No Law in the Land: (Knights Templar 27) Read Online Free PDF Page A

an experience he was keen to repeat.
    ‘You ready to sail, eh? Ha! I could murder one of these sailors and eat his carcass, I’m so hungry!’
    The thickset, bearded figure who clapped a hand as heavy as a destrier’s hoof on Simon’s shoulder was Sir Richard de Welles,
     an enormous man with appetites to match his girth. His eyes crinkled in a smile.
    He was tall, at least six foot one, and had an almost entirely round face, with a thick bush of beard that overhung his chest
     like a heavy gorget. His eyes were dark brown and shrewd, beneath a broad and tall brow. His face was criss-crossed with wrinkles,
     making him appear perhaps a little older than he really was, but Simon was sure he had to be at least fifty. His flesh had
     the toughened look of well-cured leather that only a man who has spent much of his life in the open air would acquire.
    ‘I am happy to be near shore,’ Simon said shortly.
    ‘Aye, but we’ll both be glad to away from the French, I dare say!’ the knight chuckled.
    There was no denying it. In the last days they had ridden in great haste from Paris. In a short period they had managed to
     enrage theFrench king, irritate his sister, Queen Isabella of England, and ensure that they would be unwelcome forever in France. Meanwhile,
     the failure of their mission would reflect badly on them all when they finally had to explain their actions to the English
     king. And Edward II was not a man known for leniency towards those who he felt had been incompetent.
    ‘I’ll be glad to away, yes,’ Simon said. ‘And more glad to see my wife. I don’t know what’s happened to her.’
    ‘Aye, friend, I was forgetting that you had urgent business. Still, no matter! You should be home again soon, eh?’
    Simon nodded. ‘I hope so. I hope so.’
    Jacobstowe
    Bill Lark, a short man with the dark, serious expression of one used to the harsh realities of life, was kneeling beside his
     fire when the knock came at his door.
    ‘Who’s that?’ his wife demanded. Agnes was a tall, buxom woman of five-and-twenty, with gleaming auburn hair when she allowed
     it to stray, and he adored her. Now she was standing with the wooden spoon in her hand by the pot she had been stirring.
    ‘Oh, ballocks!’ he muttered, lifting his son from his lap and passing him to his wife. ‘Take the Ant, eh?’ He stood and walked
     to the door, pulling it wide.
    ‘Hoppon? What do you want?’
    The older man limped into the house, his weight all on the stick he clutched, his dog sliding in behind him, unsure of the
     welcome he was to receive. ‘Bailiff, I needs your help. Murder.’
    Bill’s smile faded. ‘You sure?’
    ‘It’s over top of Abbeyford, Bailiff. Sixteen dead, I counted, but there could be more. They been killed, some of their goods
     set afire, but most’s been robbed from them.’
    ‘Ach, shit! All right, Hoppon, you reckon you can tell me where it is, or you need to show it me?’
    ‘You’ll find it. Follow the smell,’ Hoppon said. His face was twisted with disgust, but now he looked away for a moment. ‘It’s
     nasty, Bailiff. You understand me?’
    ‘Reckon there’s no misunderstanding that, Hoppon,’ Bill said as he unfastened his belt and reached for his long-bladed knife.
     ‘You haveto go to the manor and tell them there. Then tell the steward to send for the coroner. Make sure he does. He’s a lazy git
     at the best of times. Best to remind him that if he doesn’t, it’ll be on his neck, not ours. Meantime, tell the priest too,
     and ask to have someone sent to me to help guard the bodies. I’ll need someone else with me.’
    He pulled on a thick cloak of waxed linen, drew on a hood, and took a small bag that tied over his shoulder by two strong
     thongs. Grabbing a pot of cider and a hunk of bread, he stuffed them inside, before turning to his wife. He hugged Agnes and
     gave her a long kiss, before throwing a reluctant, longing look at the pottage that lay simmering over the fire. It