he was honest. It was the unsettled feeling he had had since leaving Exeter.
Somehow all the while on the journey here from London, his problems had seemed to be fading. All he had been aware of was
the sense of relief that he would soon be reunited with his wife. And the fact that Sir Hugh le Despenser was more than a
hundred miles to the east. There was no escaping the fact that Simon felt the poisonous fellow was the source of all his woes
and hardship.

But now, almost home again, he was aware of a sudden increased anxiety. It was almost as though the realisation had hit him
that this house was no more safe from Despenser than his last one. Could Despenser have taken over here and installed a chimney
for his own comfort, leaving Simon nowhere to go?

It was terrifying to feel this panic at the mere sight of his old home. Coming here again should have been a delight. He had
spent so many years here – happy years. It was where he had brought his wife when they were married; it was where his daughter
had been born, and where he had been told that he was to be made a bailiff on Dartmoor to protect the Stannaries, the ancient
tin mines where the king controlled all production. But as soon as he had been given that post, he had been forced to move
from this happy hillside and go to Lydford, so that he could be closer to the moors where he was to earn his living.

‘You all right there, Bailiff?’

Simon felt the coroner’s shrewd eyes on him. He tried to clear his mind, to explain a little of his trepidation. ‘She truly
enjoyed living at Lydford at first, you know,’ he said, his body rocking with the motion of the horse as it walked cautiously
down the steep incline. His house was set on the northern side of a natural bowl, and they must ride
down this, the southern side, and then up to the house on the opposite slope. ‘It was only when I was moved that life grew
more difficult.’

‘Eh?’

‘The Abbot of Tavistock wanted to elevate me, because I had done so well for him. So he gave me a new post – that of his officer
in Dartmouth. But to go there would have meant uprooting the whole family. Edith was not happy to be taken away from her friends,
and Meg herself was unhappy at the thought of moving so far from all that she knew – and didn’t want our son to grow up surrounded
by sailors. They aren’t the best of companions to a well-bred lad.’

‘I can imagine that. I still remember my first exposure to the folk of Dartmouth,’ Sir Richard reminisced with a smile of
contentment.

He had already told Simon about his affection for women of loose morals, and Simon suspected that the reason for the grin
on his face was not one that should be discussed with his wife. ‘Yes, well, that was why I had to move there all alone,’ he
said. ‘Meg had to stay back at Lydford. And then we had the house taken away from us.’

‘Well, Bailiff, perhaps it is all for the good. At least now you and I are free of political troubles. Hopefully Baldwin too.
Wonder how he’s getting on.’