‘This woman is a respectable—’
‘Respectable enough to visit you at night, eh?’ the sheriff said with a slow grin.
‘Your meaning?’ Baldwin asked quietly.
‘What did you do to her? Come, we’re all men here. Did you scare her when you pulled her clothes from her?’
‘She is the daughter of a good friend of mine,’ Baldwin said. ‘She suffered no indignity at my hands, nor would she ever.’
‘A good friend?’ the sheriff repeated, his head tilted slightly. ‘You don’t mean that wench married to the fellow in my gaol?’
‘You have her husband in the gaol, yes,’ Baldwin said coolly. ‘Perhaps this would be a good moment to enquire what his offence might be?’
‘He may be guilty of treason,’ the sheriff stated airily.
‘With whom; when; what was the nature of his offence—’
‘Do you mean to interrogate me, Sir Baldwin?’ the sheriff asked, slowly leaning forward to peer at Baldwin as a man might study a curious insect.
‘I mean to learn under what pretext an innocent man has been beaten, arrested and held.’
‘Then you should stay to listen in my court. Perhaps you will learn about justice and the exercise of it,’ the sheriff said, leaning back in his chair again. But all pretence was gone now. His eyes gleamed as he spoke. ‘In the meantime, the man will remain in gaol. Perhaps, if I can get through a heavy workload, we may listen to the case against this Peter. But then again, I may find that the court is slow today. Business can so often be lengthy, can it not?’
‘Why? Just tell me why?’ Baldwin said, eyes narrowed. ‘You have nothing against this man, nor his wife, do you? So why do you persecute them?’
‘The king is alarmed, and so is my lord Sir Hugh le Despenser. Men are plotting against them, they believe. So plotters must be found. I have found one.’
‘You hold an innocent man.’
‘I hold a man who has been declared to be guilty of plotting against the king,’ the sheriff said flatly. He leaned back casually. ‘If he’s found guilty, he’ll be executed, just like any other traitor.’
Baldwin rocked on the balls of his feet. The man’s rudeness was justification for assaulting him now, offering him a duel, or simply beating him with Edgar, but that would serve no purpose, other than to ensure that he and Edgar would themselves be outlawed for attacking a king’s sheriff. He could not attack, but he could not allow the man to hold Edith’s husband – nor could he allow himself to be held while Edith was in danger.
‘So, Sir Baldwin,’ the man said with some disdain. ‘If there is no more business, perhaps you should leave me to continue with mine? It was most pleasant to discuss these things with you; however, I am a busy man in the king’s service. I am sure you will understand.’
‘I wish to have the aid of the hue and cry to seek the girl.’
‘Bring me the body, and you can have a posse, Sir Baldwin. But as matters stand, I fear I see no reason to assist you in seeking this child who appears to have fled your … um … hospitality.’
Baldwin had to move this time. Edgar was about to leap. Baldwin knew his man too well, and he also knew that the sheriff could die swiftly at Edgar’s hands. Edgar might look amused and lazily laconic, but that was when he was at his most deadly – and a man trained by the Templars to be a committed killer was always a deadly opponent.
‘Edgar, no,’ Baldwin said softly. He could see that the tension remained in Edgar’s stance, but he knew his man would not disobey. They had been together too long as warriors.
‘I wish you a good day, Sheriff,’ he said. ‘I shall take your advice and seek her myself. However, I recommend you do nothing to upset me or my friends.’
‘You threaten me?’ the sheriff said. He sat straighter in his chair, sneering at the thought of this rural knight trying to menace him.
‘I make no threat. No. But the man you hold is son-in-law to my friend, who is also friend to the king. Insult the lad, and you will pay for it.’
‘You think so? If he’s found guilty of treason, old man, his family and in-laws, as well as his friends, will all be studied in a new light. I should go home and enjoy your peace while you still may.’
Jacobstowe
‘Good lady, we were sad to hear of your loss,’ Simon said.
‘It was a terrible thing. And I can think of nothing but revenge. But how may I win justice for my man?’
‘If we may, we shall aid you,’ Simon said. ‘Can you tell us anything about his death?’
Agnes shook her head, confused. ‘What do you want me to say? He was beaten to death in the road. No one saw anything, no one wanted to know anything. It was just one of those things. A man died, and no one cares.’
‘Many do care, but we need to learn who could be responsible. Did he have any enemies?’
‘Not in the vill here … But the men who killed the travellers, he hated them. He was trying to find out who they were, so he could capture them.’
‘Did he find out?’ Sir Richard rumbled.
‘No. I don’t think so, anyway,’ she admitted. ‘He was trying to learn all he could, but then he died.’
‘That may well mean he learned all he needed,’ Sir Richard said. ‘Where was he when he died?’
She looked at him with a new hope. ‘Hoppon would know.’
‘Who is this Hoppon?’
‘He is the man who lives nearest, I think. He’s at the edge of the woods, near the boundary of our parish. I know he was trying to help Bill to find the men who killed the folks in the woods.’
She took them down from the church to a little house where a woman sat shelling the last of the summer’s peas at the doorway, and left her son there before striding on purposefully southwards.
The land here fell away a little from Jacobstowe itself, and soon they were walking a path that ran along a broad ridge down towards Oakhampton. The woods themselves were very clear, sitting like a saddle over the ridge and both flanks, but before they reached the trees, Agnes took a turn to the left, and followed a trail between hedges that took them down towards a river.
Here, halfway to the water, there was a little hovel. It was nothing more than a single-bay building, with sticks and twigs gleaned from the woods to fill the gaps, and cob daubed over. Once it might have been a clean, pleasant little home, limewashed and well thatched to keep the cold at bay, but now it was sadly dilapidated. The walls had lost all their colour, and were a mixed grey and pale brown with little whiteness remaining; the thatch was faded to the colour of slate, with moss lying heavily on top, and there were holes all over where squirrels and birds had made their homes in it. A large area near the door had been eaten away, and Simon could see the ribs of the roofing poles beneath.
Outside, it was like any other peasant’s house. There was a small vegetable patch with six plots set out, containing kale and other leaves, all of which looked tough and unappetising so late in the season. A rough stockade of hurdles had been built to the side probably for lambs or kids earlier in the year, and was now falling down, but in one asset at least the place was rich. Under the eaves was a good-sized woodpile, with a number of large boughs. Behind were smaller branches and bundles of faggots. At least the house would remain warm in the winter months, Simon thought.
The man who hobbled along from the rear at the sound of their voices was a stooped fellow of some fifty years or so. His name probably came from his gait. One leg was partly crippled, so he must hop on the other to walk, and he used a long pole as a staff to aid his passage, but there was nothing to suggest that he was disabled in any other way. His face was quite handsome, with a strong jawline, heavy brows, and dark, serious eyes, which stood out in his pale face. His hair was almost white, and there was a thick stubble of beard and moustache to show that he had used the last barber to visit the vill, but the colour looked almost out of place. His features did not appear old enough to justify the leaching away of all colour from his hair.
&nbs
p; ‘Hoppon, these men are here to try to learn all they can about my husband’s death,’ Agnes said as he approached.
Hoppon studied the men seriously for a moment, and then nodded and gave them a bow, while gripping his staff with both hands clasped about it at chest height. ‘My lords, I’m honoured. God give you all success in your searches.’
‘We are interested in all to do with the death of the travellers, as well as this woman’s husband’s murder,’ Sir Richard boomed. ‘Can ye tell us aught about them?’
‘The coroner has been already – he heard all the evidence,’ Hoppon said, glancing at Agnes as he spoke.
‘We know. We’ve seen Sir Peregrine,’ Sir Richard said. ‘But he doesn’t live here, and we want to find out what we can from someone who knows the area.’
‘I’ll tell what I can, but I doubt me it’ll be of much use to you,’ Hoppon said. ‘The travellers were over there. I saw their smoke in the morning, but I didn’t think anything of it. Why should I? There are woodsmen all over the place, what with the winter coming on. People are there all the time to gather their faggots for the fire, and the charcoal burners make enough smoke to hide a city.’
‘When did you realise that there had been an ambush and slaughter?’ Simon asked.
‘Not until later that day. I had to wander up there anyway,’ Hoppon said reluctantly.
‘Why?’ Simon asked.
‘Fetch some wood.’
Simon’s gaze went from Hoppon’s face to the wood store by the house. That was plainly a lie. The man had no need of any wood.
Hoppon’s face coloured slightly. ‘When I got there, it was obvious that there’d been an attack. Bodies lay everywhere.’
‘Was there any sign of money? Jewels? Anything to indicate that they’d had valuables to transport?’ Simon said. ‘Was there any sign that there were churchmen among them?’
‘Oh, I didn’t want to stay and study them all. One or two looked soft enough to be priests, and one was tonsured, I remember. The poor man with his eyes plucked out. Him and one or two others hadn’t done much work in their lives, not with their hands, that was for sure,’ Hoppon said. ‘But the others were all younger, stronger lads. I’d say that most were fighters of one sort or another. There were about ten of them. And there were some folk who looked different again. A woman, some children … They even killed a bitch and her pup.’
Simon offered a short but heartfelt thank-you to God for keeping Baldwin away from this. He was invariably on the side of hounds and other beasts.
‘The man who could have been a priest – did he have any distinguishing features that the coroner noted?’
‘Only one – he had a scar on his right thigh. Looked like a slash from a knife.’
‘I think it was a kick from a donkey,’ Simon said. ‘That shows that he was the priest Pietro from Tavistock, then, with his force of men-at-arms. With so many fighters about him who looked strong, it’d be no surprise if others decided to join them for safety. There is more security when in a band than alone. That will be why so many were there.’
‘True enough.’
‘The killers would have to have made noise when they rode off,’ Simon said. ‘Did you hear nothing?’
Hoppon took a breath, glanced at Agnes, and hesitated for a long moment before finally giving a short nod of his head. ‘I didn’t want to admit it at first, because I didn’t want to put myself in danger’s way, but yes. There were some carts and horses rode past here that night. I heard them because Tab here barked at them. He’s a good guard.’
‘Where would they have gone?’ Sir Richard asked, taking a couple of steps past Hoppon’s house to stare down the path.
‘That leads to a ford. I think they went along the back of my house on another path, and from there to the ford. Once there was a manor behind us, down there,’ he added, pointing. ‘The place burned down, though, and now there’s little left behind. But the path to it remains. And from there the old trail takes a man down to the ford.’
‘Whose manor was it?’ Simon asked.
‘Sir Edmund’s. But he died years ago. He was the last of his family. I served him until his death.’
‘How did he die?’ Sir Richard asked.
‘An accident. He fell from his horse into the river and drowned.’
Sir Richard and Simon nodded. It was one of the most common accidental deaths for anyone who lived near a river.
‘So,’ Simon said, ‘how much of all this did you tell Bill Lark?’
‘All. He knew it seemingly before he asked me,’ Hoppon said with a slow grin. ‘Agnes knows what her old man was like. He’d only ever ask something when he’d already worked out the answer, usually. That day, he came down here, and he sat there, on that log, and told me he’d worked out that the men must have come up here. He told me he’d asked all over the place, from Oakhampton to up past Jacobstowe, and east and west too, and there was no sign of carts or horses on any of the paths he’d looked at. Well, I realised when he asked me that he knew where they’d gone already. If all the other paths were blocked to them, he said, they must have come near here.’
‘You weren’t going to tell him, then?’ Sir Richard growled.
‘Sir, no, sir. It’s dangerous to get in the way of men like them.’
‘Like who?’
‘Like men who can form a large enough group to attack a party of nineteen and slaughter the lot,’ Hoppon said reasonably. ‘Perhaps I’d feel safer if I lived in a smart city like Exeter, but I live here, between the parish and the woods. There’s no one within calling, no one who’d notice if I was missing. What would you have me do? Report a rich lord and hope he’d be arrested before he could hurt me? Perhaps he wouldn’t wait until the court opened before he killed me.’
‘The courts are here to protect you as well, man,’ Sir Richard said.
Hoppon looked up at him. ‘You think so? When the stories all say that the sheriff will take money to release the guilty, just because they can afford it? When it’s said that he will arrest the innocent on purpose, just so he can take a bribe to let them go? Oh, the courts may seem fair and reasonable to you, Sir Richard, but to an ordinary man like me, it looks much safer to keep away.’
‘We wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, fellow,’ Sir Richard said with an angry shake of his head.
‘So you’ll protect me?’ And now there was a sarcastic tone in Hoppon’s voice. ‘You would see to it that I didn’t end up like her husband, eh? You’d make sure I wasn’t buried six feet under like Bill Lark, would you?’
Chapter Nineteen
Exeter
Baldwin hurried from the castle and the suave sheriff with his unsubtle threats. He was shivering with rage, and he had to force himself to stop and calm his breathing before he reached the high street.
There was no time to be angry with that fool, he said to himself. Not now. Much more important was doing everything he could to find Edith. ‘Edgar, if we are to cover all the roads between here and Furshill, it will take us days,’ he said bitterly. ‘But we must try to do so, and check all those places where she might have been thrown. God damn that smug fool!’
‘We have no proof that she did in truth come this way,’ Edgar said gently. ‘Sir, she may have travelled to her father’s and there been attacked or come to some mishap.’
‘Yes,’ Baldwin said. ‘But—’
‘Sir Baldwin, her mare was a strong little beast.’
Baldwin shot his servant a look. ‘Eh?’
‘I have seen many accidents. Sometimes the mount will be scared by something, and will run away until the fear dissipates. If the rider is unfortunate and falls, she may not be easy to find, but that kind of event is rare. Then there are some accidents in which the rider is hurt, but quietly; when she has been so involved in her thoughts she has been silently knocked from the mount. In most such cases the horse will remain at the rider’s side.’
‘What are you trying to say?’ Baldwin snapped, but he already knew.
‘Or?’
‘Or she had no accident, but a mishap. Someone decided to capture her. If that is the case, our task of finding her will be that much more difficult.’
Baldwin nodded, staring out over the city towards the west. ‘She is there somewhere, Edgar. What if she has been captured by some felon …?’
‘If she has, then we shall have to do all in our power to rescue her,’ Edgar said imperturbably. ‘However, we can do little until we learn what could have happened.’
‘Yes,’ Baldwin said. Now that the cold rage had left him, he found his mind was functioning more efficiently again. He continued staring westwards, but now with narrowed eyes, as though he was searching through the fog of distance to see the slim form of the girl as she lay at the side of the road, her mare standing protectively over her, or perhaps struggling with a gang of felons as they dragged her away, hands bound, their knives at her throat.
Neither was to be suffered without making an effort to rescue her.
‘Come with me,’ he said, and turned back towards the castle.
Near Abbeyford Woods
When Hoppon had finished speaking, Simon nodded. ‘Very well. You have explained your situation clearly. It’s not our place to comment on your behaviour. If the good coroner Sir Peregrine was content, so are we.’
Sir Richard was about to comment, but Simon walked over to him, and he subsided, shaking his head reluctantly.
Simon continued. ‘No, Hoppon, that is nothing to us. However, we do need to try to learn who killed all those people. Two of them were religious men, and they were carrying money for the king. Whoever killed them stole from the king, so whether you feel uncomfortable about talking or not, the fact is, the king himself wishes to see these men in gaol – and that is where they will be going, very soon. So any help you can give us will be to your advantage, because it will entail their being taken away that bit sooner.’
No Law in the Land: (Knights Templar 27) Page 22