‘The poor child,’ Simon said.
‘Aye,’ Sir Richard agreed, shaking his head slowly. ‘That is not a good tale.’
‘Two days later her father too was dead,’ Sir Peregrine said. ‘It was said that he lost his mind and his heart when he saw his daughter die and there was nothing he could do to help her. He saw her with the dagger in her hand and guessed what she would do, but because of the men holding his arms to keep him from his tormentor, he could not reach her until too late.’
‘He died from a broken heart, then?’ Simon said.
‘No. He was murdered in his turn. One assumes that the father or the son responsible for his daughter’s death felt sure that he would seek to bring condign judgement upon their heads. The only good aspect is that so many saw her state of mind that her priest had no hesitation in declaring that her suicide was committed while she was unbalanced. She was given all the benefits of a Christian burial.’ Sir Peregrine nodded with a sort of cold deliberation at the memory. ‘That is the state of the law in this land, Bailiff. That is the realm we live in now.’
‘Who was the man who did this?’ Sir Richard growled. ‘I would meet with him.’
‘The son was Master Basil, the father Sir Robert, both of Nymet Traci, near Bow,’ Sir Peregrine said. ‘And I think that they are killing others now, as well.’
‘You were talking of the sheriff, though,’ Simon pointed out.
‘Oh yes. You see, the sheriff is a close friend to Sir Robert and his son. He was justice in the court that found them innocent. He knew, oh, he knew what they were like. But they are all a part of the same intolerable clan — they are all associates of Despenser.’
Exeter
Pounding on the door with her fist, Edith sobbed and screamed for it to be opened, while her maid at her side tried to calm her, without success.
‘Mother! Father! Please, open the door!’ She was panting, and there was a pain thundering in her head at the memory of the scene she had witnessed, but there was little she could do — her entire being was concentrated on having the door opened to her so that she could demand the aid of her father-in-law in rescuing her husband.
It was an age before she finally heard the bolts shoot on the other side of the door, and at last she could stumble inside.
‘Dear God, child, what has happened?’
It was her mother-in-law, and even as Edith sank down, incapable of supporting herself, so great was her relief at seeing a friendly face, she was aware of a feeling of enormous gratitude that it was Jan, rather than her more stern husband, Charles, who stood there as the servant opened the door to her.
Edith gabbled in her panic. ‘Mother, Mother, they’ve arrested poor Peter. He was taken just now. A man hit him, hit him hard with a staff, and … and …’
‘Be still, my dear,’ Mistress Jan said. She was a short, dark-haired woman with a matronly figure. She knelt at Edith’s side, holding her close. ‘Child, you are freezing. You need a fire.’
‘I am fine, it’s Peter we …’ Edith protested, anxious that Jan didn’t believe her. Then, looking up, she saw the lines of fear in the older woman’s face, the glittering in the dark eyes, and the compassion.
‘I know. But if he’s been taken to the castle, there is little we may do until we have a pleader to go and learn what he has been accused of, and why. You need to calm yourself, Edith, and I insist that you come to the fire and rest a while.’ She held up a hand to stop dispute. ‘Meantime I shall send a boy to my husband to acquaint him with the facts. There is nothing more we can do until he arrives.’
Edith wanted to protest. She wanted to be doing something, anything, to help Peter, but there was a comfort in Peter’s mother’s voice. This woman was as worried as she was — perhaps more so. Edith couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to hear that her own son had been taken, nor how difficult it would be to try to remain calm enough to soothe another woman while feeling that her own world was shattered.
‘There is nothing more we can do,’ the woman repeated. She helped Edith up and through to the hall. ‘Sit here, and try to relax. After all, you’ve a duty to protect the child.’
‘You knew?’ Edith asked with frank astonishment.
‘You thought you’d kept it hidden?’ Mistress Jan chuckled tiredly.
She hurried from the room, and Edith was left before the fire, her maid beside her. Edith stared at the flames, and outwardly gave every sign of composure, but when she tried to think of her husband, her breath caught in her throat. She found herself sobbing like an old woman, with dry, hacking, choking sounds, and she discovered that all her thoughts were grim and dark as she clutched her maid’s arm for support.
Road to Oakhampton
They had left Sir Peregrine when the sun was already past its zenith by a good half-hour. He had plenty of business to conduct himself, and was keen to get at least as far as Crediton before nightfall. That should not be any trouble, but Simon and Sir Richard still had many miles to go.
‘What did you think of his words?’ Sir Richard asked.
‘I think that he is plainly alarmed by the way the law is becoming so disdained,’ Simon said. He jogged along in the saddle for a few moments, thinking again about the way Sir Peregrine had commented upon the murders in the area. ‘I was shocked to hear of the murder of the reeve, I confess. Most wandering bands would avoid harming a man such as he, if they can avoid it.’
‘Aye. But the buggers are all over the place now. Indolent, idle and armed. It makes it all more problematic. If there’s a gang that is prepared to kill twenty-odd people, that is a crime to be pursued, certainly.’
‘Yes,’ Simon agreed. ‘Who would do that, too? A madman, surely.’
‘No. Certainly not. An armed band desperate for money or food, perhaps, but certainly not a fool. They were clever enough to kill the whole lot, so there could be no witnesses, and then they took all that was worthwhile.’
‘From what Sir Peregrine said, the clerical fellow had been wealthy,’ Simon recalled. ‘Rings and all the trappings. What kind of man would have stayed out in the wilds when there must be dozens of taverns along that road?’
‘A man who feared being trapped?’ Sir Richard wondered. ‘I have often kept out of the smaller, less salubrious establishments while travelling, in case I may be set upon.’
Simon looked at him. Sir Richard had never, to his knowledge, avoided the meanest, foulest drinking dens. More commonly he would cheerfully declare that the better deals for wine or ale could be found in them. And then he would berate the keeper of the tavern until the very best drinks and foods were brought out for him. ‘I had noticed,’ he said with careful moderation.
‘How far do you reckon we may travel today?’ Sir Richard asked after a little while.
‘I hope that by dark we should have reached Lydford,’ Simon said.
He was not happy as they rode, though. For all that he had a most redoubtable companion in the figure of the coroner, this was one of the first times while passing through Devon that he had been aware of a sense of urgency and nervousness. Each great tree appeared to cast a curious shadow. At one point he was close to shouting a warning at Sir Richard when he saw a shadow suddenly shift, and it was only the quick realisation that it was in fact the movement of a branch causing it that stopped his voice. This was ridiculous! For him, a man in his middle years, to be so skittish in the face of fears was foolish in the extreme.
‘I have heard of other families that live outside the law,’ Sir Richard murmured.
‘Sorry?’ Simon asked, jolted from his reverie.
‘This man Sir Robert de Traci and his appalling son. They sound dangerous to me. A man and his son who can work without the law. That makes a deadly combination.’
‘The sheriff would appear to have allied himself with them,’ Simon observed.
‘Aye, well, there’s many a sheriff — and judge — who will do that. I have heard of one sheriff who captured a fellow and kept him in gaol, torturing him until he confessed to some crimes, then forced him to name his friends as accomplices, just so he could fine them. Others will all too often take bribes to persuade a jury to go one way so that a guilty man will walk free — or to convict and hang another just so the guilty can pay him for his freedom. Cannot abide that. The thought of an innocent man being punished while the guilty is left to commit another crime is disgusting.’