No Law in the Land: (Knights Templar 27) (16 page)

‘Will you both be safe?’ Jeanne asked quietly. She was afraid that her husband and Simon could both be arrested in their turn.

‘Simon and I will visit Bishop Walter first,’ Baldwin said. ‘We shall be safe enough.’

‘Perhaps Edith would prefer to be with her own mother when you ride to the city,’ Jeanne considered.

‘Quite right. What do you think, Edith? Do you want to remain here, or ride to your father’s?’

‘I must ride to Exeter,’ Edith said without hesitation. ‘My husband is there – he needs me.’

‘You cannot go before us,’ Baldwin said firmly. ‘When we leave, you can join us, of course, but until then you will have to
wait here. It would be too dangerous for you to travel alone.’

‘I reached you here,’ she pointed out.

‘That is true, but the roads are too dangerous. The fact that you managed this far is no reason to compound your danger by
riding back,’ Baldwin said with a smile. ‘Better by far that you wait here and rest. If not, you may of course come with me
and Edgar when we go to speak with Simon.’

‘I should be at my husband’s side,’ Edith said fretfully.

‘And you will be, Edith,’ Jeanne said. ‘As soon as we can get you back there safely. But you know it’s not safe for a pretty
young woman to travel the roads here all alone.’

‘And you cannot go back to Exeter now, in any case,’ Baldwin said. ‘You are plainly exhausted. You must rest. I am sure that
would be for the best. Meanwhile, I’ll have Edgar go to Simon’s.’

‘Could you not send me back to Exeter with one of your men? Wat is a big fellow,’ Edith said. ‘If you are worried about my
safety, he would be a deterrent to all but the most determined of attackers.’

Baldwin had to smile at the thought. ‘Wat may have the build of an ox, but he has a mind to equal it. If he was attacked,
he’d have not the faintest idea what to do about it,’ he chuckled. ‘No, if you are to be safe—’

‘Sir Baldwin, I know you mean well, but what you are asking me to do is to wait here until you have sent a man to my father’s
house, wait for him to return, and then go to Exeter. That means at least a whole day. And in that time, my husband lies in
gaol. I will not do it, Sir Baldwin,’ Edith said, and in her face Baldwin saw the resolution of her mother. Margaret, usually
so gentle and calm, would every so often display the stubbornness of a mule. Edith was demonstrating a similar temperament.

‘I do not think that we have any choice, child. The roads between here and Exeter are too dangerous.’

‘Then let me go with Edgar to my father’s house. At least then I will be doing
something
. We can all ride straight to Exeter afterwards and meet you there.’

Baldwin considered. She was clearly desperate to be kept busy, rather than sitting about. She was young and resilient, as
he knew. But when he glanced at his wife, Jeanne shook her head slightly.

Jeanne touched Edith’s arm. ‘You need to rest. And Edgar can ride faster on his own. Do you let Edgar fetch your father, and
then you can go with them to Exeter when you are rested.’

Edith’s chin became more prominent. ‘I will not rest. If nothing else, I shall ride to my father’s house. It is my husband
who is captured, and I would tell my parents myself.’

Jeanne was about to argue, but Baldwin shook his head. ‘Very well, Edith. You shall ride with Edgar and me when we go to fetch
your father in the morning. However, we are not going to go anywhere today, because you are already exhausted.’ As Edith began
to argue again, he held up his hands. ‘Enough! I believe this is best for you, and
I will not have dissent. This is only because we wish to ensure your safety. Rest, and tomorrow I shall ride with you to Simon’s.’

She looked away, and then gave a curt nod. Clearly she was not persuaded by all his reason, but Baldwin believed that she
would at least obey.

He would have cause to regret his simple faith.

Tavistock Abbey

It was all over quickly, thanks to God. Stephen wanted nothing more to do with all these people. The knight and his men at
Bow scared him, and he was anxious that he knew the contents of the message. The idea that he should be forced into collusion
with Despenser and Sir Robert of Traci, through no fault of his own, was a dagger in his head. It felt as if a sharp blade
was pressing upon his very brain.

He delivered the message while studiously avoiding the monk’s eye. The man took it, read it, and nodded quietly to himself.
‘Thank you. I shall tell you if there is to be a reply,’ he said.

Stephen waited without showing his irritation, a silent figure standing in the doorway to the monk’s chamber. It was odd to
think that the man was here, in this little cell, when in theory he was to be the next abbot.

Tavistock might not be the greatest institution in the realm, but it wasn’t far from the best-endowed monastery in the West
Country. From it the lands extended in all directions, and it possessed estates far away. The daughter house on the Isle of
Ennor was a source of fair revenues, and the fishing on the rivers and the many other ventures here in Devon ensured that
in normal times the abbey would profit. However, these were not normal times. The famine had affected the abbey’s stocks and
herds of sheep, the rains and the river’s spate had washed away several mills and damaged other investments, and finally the
death of Abbot Champeaux had been a sore loss. His mild manner and calm, sensible attitude, as well as his infallible eye
for a proposition that would aid the abbey, had changed the whole nature of the place. Initially, when he had been elected,
the abbey had been in debt. He had changed that, so that by the time he died he could be considered in the same light as one
of the abbey’s founders and
benefactors. Not that this happy condition could continue, from all Stephen had heard.

It was not only the massive payments the abbey was forced to pay to the king while it was in a state of voidance, nor even
the sums that must be paid to the pope for the right to have the abbey’s case heard and adjudicated; it was more due to the
natural inclination of the monks to enjoy themselves while they might. As the abbey was technically without an abbot, there
was no one to enforce strict rules about conduct, and the monks were eating and drinking far more than before.

That was itself plain even to Stephen as he walked about the grounds. Carts were arriving all the time with barrels of wine
and fish, freshwater and sea, and Stephen could hear the baying of hounds. Later, as he hurried down the stairs from the monk’s
chamber, he knew only a relief that he would soon be away from here and back in the saddle once more.

It was a cause for enormous satisfaction that there was no message to be delivered to Bow. He would avoid that midden if he
could. The casual murder of the farmer had scared him more than he would like to admit. And then Sir Robert de Traci had beaten
his own servant, as though the steward’s dereliction could be cause for execution – the man was only late with some wine,
in God’s name! So far as he was concerned, the messages had been delivered, and that was an end to it. He wanted nothing more
to do with Bow, Sir Robert, nor even his son. The idea of passing through their town again was repellent.

Sadly, though, he couldn’t very well avoid it entirely. He had asked a few of the grooms and some of the servants about the
best way to get back to Exeter. One man had suggested taking the road south and there finding a ship to sail him along the
coast, but Stephen had experienced ships before. He knew how unreliable the damned things were in the best of weather. Getting
on a ship at this time of year was not to be borne. He understood that the winds were all too changeable, and that could mean
either being held in port for days or weeks, or, worse, being tossed about on the open sea until every meal he had ever eaten
had returned to haunt him.

There was no better suggestion, though, other than that he should head north, and pass through Oakhampton, thence to Crediton
and
Exeter. He had little choice, apparently. The alternative was a ride straight across the moors, but all the men he had spoken
to were agreed that the roads there were still worse than the usual roads about here. Mostly there was a trail that could
be followed over to the middle of the moors, but it was so boggy and treacherous that no one would offer much for his chances
when he asked. The main road led from Lydford eastwards, but that was a perilous route: the mires were hideously dangerous,
and too many people died on the moors each year. All agreed that it was safer by far to head north.

Stephen had his doubts, but he didn’t feel justified in mentioning the fact that the moors were to him less terrifying than
the thought of meeting with Sir Robert again.

As the sky began to darken, he was already on his horse and heading north. He would ride to a small inn he had seen that morning
and demand a room for the night. There were not many advantages to his job, but the fact that he could demand and expect to
receive a room and food wherever he travelled within the kingdom was a great benefit on occasion.

The weather was cool, but at least for the moment it was dry, and he had on a heavy coat against the wind. This road was a
foul one. It followed the line of the river at first, and then began to climb away, up one hill, and through Tavymarie, where
the inn stood at the side of the road. At least here there was no need to worry about the dangers of Sir Robert, but even
the mere thought of the man was enough to send a shiver down his spine.

He rode on along the valley of the Tavy, his horse’s shoes sinking into the mud regularly. The river had plainly been in flood
a little while ago – hardly surprising after this summer’s weather, he thought. All about there was the rushing sound of the
fast-moving waters, and he grew lulled by it. Not only that, perhaps. There was the natural feeling of a job done when he
had delivered the last message. Now all he need concentrate on was the journey back to London, handing over his final messages,
and then home for a rest. Riding so far for so long was exhausting at the best of times, but this had been the worst journey
of his life, without doubt. If he never came to Devon again, he would be happy.

The patter of gravel against his leg and his palfrey’s flank made him blink. He had been close to dozing, and the drowsiness
was hard to
lose, even when his mount jerked his head up and down in anger at such treatment.

‘Messenger?’ a voice said.

Stephen snapped his head around and saw Osbert on his left, a sword already in his hand, kicking his horse forward with grim
determination. There was no defence against a man like him on his left, and Stephen drew his own sword as he spurred his beast
into a wheel, so that he could meet the attack on his right, but even as he did so, he saw the dark, malevolent form of Basil
hurtling towards him from the south. Shooting a look northwards, towards Tavymarie, he saw two more men cantering towards
him. It was a most effective ambush – but they hadn’t covered the east!

He hacked with his spurs, and felt the poor creature burst into action. There was a hedge lining much of the road here, but
there was a small, narrow gap, which he could take. Whooping at the horse to egg him on, Stephen slapped him hard on the rump
with the flat of his sword to encourage him, and bent low over his neck as they sprang through the little gap, not seeing
the hempen cord stretched across it.

His horse caught the rope at the mouth, and it tore through the beast’s lips, catching on his teeth and jerking his mouth
down to his breast, almost breaking his neck. There was a crack like a small cannon as the rope parted, and one end whipped
around, cutting through muscle and tendons on the creature’s left shoulder like a razor and then ripping through Stephen’s
thigh.

The pain made them mistime their leap, and instead of the beast’s forefeet landing square, both were angled away. There was
a crack as a leg snapped, and suddenly Stephen was hurtling through the air. He had the foresight to drop his sword as he
went, just before throwing his arms over his head. He landed in a pool of thick mud, which was at least soft, but winded and
stunned, he remained there, panting, for a moment or two before he realised the danger.

‘Oh, Christ in chains!’ he muttered, and tried to stand. His head was sore, but it was the dull-wittedness from shock that
slowed him. He could scarcely gather his thoughts as he forced himself to all fours. That was when he grew aware of the laughter.

Looking about him, he saw that his horse was thrashing about on his back, his foreleg flailing uselessly, whinnying in agony.
The mud was flying up in all directions as he threw his hoofs about,
and Stephen had to push himself away to be safe. And then, as he stared about him, he quickly fumbled in his message pouch.
There were two, he knew, that should remain protected. He glanced down to check, and saw that he had the right ones. These
he slipped under his shirt. These fools wouldn’t think to look there, he thought. There was no bitterness in his head, only
a cold, firm resolve. He would die soon, he knew. His only conviction was that he would try to mark them beforehand.

It wasn’t the horse’s agony that was making the men laugh. It was Basil, who was trying to pick his way through the mud without
smothering himself in it. In one hand he held a sword. Fortunately their attention was all on him, and none had seen Stephen’s
quick extraction of the messages.

Better to die on his feet, he thought. He tried to stand, even tried to crawl to his own sword, but it was too far away, and
his legs would not support him. He turned to face his opponent, pulling at his dagger as he did so, but Basil’s sword was
already at his throat.

‘Go on then, you murdering prickle!’ Stephen hissed from clenched teeth. He had to clench them to stop them chattering.

‘We ain’t goin’ to kill you like that,’ Basil said. He leaned down, and suddenly slammed the pommel of his sword into Stephen’s
temple. ‘No, you’re dying from an accident, master!’

The messenger was alive still, but his ability to resist was gone. As he was turned over and pressed face first into the mud,
he could do nothing at first, and then, as the horror blazed in his mind and hideous pain started to sear his ravaged lungs,
he was already too weak to fight back. He tried to kick, to punch, to pinch, anything, but the weight on his head was unrelenting,
and his struggles gradually became more staccato as the life fled from him.

Fourth Monday after the Feast of the Archangel Michael
^*

Furnshill

Baldwin knew something was wrong even as he slept. He was aware of a looming danger, a hideous and overwhelming presence.
He
dreamed that there was a menacing figure over him, and that although his sword was just to the side of his bed, he couldn’t
reach it: he dared not. To move would be to alert the creature to his presence just as surely as calling out. The sweat was
running from his body as he lay still, petrified with horror.

And then it was not him. This was not some wraith seeking
him
. It was looking for younger flesh. Baldwin realised it sought Edith, and with that the spell was broken.

He rolled from the bed, shivering with the chill as the cool morning air caught his damp flesh. The sweat had been no dream,
and he was drenched, as was his bedding. At the farther extent of his hearing he could swear that there was a horse riding
away, fast.

‘Darling …’ Jeanne mumbled, but he was already pulling a chemise over his head, thrusting his arms into the sleeves and
hurrying to the chamber below, where Edith was supposed to be sleeping.

Jeanne was at the top of the stairs. ‘Baldwin?’

‘She is gone. The bed has been slept in, but the bedclothes are already cold to the touch. She must have risen long before
dawn.’

‘The foolish child,’ Jeanne groaned. ‘Will she have gone to Simon’s house?’

‘I don’t know. I think I hope so. Better that than that she should have taken the Exeter road,’ he said.

‘At least the Exeter road will be quiet at this time of morning,’ Jeanne said reasonably.

‘Yes. But she will still need to get through the city gates. Ach! I was a cretin to trust her!’

‘Don’t berate yourself, Baldwin. Get yourself dressed, and I will fetch food for you to take. You will need to go to Simon’s
before anything else.’

‘She may have gone to Exeter, though,’ he said pensively. ‘I shall have to send Edgar to Simon’s, while I go after her to
the city, just in case she is in danger. It will hasten matters if I can see Bishop Walter and petition the sheriff too. Very
well!’

Turning, Baldwin went up the stairs as quickly as he could, and began to dress in a hurry.

He would never forgive himself if harm came to that young woman.

Thorverton

Edith had known the roads all about this part of the country from an early age, and she had no fears about finding her way.
From the age of eight she had been riding about these lanes with her parents when they visited Sir Baldwin, and often they
would continue on from his house to go to the market at Exeter or to see their friend Bishop Walter Stapledon. Just as she
had been able to ride to Baldwin’s the previous day, she was confident that she could get home again.

She had wanted only two things: to make sure that her father knew her plight, and to enlist the help of Baldwin too. There
was no need for her to go to her old home at Sandford just now, though. She knew that Baldwin would send a man there. No,
it was more crucial that she went to her own home in Exeter to begin to plan how to ensure the escape of her husband from
gaol.

Peter was such a sensitive fellow, so mild of nature, so gentle and kind. She was convinced that he would find the experience
of gaol absolutely horrific, and the only thought in her mind was how to get him out and free again.