They were at the hedge that bounded the orchard now, and Squire William spoke carefully. ‘Sir Baldwin, my uncle has told me only two things about you: that he has always found you entirely honourable and fair, a true seeker after justice in your dealings with felons and outlaws. That, he says, makes you a rare man among the king’s law officers. He has also told me that you were once a pilgrim, and that your journeys to the Holy Land must have coloured your every thought for the long years since.’
‘I see,’ Baldwin said quietly. He stared out eastwards. Far away there was the ridge of the Blackdown Hills, standing grey-blue in the distance.
To William, he looked like a man rent by conflicting emotions. The scar that stretched from his eyebrow almost to his chin shone in the sunlight, and the little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were less prominent. Instead, it was the tracks of sadness and bitterness that stood out, the deep gashes at his brow and at either side of his mouth. His was a face that had seen much anguish, and he had suffered greatly.
‘Sir Baldwin, I am sorry. You are distressed. I will leave you.’
‘No, Squire William. No, my friend. I was merely reflecting that when a man has given a confidence to another, it is ever his fear that his trust was misplaced. I am sorry that I have given you cause to be upset as well. I should have trusted your uncle and his discretion.’
Squire William was surprised to find his hand grasped by the knight, and then Baldwin’s dark, intense eyes were turned to him, as he said, ‘You are a good man. You will need courage though, in the days ahead, unless I am much mistaken.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You heard us discuss the men who could wish your uncle’s death? That is all they are: the most obvious suspects. Your uncle has lived a long life, and he has made many enemies, my friend. Key among them is the queen herself. She will return to the kingdom before long, and there will be great battles fought as men protect the country from her and her invaders. Many will die, I fear.’
His eyes turned east again, and Squire William saw the haunting fear that had invaded his eyes. ‘Sir Baldwin, I am sure that the king will be able to defend his realm.’
‘Yes, but at what cost? There have been wars before in our poor little country, but at least they were fought by us in defence of our lands and privileges. This war is not to be so honourable, Squire. This is a battle between a husband and wife, and such battles are ever more vicious and brutal. No one will likely win. I fear for us all.’
‘One or the other must win!’
Baldwin turned to him, and now the anxiety was gone, to be replaced by a shrewd calculation. ‘You think so? What if the men who come over with the queen are all French and owe their allegiance solely to the French king? What if, when they have defeated our king, they refuse to honour a past arrangement, and instead decide to take the realm for the French? A man would not have to be terribly cynical to see a dreadful disaster unfolding.’
‘That would not bode well, not for England, nor for my uncle.’
‘You are correct there. Your uncle is detested by the French.’
‘I feel it is a mutual antagonism,’ Squire William said with a small grin.
‘You may well be right,’ Baldwin grinned back.
‘But in the meantime, Sir Baldwin, would you not help us? We need to learn what we may about the men who seek the bishop’s death.’
‘You want me to, but I cannot. My wife is here, and I must remain with her. I could not leave her alone to face an invasion. In the last year I have travelled widely to help the king, to help your uncle, and to protect the Duke of Chester. I cannot in conscience leave my lady again. Now is the time for a man to remain at home and guard his property.’
‘I understand. But there is no invasion yet. There are no ships at our ports bringing men and matériel. While the nation is still moderately peaceful, would you not help to protect your friend?’
‘You cannot understand. I have a wife and children who need me.’
‘Do you not think that you could spend just a little more time with us? It may be nothing, anyway. There may be no one there. These threats might be from another man altogether, for all we know.’
Baldwin held his gaze for a long while, staring silently at him. ‘I will do anything I can to help the good bishop, but I have a higher loyalty. My wife, my family, are more important to me even than your uncle.’
‘I understand.’ William sighed and made to move away, but Baldwin’s next words made him stop.
‘There is one other thing,’ the knight said pensively. ‘These notes were all delivered to the bishop’s chamber in Exeter. That would seem to show that the person who delivered them knew when the room would be empty. And more than that, no one was seen on his way to or from the place. Surely that must mean that the fellow is someone from inside your entourage — a servant, say, or an embittered priest. An annuellar maybe? There are so many inside the cathedral.’
‘You are pulling my leg!’ William said with a smile. ‘You cannot mean that one of the bishop’s own servants would do a thing like this!’
‘It is as likely to be a man from within the Church as without. After all, how many men outside the Church have access to writing tools and parchment?’
Second Thursday before the Feast of St Paul and St John*
Montreuil
It was a chastened duke who rode back with them the previous day. There had been no glory in the way that the men had beaten off the enemy. Only a stern, fixed duty.
Of course, for Paul it was very different.
The others had joked and laughed about the affair, calling it the ‘Battle of the Beach’, proud of the way that they had managed to protect their heir. Ralph la Zouche was the only one who betrayed his emotions, weeping over the body of his younger brother. The duke had stopped and gone to him, offering him some comfort, but Sir Ralph was beyond that. In the way he wept, Paul wondered whether he was mourning his brother, or expressing his own selfish grief at being alone. Not that Paul would be likely to mention it. Any such comment could lead to a sudden explosion of rage, and Paul had no intention of being on the receiving end of Sir Ralph’s sword.
Duke Edward himself did not brag or laugh aloud. Instead he maintained a silent reserve as he rode.
It was easy to see what he was thinking, Paul reckoned. Clearly the lad, still so young, had been shocked and terrified by the battle. There were many men who would have been alarmed, Paul included, to see such a force. Well, Paul would make no bones about it. He had been scared. The mere thought of those men pounding towards him had been enough to turn his bowels to water, and if the battle had lasted a moment longer, he might have had an unfortunate and embarrassing proof of his fear to explain to the others. Still, he had survived without anyone noticing, he thought.
But for a youngster like this one, it must have been truly petrifying. He was only thirteen years old, and for him to see such an ambush, to know that men were prepared to assault each other in such a manner, that was surely appalling.
Later, in the castle once more, Paul had tried to go to him, to ensure that he was settled in his mind, but he received a curt rejection. The boy had his mother with him that evening, and perhaps it was better that she was there on hand to soothe the fellow. It was a woman’s task, after all.
It was with that reflection that Paul waited in the chamber for the young duke to come for his lessons. It was a pleasant little room, this, with a window that peered out over the river, and Paul settled himself there, resting his back against the wall and watching the peasants at work out in the fields, a tranter or two meandering along the roadway, carts and wagons passing slowly.
The door opened, and the duke entered. The man-at-arms who had accompanied him closed the door quietly, remaining outside.