Margaret sighed. ‘A letter from her husband, and signed by her. You can hardly blame her. Poor Peter went through hell when he was arrested like that. And there was the suggestion that men were attacking him in order to get at Simon.’
‘I think it was much more to do with the avarice of the new sheriff,’ Baldwin said.
‘Be that as it may,’ Simon said, ‘Charles was convinced that his son was captured and gaoled just in order to hurt me. So naturally, to protect him, he wished to ensure that all contact between Edith and me was stopped. He gave her an ultimatum. She could remain with her husband, or she could remain with her parents. One or the other — not both. That was soon after we took her home again — about the Feast of Saint Martin.* Since then, we’ve heard nothing from her.’
‘She could hardly leave her husband. She has a duty to him,’ Margaret said sorrowfully.
‘Of course,’ Baldwin agreed, but he felt the anger boiling in his belly. Forcing a young girl to choose between her husband and the parents she adored was cruel beyond belief. Wayward, in her youth Edith had been one of those young women who fall in love with the latest man to pass her horizon. There had been knights and squires and two peasants to his certain memory, each of whom had given Simon and Margaret varying degrees of anguish. Edith’s relationship with her parents had eased and matured in the last year, and to remove her from them just as they began to appreciate each other as friends rather than as parents and children, seemed especially cruel.
There was a cry from the room next door, where Simon and Margaret had their solar.
‘Excuse me,’ Margaret said quickly, rising. ‘It is Perkin. Help yourselves to more food.’
Baldwin nodded and was about to reach for the jug of wine, when a hand reached down and grabbed it from him. He looked up into the scowling face and had to hide a smile.
‘’Tis my job tonight,’ Hugh said, and poured a mazerful for him, leaning over the table to top up Simon’s. ‘Can’t have guests filling their own cups. Might take too much.’
Baldwin gave a short chuckle. He had never been a heavy drinker, preferring to sip a little fruit juice or water. Too often when a boy had he woken with a heavy head after too much wine or ale, and he had eschewed such gluttony when he joined the Templars, from fear that it might reduce his effectiveness as a knight. ‘Glad to see that you persevere in protecting your master’s interests, Hugh.’
Hugh said nothing, but stood glowering, as though ready to leap to the defence of Simon’s stock of wine.
‘Hugh is well enough,’ Simon said, taking a mouthful of wine. He kept his head down, rarely meeting Baldwin’s eyes. ‘And I am very grateful he came back. I need someone to keep an eye on Perkin. He’s into everything.’
‘As a boy should be,’ Baldwin said.
‘It was why I didn’t want him in Dartmouth, you remember?’ Simon said. ‘I feared he’d jump on board a ship and disappear for the next twenty years. Just as I thought Edith …’
Simon grimaced as he drew to a halt.
‘Have you heard from the bishop?’ Baldwin asked. ‘He says that the king is demanding that officials should be installed at every port to prevent messages that could aid the queen and Mortimer from being sent.’
‘Oh, aye? And do they have any idea how many barrels and sacks are delivered into the holds of ships each day at each port? Or how many sailors there are who could carry a message from a man in a tavern? Or how many sympathisers there are who would be delighted to memorise a message and take that instead? Despenser must have shit in his brain if he thinks this will work,’ Simon growled.
‘It was the king who ordered it,’ Baldwin reminded him gently.
‘And we know who advises him,’ his friend countered.
‘There is another thing, Simon. I am very worried.’
‘About what?’
Baldwin was silent as he gathered his thoughts. Then, ‘Old friend, I have no secrets from you. We both know that the queen was popular down here. She had so many manors, she had the rights to mining — much of Devon and Cornwall have been her allies. And so, if she decides to land in England again, with a small force, where would be most logical? And if she were to land on our coast, who can say which path her men would take? I do know that I do not wish for my wife or children to be in that path.’
‘You think it will come to that?’
Baldwin made no acknowledgement. ‘When she lands, where should I take Jeanne and our children? The manor will be safe no longer, and I do not have enough men to defend it. Were I to have a strong wall, I still wouldn’t have enough men. Simon, this poor kingdom of ours is falling into decay. There is little we can do to protect it, but I would do all I could. Otherwise, we shall be conquered again, and the French shall rule all England.’
They were quiet for a moment. From the other room came the sounds of Perkin wailing, Margaret’s calm voice soothing him. Both drained their drinks, and Hugh refilled them.
‘Perkin sometimes has these dreams,’ Simon said by way of explanation. ‘Edith used to go to him in the night. Half the time I didn’t even hear him, she was so quick. Almost as though she could tell when he was about to cry.’
‘She’s a good girl,’ Hugh muttered. ‘Always looked after him. Even when you were gone.’
‘I didn’t want the job in Dartmouth,’ Simon said.
‘You’d have to be mazed to want to live in a place like that,’ Hugh grunted.
‘There are some who enjoy the bustle,’ Baldwin pointed out.
‘There’s some as like the warmth of a fire, till they get pushed into it,’ Hugh said.
‘Hugh, have you ever been to Dartmouth?’ Baldwin wondered.
‘No. Too far for me,’ he responded with an expression of distaste.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve even been to Exeter too often, have you?’ Baldwin said, and then his face cleared and he sat staring at the wall over Simon’s shoulder for a little while.
‘What is it, Baldwin?’ Simon asked.
‘Edith knows Hugh, and I suppose her husband does, too. But probably her maidservant doesn’t.’
Simon glanced up at Hugh, studying him with a speculative eye. ‘Nope. Don’t think she would. Have you met Jane, Hugh?’
‘No.’
‘What of her husband though?’ Baldwin said.
‘I know him well enough.’
‘No matter,’ Baldwin said, and smiled at Simon. ‘I think I know how you can keep in touch with Edith, old friend.’
Chapter Ten
Thursday before Candlemas*
Rockbourne, Hampshire
It was a beautiful, clear day. For once the fog had lifted, and as John Biset pulled a tunic over his head and marched down the stairs from his solar, tugging his sleeves straight and scratching under an armpit where a particularly dedicated flea had chewed his soft flesh into a mass of reddened lumps, he felt a curious contentment. He still had the manor, and, with good fortune, he would soon be reimbursed for the efforts he had been forced to take to recover his due inheritance.
Bishop Walter of Exeter had tried to prevent him getting his money. That old sodomite had hankered after the wardship of Philip Maubank’s grandson, but even though he’d tried to withold the inquest results, John Biset had fought him all through the king’s courts until he had proved his rights. And now, soon, the money would be coming back to him.
He left by the rear door, crossing the cobbled yard where his horse stood patiently waiting for him, a large black stallion with a white star on the forehead and a splash of grey on the left shoulder. This great brute was the very last of his father’s old mounts, and although he had once been trained as a fighter, he was so venerable now that he showed not the slightest interest in kicking or biting, although he would sometimes have a little spark of resentment against his rider and try to buck. However, it was easy to see when he was about to do so, for both ears would go back, and John, knowing that sign, would immediately clench his thighs about the beast’s chest and hold himself on.