No Law in the Land: (Knights Templar 27) (33 page)

‘You said that Anselm was not there?’ Simon asked. His interest had been sparked now, and he had left Edith and was standing
behind Roger. ‘Are you sure? Could his body have been concealed? There were so many there …’

‘What makes you think that his body was concealed?’ Roger said. ‘If I knew that the men were transporting all that money,
don’t you think others would too?’

Simon nodded. ‘It was my own first thought: that someone would have had to have told the thieves that the money was being
moved. And someone within the household of the Cardinal de Fargis would have news of that before anyone else.’

‘But how would this Anselm have got to learn of Sir Robert de Traci?’ Baldwin wondered.

‘The same way that a man would have heard of any dangerous felon in the shire,’ Sir Richard said. ‘The stories about these
devils are rife.
And a man like this one, who can apparently claim the friendship of the highest in the land, is plainly a man who had a reputation
of some sort.’

Simon nodded slowly. ‘And Sir Robert had contacts with the abbey at Tavistock, didn’t he? He said so; he said that Edith was
taken in order that Despenser could try to force Busse to surrender to John de Courtenay’s bid to take the abbacy.’

‘So he was in contact somehow with de Courtenay’s companions,’ Baldwin said. ‘I wonder if this Anselm was the go-between.’

‘It is certainly possible,’ Sir Richard considered. ‘Although how he would have got messages to Sir Robert is anyone’s guess.
Anyhow, why’d the other one get his eyes popped?’

Baldwin looked up at Simon. ‘Sir Robert said that there was no money, didn’t he? He denied stealing. But if it had been there,
he would have had it as soon as blink. So perhaps he was trying to torture the poor monk to learn where it might be.’

‘But the monk would have told him,’ Simon pointed out. ‘No one would be able to suffer both eyes being put out without telling
where it was.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘But if it was already taken, so Sir Robert couldn’t find it, and the poor monk didn’t know where it was,
the torture would achieve nothing. He could not tell them anything.’

‘You mean some fellow had already stolen it?’ Sir Richard said. ‘And then they put the blame on the poor monk and let him
take the medicine intended for them, eh?’

‘That is how I would read it,’ Baldwin agreed. He nodded to Roger and stood. ‘I think we should return to Jacobstowe and take
another look at the woods.’

‘There is one other thing,’ Simon said quietly, throwing a look over his shoulder at Agnes. ‘If this is all correct, and someone
else stole the money, that still doesn’t explain the reeve being murdered over towards Hoppon’s house.’

‘No. Not unless this Hoppon was himself involved,’ Baldwin agreed tersely.

Near Nymet Traci

Osbert lay on his belly and shook his head at the sight of the smoke rising from the castle.

There was no point in returning to the place, not now that the main house had been destroyed by fire. He could see how the
blaze from the stable blocks had reached over to the roof of the hall, and now that was almost entirely gone. It was enough
to make a man weep, to think of the sweet profits this place had brought in in the past. So much money they had made, in only
a few months. And now the whole lot was gone. Up in smoke.

He couldn’t have planned it better himself.

As he stood and dusted the dirt from his tunic and hose, he was already plotting. He had enough money now to go to London
if he wanted. He could buy a house and live in style. But that wasn’t his desire. A man who was content to take a bit of money
and rest was ready for his grave, in Osbert’s opinion. No, he wanted more. More excitement, more pleasure, more money, more
fun. Perhaps he ought to see whether he could go to the king’s French territories. There were big profits to be made there,
so they said, so long as the English recovered all their lands. Here in England there was too much interference all the time.
Over there, a man with muscle and a sword might just make some money. All those French peasants were so weakly that a bold
man should be able to live well.

It was a thought.

He pulled his cloak about him and set off homewards. It would take him some little while to get there, but at least he knew
all these roads. And then tomorrow he would be able to start to plan.

After all, now that his old life at Nymet Traci was gone, it left him with some decisions to make. And although these would
have had to have been taken before long, he hadn’t expected them to be forced upon him so soon. He had expected a few more
months at the castle.

No matter. He would hurry home, and make up his mind about the rest of his life.

Fourth Wednesday after the Feast of the Archangel Michael
^*

Jacobstowe

They rode into the vill from Bow in the middle of the morning.

Their departure had been delayed while they waited for news of Osbert, but there was other business to be taken in hand too.
Wattere was still clinging on to life, with a determination that even Simon found grudgingly impressive. Baldwin made provision
for him. There was little point in keeping him in gaol, for there was no possibility of his escaping, and the local priest
said he would be happy to have the dreadfully injured man in his home, where he could be watched and nursed. It was unlikely
to be for long.

As they rode, Baldwin was thoughtful. Simon had been civil to him, but there was a strong undercurrent in all that he said
and did, and Baldwin was aware of the lingering resentment whenever he looked into Simon’s eyes, but he couldn’t apologise.
There was nothing wrong in what he had done. If he had passed over his own weapon, just as Simon had, it was certain that
Sir Robert would be alive, and they would not. It was clear to Baldwin that the worst way in which a man could deal with a
threat was to instantly surrender. Better by far to have an opponent who could carry out a threat and then suffer for it than
an enemy who could threaten without compunction or fear of consequences.

‘Do you wish to know what he said?’ Baldwin asked Simon. His old friend looked away, towards Edith, but did give a curt nod
of the head.

Before leaving, Baldwin had visited the men in the town’s little
gaol. In truth, he would have preferred not to have gone to the noisome little chamber. It was filled with the odour of faeces,
of damp rocks and earth, and the chill was relentless. One man, when Baldwin looked about him, was very still, and wore the
grey sheen of death. He was one of those who had been struck down by the horses, Baldwin recalled. He nodded to Basil, and
the watchman with him grabbed the fellow by the shoulder, yanking him to his feet and half dragging him out through the door,
while the others glared and snivelled.

‘What do you want with me now?’

Basil had spirit, Baldwin saw. The fellow might be a most unappealing sight, with his right eye ruined, and blood and pus
dribbling down his cheek, but for all that, and although he must have been in pain, he stared at Baldwin without apology.

‘Your father is dead. You know that?’

‘Yes. And as soon as I may, I will have the whole matter laid before the king and my lord Despenser,’ Basil spat. ‘And when
your own part is explained in these affairs, in the murder of my father, in the ravaging of my manor, the destruction of the
stables and sheds, the wanton—’

‘Be silent, viper! I am not here to listen to your feeble threats. Do you think you can intimidate me as you did those poor
devils on the roads about here?’

‘You tell me to be silent? You old cretin! You will not be so proud when you are before Sir Hugh le Despenser and trying to
explain yourself. You rode into our manor, you—’

‘Released a woman whom you had captured, illegally, and against all the rules of chivalry, fellow. And proved that you had
been attacking all who passed near and robbing them of their goods. I think there is not a court in the land that would protect
you. No matter how many jurors the good Sir Hugh were to place at the court’s disposal.’

‘He would be able to provide many, you piece of shit,’ Basil blustered, leaning forward. ‘He will buy up all the jurors, and
the judge, too, in order to break you.’

‘Even when we show that you robbed the party on its way to the king? You stole the king’s silver when you robbed those men.’

‘We didn’t,’ Basil sneered. ‘Show we did it!’

‘I shall,’ Baldwin said. ‘You killed not only a group of archers, boy; you slaughtered two monks. You will not be set before
a court that Sir
Hugh can buy up. You will stand accused before a court in Exeter, in the presence of Bishop Walter. And he will have the pleasure
of convicting you to die on his own gallows.’

Basil was shocked by that. ‘We didn’t kill two monks! We only found the one. The other one must have made off before we got
there, rot his bowels!’

‘Hardly likely,’ Baldwin said.

‘It’s the truth!’

Gradually Basil had told the whole story: how the man Osbert had insinuated himself into the group of travellers, how he had
persuaded them to turn north from Oakhampton, to avoid the known danger of Sir Robert’s men, while in reality leading them
all into Sir Robert’s trap.

Baldwin repeated the story now as they jogged down a hill near the tiny vill of Sampford Courtenay, and even as they rode,
Simon’s attention was taken by the tale. ‘You mean they’d been planning this for some days, then?’

‘They must have been,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘Simon, just consider the effort involved. They had to make sure that this man Osbert
was ready to join the group at the earliest moment, probably not long after they left Tavistock. He had to have time to get
to know them, after all. And probably to start to spread concern about the depredations of his own master. He wanted them
to be so fearful of Sir Robert that they would willingly and swiftly agree to his suggestion of an alternative road to Exeter,
bypassing Bow completely. They could hardly go south, not with the paucity of roads in that direction; their only path must
take them north. And that meant Abbeyford Woods. The rest of Sir Robert’s men knew where he would lead them.’

Mark was frowning. ‘But Anselm, he would know that was a daft idea.’

‘That was, I think, the point,’ Baldwin said caustically. ‘One stranger would be unlikely to swing all behind him. But if
there was another there, a man who was viewed as knowledgeable, who was wearing the cloth, that would inevitably help.’

‘You mean he colluded in this? No!’ Mark was emphatic. ‘I will not allow that! To suggest such a slander is a disgrace, Sir
Baldwin. You shame yourself more than his cloth and our order when you say such things. Where is your evidence? What proof
do you have, eh?’

It was Simon who shook his head sadly. ‘Mark, Baldwin’s right. Look at it sensibly. Sir Robert needed details of the men in
the guard. And if Anselm had nothing to do with it, where is he now? What happened to him after the robbery? Why wasn’t he
there with all the other bodies?’

Sir Richard rumbled as he considered. ‘So this one-eyed arsehole was there to lead them all astray and he colluded with the
renegade monk to get them all up into the woods?’

‘That’s how I read the tale,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘Except the money wasn’t there. So someone had taken it already.’

‘Perhaps Anselm himself?’ Sir Richard said.

‘No!’ Mark protested. ‘He wouldn’t take the money and see all those people murdered.’

‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin mused, ‘he aided Osbert in doing that.’

Simon shot a look at Sir Richard. ‘It was a large sum of silver, wasn’t it? More than one man could carry, I’d bet.’

‘Sirs, there is one thing,’ Roger said. He was walking briskly at their side. ‘I saw the camp on the morning after. I am sure
that all the people there were deliberately murdered. One man I found had six arrows, and yet someone had stabbed him through
the eye to make sure. All were like that, bar the monk himself and one other – a man who was lying further away from the middle
of the camp. He was another fighter, I think, and yet he hadn’t been taken down by the attack – he had been stabbed in the
back some four or five times.’

Baldwin was nodding. ‘And you think …’

‘That he was a sentry, the first to be killed. If this Osbert was in the camp as you believe then this man was killed so that
the money could be removed.’

Simon shook his head. ‘It wasn’t there. I looked most carefully, and there was no sign of it near the camp. I even looked
about the woods to see if anything could be learned. So did Mark here. He found a lovely cross, all enamelled. It was Pietro’s,
apparently.’

‘I remembered it,’ Mark said. ‘It had been thrown into a bush.’ He drew it from beneath his robes now and displayed it.

Baldwin pursed his lips. ‘I would that I had been able to see the site after the attack. Perhaps I would have noticed something
…’

‘We all did our best,’ Simon said coldly. ‘As did Sir Peregrine.’

‘I was not criticising,’ Baldwin said.

Sir Richard had his mind fixed on the money and seemingly did not notice Simon’s petulance. ‘So we think that this Osbert
had a heavy hand in the robbery and killings. But the money was already gone? Did the cardinal send it by some other route,
and this was a mere distraction to tempt robbers?’

‘No. The money was with this party,’ Simon said. ‘The cardinal would have told us if it had already been safely sent, surely.’

‘How would Sir Robert’s men have known that the party were there already?’ Mark said. ‘Is it possible that some other man
than this Osbert killed the sentry and took the money?’

‘He could hardly carry all that money himself,’ Baldwin said. ‘I doubt one man on his own could.’

Simon frowned. ‘The man Hoppon was nearby. He could have helped take it.’

Mark nodded. ‘And when poor Anselm realised that the money was stolen, he trailed after in order to tell the camp who had
taken it, and to where.’

Simon looked ahead. ‘Or Anselm saw Osbert kill the guard and decided to take the money himself. He picked up the chest and
made away with it.’

‘A money chest full of silver?’ Baldwin questioned.

He was right. It would be too heavy. ‘There was Hoppon nearby. He is crippled, though. His leg is all but useless. Still,
perhaps he could help a man take a chest and hide it?’

‘I have often noticed that men who have been injured will have increased abilities in other ways,’ Baldwin said. ‘A man with
one weak leg will have the other much stronger, a man with poor hearing may have better eyesight than most, or a fellow who’s
lost an arm will have a more powerful remaining arm to compensate. Perhaps this Hoppon is the same?’

Sir Richard gave a loud ‘Ha!’ that made Edith jump almost from her pony, while Mark blanched and threw a look of mute appeal
to Simon, as though begging him to either plead with the knight to show a little restraint, or perhaps to slip a dagger into
the man and silence him that way.

But the knight continued. ‘Simon, you remember that Hoppon’s house was the very nearest to the attack itself, eh? What would
be easier than for the fellow to hop on over there and knock down an
unsuspectin’ guard, hoick up the lucre and hobble off again, eh? Or perhaps it was the monk killed the guard, not this Osbert,
and Hoppon helped him to take the chest away?’

Simon recalled the log pile outside Hoppon’s house. It was hard to imagine that he could have been involved – Simon had liked
the fellow. He was as suspicious, tetchy and truculent as Simon’s old servant Hugh. But it couldn’t be denied that the man
had the strength to pull large logs into his house for his fire. A man who could do that could as easily haul a money chest
away.

Baldwin glanced over at him. ‘What do you think, Simon? He was nearest the site of the attack, if Sir Richard is right. If
Osbert had to have an ally, perhaps Hoppon was the man?’

‘I find it hard to believe,’ Simon said after a few moments of consideration. ‘But you are right. We ought to ask him more
about that night and see if he could have been involved in any way.’

He looked over his shoulder at the group of men and women behind them. Agnes and Edith appeared to have formed an alliance
over the night, and even now were close together a matter of a few feet behind him. Edgar formed their rearguard, from where
he could keep an eye on the women as well as Roger, whom he distrusted.

It made Simon think of another cavalcade, two weeks and a few days before, and an old man in his hovel, sitting near his fire
of tree trunks, his little dog at his side, glowering at the embers as he listened to the sounds of horses and carts quietly
rolling past. Simon could believe that the man would have sat there and listened – but to go from that to the picture of Hoppon
leaping into the clearing and murdering a man, then carrying off a great treasure: that was too fanciful for him.

‘You say you think he could have been involved in the robbery. I doubt it. He does not seem the sort of man who would do something
like that.’

‘You would trust to your belly in this?’ Baldwin asked.

‘My intuition about people has rarely been wrong,’ Simon said shortly.

Baldwin said nothing, but he gave his old friend a look of great sadness, almost mourning. Both felt that their friendship
had never been so sorely tested, and Baldwin felt it all the more, for he could not even hope that Simon would ever understand
his action yesterday. It
was clear that for Simon, his daughter’s life was all, and his faith in Baldwin had been rocked to its foundations.

Jacobstowe

It was a pleasant little home, Edith thought as she crossed over the threshold with Agnes. Edgar was with them, and he stood
outside with that little smile on his face that seemed to indicate ironic amusement about the scene around him, especially
as he watched Mark limping slightly as he made his way to the church. The brother’s pony had been given to Roger for him to
follow Baldwin, Simon and Sir Richard at their pace, rather than having to slow them to his own, while they rode to Hoppon’s
house to question him.

Agnes had already been to fetch her little boy, a fellow christened Antony, but who had invariably been known as Ant. ‘It
was my husband used to call him that,’ Agnes said sadly. ‘He always gave everyone a nickname.’

‘My husband sometimes does, too,’ Edith said. ‘He can be so childish like that.’

‘Hush, dear,’ Agnes said as Edith began to sob. She fetched a little ale in a cup and passed it to her. ‘Drink this.’

Edith took it, and wiped at her eyes. ‘I am sorry, but the thought of him lying in the gaol at Exeter fills me with horror.
They were talking about putting him into court to stand for treason, and you know what that would mean. No one ever escapes
from a charge like that.’