No Law in the Land: (Knights Templar 27) (28 page)

Slumping to the ground, she was overwhelmed with the futility of her quest. She had been fooling herself if she thought that
she could help to bring justice to her man. There was no justice for someone like Bill. He wasn’t important enough. Not compared
with clerics and a box of gold. The tears welled in her eyes, and she began to sob with the desperate unfairness of it all.
It was so dreadful, so miserable, so unfortunate. She was all alone, and poor Bill would be forgotten soon, by all around
except for her. There would be no one who would recall his smile, no one to remember his gentle humour. Ant would never be
able to recall anything about his own father. And the men responsible would still be about.

That was the truth. Those who committed the most heinous crimes were secure in the knowledge that none dared attack them.

And then a spark of resentment flared, caught, and engulfed her again. She would not surrender to the strains of such pathetic
feelings. Bill deserved better. She would find his murderers and bring vengeance upon them! ‘I will, I will find you all.
All who joined to kill my husband, all will pay!’ she vowed aloud.

She rose and set off again, filled with determination once more. As she walked, she felt sure that she could sense something.
It could have been a horse, but when she looked about her, there was none to be seen. The hedge on her left was thick and
stock-proof, so there might have been cattle or a horse in there, she thought, but it was impossible to see. No matter, she
thought, and carried on.

But now she grew aware of something else. A steady, rhythmical drumming on the ground. Not too fast, and not too slow, and
then, even as she listened to it, it changed, and became a ragged, discordant percussion, and she knew it was cantering horses.
There was a shout, a gleeful shriek, and the noise grew quickly louder.

She was aware of her heart thundering in her breast as though it was beating in time to the hoofbeats. Panic was rising as
she thought that these might well be the very same men who had brought her here today. If they were, she would not be able
to escape them. There was no escape from a band such as this. There was no running away from men on horseback, and no hope
that standing still and looking chaste would save her.

There was a small tree that was not cut down, though. She might be able to clamber up it and into the field beyond.

It was better than staying here to be caught or raped and killed. She darted to it, and began to scramble up the sapling,
but it was too weak to support her. Instead she flung her hands into the hedge itself, hoping to haul herself up, away from
the approaching menace, but her hand caught a blackthorn bush, and the long spikes stabbed her fingers, making her sob with
the pain.

There was no hope, she thought, and she was about to let go and fall back into the road when a face appeared above her.

‘In God’s name, woman, take my hand!’ Roger hissed urgently.

Nymet Traci

‘What about the maid, Father?’

‘Oh, the wandering son returns, eh?’ Sir Robert said. He was standing with Osbert near the stables.

Basil was clad in parti-coloured tunic and hose, the tunic tight over a linen chemise. He swaggered to the horses and patted
a neck. ‘You’ve been riding them hard, Father.’

‘We were in a hurry. You know I like a good gallop of a morning.’

‘Oh, aye. This wench, anyway?’

Sir Robert clapped his son on the back. ‘You were gone a long time, boy.’

‘I was busy.’

‘Where, my son?’

Osbert watched impassively as Sir Robert took hold of his son’s neck.

‘Father, that is painful.’

‘I am glad. I meant it to be.’

‘I want you to let me go, Father.’

‘Where were you?’

‘With a maid in Bow.’

‘The whore in the tavern?’

‘No, a maid from a farm. She pleases me.’

‘She doesn’t please me,’ Sir Robert said.

‘What of that? I do not offer her to share with you.’

‘I would have you leave her alone. I expected you to be here last evening with Osbert.’

‘He is boring company, Father. Whereas my friend is more amusing.’

‘You will return when I order in future, son,’ Sir Robert said.

‘That hurts!’

‘It is meant to.’

‘Let go, Father!’

‘This is my castle, boy, and I give the orders here.’

‘Very well!’

‘One of my men said that you’d gone to our guest and offered to sheath yourself in her. Is that right?’

‘She’s only a little slut …’

‘You cretin!’

Osbert saw the dagger suddenly drawn, and as soon as it was clear of the sheath, his hand snapped out sharply and grabbed
Basil’s wrist. He twisted and pressed with his thumb into the hollow of Basil’s wrist, and the dagger fell to the floor. Osbert
placed his foot on top to keep it safe.

‘So you were plaguing the girl?’ Sir Robert asked.

‘I went to see that she was well, that’s all.’

‘I do not want you there, boy.’

‘Yes. And I want to see her.’

‘I wasn’t clear enough, obviously. When I said I didn’t want you annoying her, what I meant was, I want you to leave her alone.
And I still want you to leave her alone. Yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, and one other thing, boy. If I ever see you draw a knife on me again, I will personally break your arm. Don’t try it
again. Is that all right?’

Basil said nothing, but watched with a baleful eye as his father walked away.

Osbert said nothing, but remained with his foot on Basil’s knife.

‘Get your foot off it. It’s mine.’

‘Of course. Your father won’t want it to remain in the dirt, will he?’ Osbert said, stepping away as he released it. He eyed
Basil as the boy bent and took it up, and the two men stood for a few moments, Basil with the dagger in his hand, balanced,
while Osbert remained seemingly relaxed. But neither was. Both knew that at any moment there could be a sudden flare of death.

It was Basil who broke the spell of the moment. He gave a short laugh, tossed the knife up and caught it, then thrust it into
its sheath again. ‘It’d be unkind to kill someone as old as you. Where’s the honour in slaying an old man?’

Osbert smiled at the thought. ‘I feel honoured you can think in such terms. You are too kind to me.’

Basil saw his grin, and his own smile faded in an instant. He slapped the hilt of his sword, spun on his heel and marched
away.

Road near Copplestone

They had passed through Crediton and were approaching Copplestone when Edgar cleared his throat.

‘Sir Baldwin, I am concerned as to why that man would take Mistress Edith.’

‘A young woman like her? There is likely only the one reason, Edgar. You appreciate that well enough.’

Edgar ignored the reminder of his womanising past. ‘But we are both aware of this man Wattere. We know what sort of person
he is. He is Despenser’s man in Devon, is he not? The sheriff himself told us that he arrested Peter because the king and
Despenser were seeking traitors in the realm. But surely he has some ulterior motive for capturing the boy.’

‘I do not follow your thinking,’ Baldwin said.

‘We know that Edith’s husband has been captured. The charges against him are such that he will not easily be released. He
has nothing of value, but his father has lands. That seems to mean that there could be pressure being brought to bear. But
I do not understand why someone would also capture Edith, unless they are seeking to influence Simon directly.’

‘Perhaps her capture was a random matter? Nothing to do with her husband’s arrest?’

‘Sir, do you believe that?’ Edgar said with a pitying smile. ‘The man Wattere happened to be riding past and found her on
her own. He the most committed enemy of her father in the land since their fight. Simon scarred him, do not forget.’

‘So? What do you mean by this?’

‘Sir Baldwin, the son and the father both told you that the sheriff is close to Despenser and the king’s court. Wattere is
Despenser’s man. Surely this is all a scheme by Despenser? He has his own men in Devon. That is no surprise, for he and the
king will have their men placed in all positions of authority now because their authority is itself
being undermined. However, it seems like a great scheme to deprive Simon of his daughter.’

Baldwin winced at the thought. ‘Despenser has already deprived Simon of his home. Why would he want to do this too?’

‘Because he is thoroughly foul,’ Edgar said. ‘He seeks power over others, and when he is thwarted he seeks to destroy them.’

Baldwin need say nothing to that. It was the simple truth. ‘So what will he do now?’

‘I think we have to hope and pray that it is him,’ Edgar said. ‘Because if it were Wattere who took her, and Wattere was not
under Despenser’s control, it is likely she could have been taken just for her looks. A man who seeks to rape her and discard
her later would be more dangerous. He may already have achieved his aim. And that could mean she has already been killed.’

‘So you say that the best we can hope for is that she has been taken by the most powerful felon in the land?’ Baldwin said.
‘It is a curious hope you dispense, Edgar!’

‘Aye. But at least,’ Edgar said more quietly, ‘it is some kind of hope. Some is better than none, Sir Baldwin.’

Near Bow

The man who had hauled her up into the tree was swarthy and powerful. He had the wild dark hair of a Cornishman, and blue
eyes that seemed to look through her without any feeling. Most men on looking at her would give her the impression that they
liked her buxom breasts, or would touch her arse with mild enquiry until she slapped invasive hands away, but she had the
feeling that this man, if not immune to her charms, was at least without the desire to take her against her will.

He yanked her up from the roadway with such a jerk that she could hook her legs and feet under her, and swing straight over
the hedge with ease. Almost immediately he sprang down to the ground at her side, a hand on her back, pushing her down to
the grass, while he stayed rigid as a cat staring at a prey, all tension and controlled energy, so focused on the road he
might almost have turned to stone.

There was a large thorn still in her hand. She tried to move to look at it, but the pressure on her back increased, subtly,
and she heard the sound of the horses increase.

They were there! A group of scruffy, noisy men who would not look out of place in the pictures of demons she had seen on the
church walls. Their horses were small, hardy creatures, stocky little fellows with stamina to cover huge distances. The riders
were armed and easy in the saddle, like men who were accustomed to long rides with their beasts, and they rode along without
chatter or laughter, only a set look of determination. The leader was a large man with a belly and a single eye. The other
he had lost. He looked so powerful and full of bile that Agnes had to glance away as a cart rattled past in their wake.

Her sense of inadequacy returned. She was sure that these were the same men who had killed her husband, and the sight of them
was enough to prove to her that she could never hope to attack them and win.

The sound of hoofs gradually faded, and as it did, she felt the man’s hand lift away, and then he was moving swiftly back
to the hedge. He swarmed up the tree again, and she saw his head lower as he kept his eyes on the party until they were out
of sight. ‘It is safe,’ he breathed, and jumped down again, agile as a monkey.

‘Where did you learn to do that?’ she asked.

He looked at her closely, studying her face. ‘You were in Jacobstowe. I saw you there two weeks ago.’

She withdrew, just slightly, from his serious blue eyes. ‘What do you want with me?’

‘Nothing, maid, if by that you mean what do I intend to do to you. I’m not that kind of man. But those men there. Did you
see them? Did you recognise them?’

‘No. I’ve never seen them before.’

He nodded, his attention apparently fixed on the hills in the far distance, but the faraway look in his eye seemed to imply
that he was thinking of something else.

She felt curiously slighted, as though his lack of concentration on her was an insult. She was unused to such lack of interest.
‘Do you know them? You look like a man who has seen a ghost.’

‘Yes. I feel as though I have,’ he said quietly. Then he looked at her, at the hedge, and up at the tree again. ‘Do you wish
me to help you back to the road, maid?’

Nymet Traci

It was hard to see how she could escape. The castle itself was scarcely impregnable, but for Edith to make her way out, she
would have to pass between all the guards and servants, and then somehow find a means of climbing the walls, without falling
the other side and harming herself. The only real means of escape was by the doors, but she had already seen that the gates
tended to remain closed through the day. The only time they were opened was when a rider approached.

She could hear the gates opening now. A low rumbling as the baulks of timber were slid sideways into the recesses in the walls,
and then the creaking and squeaking of reluctant metal as they were pushed wide. It was like a Dartmoor gate, she saw: any
force pushing at the gates would be pushing them against the rock of the walls, and the great timber locks would prevent them
being hauled open from outside. Simple, but most effective.

A party of riders entered, a small cart behind them, and as she watched there was ribald laughter. Four, no, five men were
there, and then a big ugly brute with one eye sprang lightly into the bed of the cart and looked about him with satisfaction
at the contents. He jumped down with every appearance of happiness, bellowing about him, and she heard the rumble and thump
of barrels being rolled and set down from the cart, then moved off towards the buttery and storerooms.

It was a sight to set her heart fluttering. Such joy in the faces of the repellent guards about the place could only mean
that the barrels were full of ale or wine. There was no protection for her in here. The men could drink themselves into lust,
as all men could, she knew, and if they did, there was little if anything she could do to defend herself here in her little
chamber.

As the sounds of revelry rose from the yard, she shivered, feeling a fresh sense of panic. There was no one in all this household
upon whom she could place any trust. The idea that the men were steadily drinking themselves to foolishness was appalling.
All the more so because she was filled with the empty despair of knowing that she was entirely alone. And she dreaded the
reappearance of the man called Basil.

Even Wattere was preferable to him.

Bow

Simon stared at the man. ‘Why do you blame yourself?’

‘He came here. A few days ago. The man Lark. He was here, and he asked the same sort of questions you have, and I was as reluctant
to talk to him. But he was a pleasant fellow. Plainly came from around here, too, which made me trust him that much more.
There aren’t all that many men who speak your own language. He was from Jacobstowe, and I came originally from Exbourne, so
we weren’t too far adrift.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘All about them in the castle. Sir Robert and his son Basil. They rule this country like demons. Everyone has to pay them
for anything. If a man doesn’t, he finds his lands on fire, his stables afire, his cattle dead, his sheep stolen. No one may
stand against them.’

‘There is the law!’ Simon growled.

‘Not for us there isn’t. The law is for those who can afford to pay lawyers. What, do you think I could plead against them?
They have the ears of the justices, of Despenser – of power.’

‘I have heard of these men before,’ Simon said, remembering his conversation with Sir Peregrine. ‘Was it not this man whose
son raped a woman? Sir Robert and his son Basil?’

‘That is the pair. Yes. But they do not travel lightly or alone. The two men have a large host.’

‘What did you do to cost the reeve his life?’

‘I defended my own. When the man had left, two riders came a little later. Basil, and his father’s henchman, Osbert. They
threatened me.’

‘With what?’

‘They said that they had heard of a man asking about them. Did I know anything, because they would burn my house with me inside
if they heard I’d talked. So I did tell them. But they laughed when I said it was a reeve. They swore they had nothing to
fear from a shit-arsed tatterdemalion from Jacobstowe, and rode off still laughing.’

‘But you’d told them already?’

‘Yes. God save me! I told them he’d been here. But they did promise that they’d do nothing about him, Bailiff. You have to
believe me! I thought they’d been amused to learn about him because he was so lowly there was nothing for them to fear from
him. And … even now …’

‘Yes?’