No Law in the Land: (Knights Templar 27) (6 page)

Simon couldn’t like this place. He looked about him carefully from the vantage point of his mount before he released his foot
from the stirrup and swung himself down from the horse. Last time he had been here for meetings with the king, he had been
impressed by the single-minded search for power that appeared to be the main characteristic of all those who lived and worked
in the shadow of the palace. When he glanced over at Baldwin, he saw the same wariness, and the realisation that his concerns
were shared made his anxiety weigh a little less heavily on his shoulders.

They followed in the wake of the bishop, and soon they were being led across the paved yard to the Green Yard, a pleasant
grassed area, in through a doorway, along two corridors, and to a pair of doors that Simon remembered. These were the doors
to the king’s Painted Chamber. Four guards stood there, and they took all the swords, stacking them neatly on shelves to the
left of the doors. Then the doors were opened, and Simon and Baldwin shot a look at each other before plunging on in the wake
of the bishop and Sir Richard.

Abbeyford Woods, south of Jacobstowe

Bill was awake before dawn on the day that the coroner arrived.

The three had taken it in turns to go home and fetch more food and drink. Last night it was John who had gone, leaving his
friend, Art Miller, to keep Bill company. The man seemed somewhat less conversational today than the corpse with both eyes
put out, and Bill would have been happier to have the company of almost any other man, but at least Art was alive. Or so Bill
assumed.

There were always tales of men wandering the lands. In the last thirty years or so there had been the trail bastons, gangs
of men armed with clubs who had so devastated the countryside that the king had imposed a new series of courts to come to
terms with the menace.

Then, when the famine struck, still more men were displaced as they went in search of any form of sustenance. Latterly there
was the danger posed by the families and friends of those who had raised their banners in opposition to Sir Hugh le Despenser
in the war of three years ago. After Boroughbridge, when the king had destroyed their armies and captured many of the plotters,
he had executed hundreds. The savagery of his response to their attempt to depose his adviser had shocked the whole nation,
and many of those who had not been involved went in terror of their lives and had left their homes to become outlaws. Some
had made their way to France or Hainault, where they knew they would not be persecuted for their opposition to the English
king, but others had remained, and Bill would not be surprised if some had banded together and could have committed this crime.

John was back again before the sun had passed much over the far hills. With him he brought victuals, and the three sat around
the fire to eat, chewing rhythmically. It was later in the morning that Bill heard the tramping of boots, and hurried to his
feet.

A slightly scruffy-looking knight appeared through the trees with a small entourage of men-at-arms and a clerk, who walked
with a screwed-up face, as though the whole of the landscape here stank.

‘Who is in charge, fellow?’ the knight asked, and then looked about him with a grimace. ‘Sweet Mother of God! How many dead
are there?’

Painted Chamber, Westminster

As soon as they entered the room, Baldwin could feel the atmosphere. Earlier in the year he had come here with Simon, and
the pair had served the king by uncovering a murderer. Then, when they entered the king’s presence, although there was the
awareness of the difference in their respective positions, Edward had treated them remarkably well. Now there was a very different
feel to the place, and Baldwin shot a warning look at Simon as he knelt, copying the bishop and Sir Richard, as soon as they
had passed through the doorway. None moved until the steward had nodded to them, then they all walked in, heads still bowed,
until they were nearer the king. There they knelt again, heads bent, until there was a grunt of exasperation from Edward.

‘Bishop, God speed.’

‘Your royal highness, I hope you are well?’

‘Me? Why should I not be?’ the king said petulantly. ‘My wife has been abroad, as has my son, and I am keen to see them again
to learn what is happening over there in France. But still! What are you doing here alone, my lord bishop? Is my wife with
you?’ He made an elaborate display of peering behind the bishop. ‘But wait! No! She is not here, is she? Or have I missed
her?’

Bishop Walter bowed his head again at the heavy irony. ‘Your highness, I am sorry to say that she is not with us, no. What
is more, I fear she refused to return to you and her family. I am deeply distraught, your highness, to have to tell you this.’

‘What are you saying? Do you mean to tell me that she has not received my letter?’ the king said in a dangerously cold voice.
‘I thought that I had given it to you for her so that it could not be mislaid.’

‘She received it, your highness. More, I told the French king that you desired her to return to you at the earliest opportunity,
but he replied that your queen is also his sister, and he would not banish her from his court. If she chose to leave, that
was one thing; but she would not.’

‘What …’ The king spoke softly, but the words seemed hard for him to enunciate, as though they were stuck in his throat.
‘What, then, of my son? The Earl of Chester, Edward. Where is he?’

‘Your royal highness, I am deeply afraid that he would not have been safe had I brought him with me.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Only this, your highness. I was threatened with death were I to remain. A man waylaid me and would have killed me, I think.
And your queen sought to demand money from me, suggesting that I might not live if I did not give her your letters allowing
her to claim money from bankers in Paris.’

‘So my wife is alienated from me, and she has taken my son to hold against his will and mine?’ the king said with icy precision.
‘But you all saved yourselves?’

‘Your highness, it would serve you not at all if we were to die,’ the bishop said with some asperity. ‘I did the best I possibly
could, but when it became apparent that my life was in danger, I confess I made
the most urgent plans in order that I might escape the clutches of my enemies in France and return to advise you. I was forced
to take on the habit of a pilgrim, merely to protect my own life.’

‘Oh, you wish to
advise
me now? That is good. Very good. So, my lord bishop, why do you not? Tell me, what
exactly
would you advise me to do, now that you have lost me my queen, my heir, and … and …’

The bishop took a deep breath. ‘Your royal highness. We did all we might. I had private talks with her royal highness, but
she made no effort to conceal her hatred for me. I made the French court aware that she was disobeying you, her husband and
master, but none would support me and your reasonable request that she return to her home. All was in vain. However, there
was important intelligence that I felt sure I should bring to your attention.’

‘Speak!’ The king tutted to himself, then, ‘And stand, all of you. You look untidy on your knees like that. I feel I should
have the floors cleaned!’

Bishop Walter stood slowly, his knees aching from the unaccustomed position. When the others were also on their feet, the
bishop fixed his eyes on the king. ‘Your royal highness, the first news that came to me, and of which I must make you aware,
is that the foul traitor Roger Mortimer has returned to the French court. I feel quite sure that he is there in order that
he might negotiate with the French king, and possibly to discuss matters with your queen. I know this is sore news, but—’

The rest of his words were drowned by the king’s sudden roar of anger. He stood, fists clenched, teeth showing in a fierce
grimace of pure fury. ‘You mean that bastard son of a diseased whore is out there with my wife, and my son too? You left them
there so that the honey-tongued traitor could inveigle his way into their good natures? He will make use of their innocence
to make much trouble for us, you fools. Did none of you think to try to kill him? Or at least make it clear to the French
king that his presence there was an insult, a … a sore torment to me? Eh? Did you do nothing?’

‘We had no means with which to—’

‘What of the other guardians of the queen and my son, eh? I gave you a force so that you might protect Edward, my son, and
the same men could be used to deal with a man who is known as a traitor and a
rebel. You think the French would argue if you removed him? You should have killed the bastard, damn it, damn
him
… damn
you
!’

‘That brings me to the second piece of intelligence, my king. The men who were with me, the men whom you set to guard the
queen, and those who were told to protect your son, they have all become allies of hers. None would come back to England save
these here with me.’

‘You mean to tell me …’ The king gaped, and stared at the three men behind the bishop. ‘These are all?’

‘My lord Cromwell, Sir Henry … all have allied themselves with the queen. I am truly sorry, your royal highness. If I
could have, I swear, I would have enlisted the help of any of them to bring down Mortimer and destroy him.’

‘Be gone! Leave me, all of you! You bring me news like this and expect reward? Just go!’

Abbeyford Woods, south of Jacobstowe

‘Well, fellow?’

The tone of the knight was invariably sharp, as though he had no regard for Bill or any of the others. Instead he stood about,
still, surveying the damage all around, tapping his foot as though he was waiting for a porter to open a gate for him.

He watched as Bill and the others gathered up the jury and made them stand in a rough semicircle. Then they set out a board
and stool ready for the clerk to scribble at, and checked who was and who wasn’t present.

‘All ready, Coroner.’

‘Very well. Clerk, have the jury swear,’ Sir Peregrine de Barnstaple said, and wandered to the nearest of the bodies.

While the jury was sworn in, he stood and surveyed the coppice again. Seeing Bill watching him, he beckoned. ‘Look, Bailiff,
I do happily confess that I am new to this task. I have not been a coroner for long. But I would have you tell me, do you
have any idea who could have done this?’

‘I have been wondering that myself. It isn’t the locals about here. You can see that.’

‘Why?’

‘Look at us! There aren’t enough to try to attack such a force as this. And why would we kill like this? This wasn’t a simple
waylaying, I’d wager. No, these men were attacked and killed for a definite purpose. The man with his eyes put out? Why would
a robber do that?’

‘That is what I thought too. So it would be a large band of outlaws, is what you believe?’

‘I can only think so. But …’

‘What?’

‘A gang large enough to do this would have to have been seen or heard, Sir Peregrine.’

‘True enough. So where did they come from? Do you have any idea?’

‘I’ve searched along the roads all about here in the last day or two. There is one direction I think they could have come
from. North.’

The coroner shrugged and shook his head. ‘Should that mean something to me? Which castle would they be from? That’s what I
need to know. Who are they and where could they have come from? Are they outlaws, is that what you mean?’

Bill eyed him closely, then looked back over the dead bodies. ‘There is no man within my manor who would have done this. North
of here there are a number of men-at-arms in the employ of different lords, and there are men at Oakhampton, of course. But
a group would have to be very sure of themselves to do such murder. Of the men in the area near here, I don’t know who would
dare to attack such a group.’

Sir Peregrine looked at him for a moment. ‘I have the impression you are withholding something from me. Is there anything
else you wish to tell me?’

Bill looked up at the coroner. Since first seeing the man, he had been impressed by Sir Peregrine’s haughtiness and self-importance.
The man was the perfect example of a knight: arrogant and overbearing. He was typical of all the coroners Bill had ever met:
he surely wasn’t interested in justice or protecting the people about here; he was only looking at this as a means of procuring
money in amercements for the king. All murders and attacks like this led to the locals being fleeced to swell the king’s purse.

‘I can tell nothing more than you, Sir Peregrine,’ Bill said flatly.

‘Very well. Let us open the inquest and see what may be learned,’ the coroner said, and clapped his hands to get the attention
of the men waiting. ‘I call this inquest to order!’

Westminster Palace

Sir Hugh le Despenser was aware of the value of good information, and he appreciated the importance of a man who would happily
bring him news. The under-bottler from the Painted Chamber was an expensive ally, but his reports were worth all the money
Sir Hugh
lavished on him. He paid the man now with twenty shillings, a small fortune, but one that the man’s detailed account fully
justified.

‘I am grateful to you, my friend,’ he said as he passed the money over. ‘Let me know more about the king’s mood when you can.’

As the under-bottler left, Sir Hugh stood and rubbed at his forehead. The pressure was unrelenting, and the sensation of having
his head in a vice was growing in virulence daily. There was so much for him to do, so much to plan, if he were to be safe.
One thing was certain – his new spy was only as good as Despenser’s star. If his position began to wane, the under-bottler
would not come to advise him. He would be seeking his next patron, rather. So when the fellow stopped responding to Despenser’s
requests, he might have to be taught a lesson at a dagger’s point.

One thing was clear, though. If the queen and Mortimer had become so close that even a cloth-headed fool like Bishop Stapledon
could spot it, the matter was more serious than he had realised. That being so, he might have to plan differently, for that
could well mean that the queen and the traitor were already so far advanced in their plots that they didn’t care whether the
bishop, and therefore the king, were to learn of them. Although there was the other possibility: that the queen had never
expected or intended that the bishop should return safely to England. If that was so, then perhaps her devious little mind
had been unsettled from its smooth road, and the result could be that the whole of her carefully laid scheme might be thrown
into disarray. Although Sir Hugh had no idea how to effect that desirable outcome.

But it might not be her plan at all. Perhaps it was all conceived by Mortimer and the French king. Neither of them was a friend
to Sir Hugh, of course, but if a man was being stalked by enemies, it was best to know which adversary was nearest. Was it
possible that the bishop himself was also allying himself to the queen? If all the others in France had moved to support her,
perhaps the bishop too had …

No. That was impossible. The haughty little bitch would never consider him as a friend. The bishop had seen to it that she
had lost all power and influence at court, removing from her all her estates and revenues as soon as war with the French began
last year. The result had been a shameful curtailing of her life and freedom, even the removal of her children so that she
might not pollute their minds with
nonsense about the French. She would only ever plot to see Bishop Walter destroyed, never
with
him.

Not that the others with the bishop were similarly free of suspicion. The Keeper of the King’s Peace he had loathed for some
time, as he had Simon Puttock, and the other knight, the sometime coroner Sir Richard de Welles, was an unknown quantity but
appeared to be quite friendly with the other two.

Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, he knew, had been moderately well regarded by the queen before her embassy to France. It would be
hardly a surprise if he and she had further cemented their friendship while together in Paris. And Sir Baldwin had been a
thorn in Sir Hugh’s side for at least a year.

Puttock was a lesser threat. He was only a peasant, when all was said and done. He was owned by Sir Hugh de Courtenay, Baron
of Devon, and could easily be neutralised. In fact he might well already have been – Despenser’s men had bullied him earlier
this year. If he tried to do anything to harm Sir Hugh, he would find that there were other problems a wealthy man could bring
to bear on him. Still, a fellow with family and no money could be turned into a useful asset.

After all, this Puttock was a known element. Perhaps Sir Hugh should have him brought here to discuss French affairs in private.

Abbeyford Woods, south of Jacobstowe

Bill Lark bent his head and rested on his staff as the verdicts were announced.

Much more of this and he’d be falling asleep while standing, he reckoned. The coroner had been as quick as he could be, admittedly,
but the number of bodies to be gathered, studied, stripped naked and rolled over and over before the jury were so many that
the matter had taken the best part of the day. And now that the inquest was done, there was the additional work of loading
all the bodies on a cart to take them to the little graveyard, where they could be given a decent burial; seeing to the vigil
while they were held before the altar; and of course collecting of the money the coroner had imposed as fines on the community
for the infringement of the King’s Peace.

‘Bailiff, I am sorry that the vill has to suffer this,’ the coroner said quietly, walking up to join Bill. ‘I had no choice.’

‘I understand.’ And he did. The deodand was a fine imposed to the
value of the murder weapon, and in a case like this, where many weapons had been used, each must be separately accounted for
the injuries done to each person. Although the coroner had managed to reduce the fines a little by ignoring some of those
wounds that would not have killed, he was duty bound to include all those that appeared to be more serious. The other fine,
the murdrum, must be imposed where the victims were not known, and since none of these was known to any about here, the full
amount must be demanded of the people of the hundred.

‘We are no nearer learning who could have done this,’ the coroner said.

The bailiff could not argue with that. ‘We’ll probably never know. Some outlaws are like that. They arrive in an area, commit
a few crimes, and then move on to find better pickings elsewhere. It’s likely we’ll never see them.’

It was all too true. The sort of men who came and committed this type of crime were not locals. It had not been carried out
by inexperienced fighters; these victims had been killed by professionals. In any case, in Bill’s experience, once a coroner
had pronounced on a death, that was an end to the matter. No coroner would put himself out too much – and without the support
even of a coroner, there was little if anything that Bill could himself do. So he would probably never learn more about these
deaths. They would be remembered by those who lived here for some years and then forgotten. Perhaps someone might pass by
asking about some folks who had disappeared, but in the absence of anything to say who these victims were, no one would ever
know, in all likelihood, whether their missing father or husband was lying in a grave at Jacobstowe with the rest of this
party or not.

The coroner was scowling at the bodies as they were collected and slung on to the carts. ‘What of the people in the area?
I find it hard to imagine that no one saw or heard anyone.’

‘They’d have been sleeping and—’

‘
Pig shit!
You mean to tell me that a force large enough to kill these men could have ridden away from here without anyone noticing?
Do you think I look that much of a fool?’

‘No, Coroner, but you have to understand that we’re so far apart here, many of us, that a force could have ridden between
houses and gone without anyone hearing, if they were careful.’

The coroner turned away. ‘They’d have had to go up that road north or south. There’s no track east or west – not nearby. How
far north could they have gone?’

‘They didn’t get to Jacobstowe, I know that much.’

‘Then they turned off before that, unless they went south. But south would mean getting closer to Oakhampton,’ the coroner
mused.

‘Why are you so troubled by them? They’re someone else’s problem now,’ Bill said.

Sir Peregrine looked at him. ‘No, man. They are
our
problem. They committed murder here, and I’ll catch them if I can. I don’t give a farthing for the souls of men who slaughter
women and children. If I could do anything that would capture them, I’d do it.’

‘We don’t even know who many of them were,’ Bill muttered. ‘Just some monks and their guards – I suppose we can learn their
names. But the others?’

There was a clattering, thundering noise from behind them, and Bill turned to see a cart approaching. In the back were five
bodies. The two on the top were the children whom they had discovered under the blanket. He thought of his own little Ant
as he looked at the two small figures rolling and jerking in the back of the cart. The coroner had seemed the same as all
the others, but just now there had been a distinct tone of determination in his voice. It almost made Bill think that he was
serious.

‘We’ll learn them,’ Sir Peregrine said firmly. ‘I will not have innocents laid to rest in graves without headstones. Damn
the souls of those who did this! I want them hanging!’

‘Then I’ll do what I can,’ Bill said. He sighed resignedly. ‘Coroner, there is perhaps a little more I can tell you. But ’tis
only guesswork on my part.’

Coroner Peregrine listened carefully as Bill spoke of the trampled brambles and blood which lay all about. He walked with
Bill and studied the bushes before nodding. ‘You know I should fine you for not mentioning all this during my inquest? No
matter. I can understand why you didn’t.’ He stood and gazed about him. ‘But I am serious, Lark. I want these bastards, and
I will see them swing for this. I rely on you to find them for me. Seek them out. Seek them and let me know where your searches
take you. Have your priest write to me at Rougemont Castle in Exeter, and I will come as soon as I may.’

Westminster Palace

Simon was surprised to be asked to go with the man-at-arms, but he had almost finished his meat pie, and he stuffed the remains
into his mouth as he stood from the trestle table outside the tavern at the main gate to the palace grounds.

‘Who wants me?’ he asked through his pie.

‘The under-bottler to the Painted Chamber.’

Simon shrugged. Baldwin had left him here to go and make sure that his horse was being cared for. It was typical of the ex-Templar
that he would always see to his horse’s well-being before his own. He had once explained his determination to look after his
horse. ‘If I need to escape an enemy, Simon, I will want a horse that is fed and watered and without lameness.’

It made sense to a man who was a warrior, Simon supposed. For his part, he would always treat his horse as well as he might,
because it was the second most expensive item he owned. The only thing that had ever cost him more was his house, and he believed
in looking after his investment.