Here, all was cheery and as unlike the military chamber as it could be. In Simon’s opinion, it was crucial that all his men believed that they were important — not only important to Simon, but to the work which they did — and the success of his approach was all too plain. The clerks and officers hurried about, but not in the same frenetic, illogical manner which was so evident around Sir John Felton. Here, men moved with a sensible coherence. There was the impression of an effective machine which was producing worthwhile results.
‘Baldwin, enter, please!’ Simon called. ‘Look at this! It makes my heart heavy to see that we’re collecting so much useful evidence of spying.’
He held out two thick parchments. They were cheap scrolls, badly cured and containing such poor writing that they were all but illegible. Baldwin had to hold them up to the candle to read the scrawl.
‘It is a message from a woman to her son in France?’ he guessed.
‘Unless it is an enormously clever cipher which we cannot break — yes. It’s Madame de Villefort, who was until quite recently a decent widow who lived over at Fareham. But now that the new orders have been issued, she has been taken into custody and can no longer commit this heinous crime of communicating with her son,’ Simon said, and tossed the scrolls back onto the growing pile on his table. ‘Baldwin, this job is cruel, it is pointless, and it is a waste of time. I could be at home, seeing to the harvest, instead of this. I would be as much use to the king as sitting here.’
‘More. You would be helping to produce food.’
‘I didn’t say I would actually help gather the harvest,’ Simon chuckled, but then his face grew serious. ‘Let’s walk, old friend. I need your advice.’
They went out and turned east, from where they could gaze out over the massed ranks of cogs waiting in the harbour. There was that curious atmosphere, which Baldwin had never quite grown to like, but which to him was the very essence of a port anywhere in the world: a mixture of the sound of thrumming hempen ropes in the wind, the squeak and rattle of rusty metal, and creaking of sodden timbers, while all about there was the smell of the sea, that sharp tang that caught in the nostrils, and the odours of tar and resin.
Behind them in the town, the common noise was the roar and hiss of the bellows, the rattle and clang of hammers on steel; here, the noises were all muted as though in respect to the waves themselves.
‘Is Paul bearing his position with grace?’ Simon asked.
‘No,’ Baldwin said. ‘He is deeply unhappy to be told that he will return with the men, but so be it. He does not have to enjoy his tasks, merely obey them. What of you?’
‘I am well enough. This job is ludicrous though. I cannot check every barrel, and now, with the ships preparing for the assault, there is no shipping from here anyway. There are no barrels or bales being loaded up: all that kind of work has moved from here, so my tasks are utterly irrelevant.’
‘That scroll could have contained a cipher,’ Baldwin pointed out mildly.
‘There is as much chance of that as me having a tattoo of the shipping on my arse,’ Simon said. ‘And I am not doing that just to help some French invasion.’
‘You would find it a painful experience,’ Baldwin laughed.
‘I have received news from William Walle though,’ Simon said, reaching into the purse at his belt.
Baldwin took the note and opened it. Then: ‘Oh no! Another message?’
‘The bishop has been in London for some weeks now. He left Canterbury a while after me. A week ago, so this says. Now he has received another message threatening his death.’
‘He has many men to guard him there,’ Baldwin said.
‘Yes, but I feel that this is a dangerous time for him. Don’t you?’
Baldwin took a breath and nodded. ‘I think it is a dangerous time for all of us, Simon. I wish I could go to him and try to find this fellow. He is causing the bishop a considerable amount of concern, isn’t he?’
‘Bishop Walter has asked me to join him — to go to London with him.’
‘What will you say?’
Simon pursed his lips and stared at all the ships. Hundreds of great cogs, all swaying to the movement of the waves. It reminded him of the journeys he had made by ship, and at the memory, his belly rose. Swallowing, he turned away. ‘I cannot go over there with the men. What do I know of fighting, other than hitting a man on the head with a fist? Swordplay and wielding lances or bills are not for me.’
‘I agree. Oh, you are a good swordsman, Simon, do not misunderstand me — but this will be a dangerous expedition, and I would not advise you to join the venture. Nay, rather you should take Margaret and Perkin back home, and wait there to see what happens.’
‘It is one thing to say that I should do so, but I would feel guilty, Baldwin,’ Simon said quietly.
‘Guilty? In God’s name, why?’ Baldwin asked.
‘Here are all these men, preparing to cross the sea and do their part to try to rescue the duke from his mother and Mortimer, and all I can do is skulk about here, or scurry off homewards like some whipped cur. What sort of man would that make me?’
‘A sensible father and husband, Simon. There is no glory in battle. Believe me, I used to think that there was, but I have seen enough blood and carnage to know better.’
‘But I could go to London. Meg has never seen London. She thought this place was impressive.’
Baldwin stopped and deliberately took in the scruffy little town, noting the cottages with the daub falling from the wattles, the thin, leaking thatched roofs, the air of dilapidation and neglect. ‘Bless her.’
‘Yes, well, I think so too. But if I take them to London, I could see them safely installed in the city, and serve my old friend the bishop — because, Baldwin, he has been a good friend to me for many years.’
‘I know, Simon. I have to say, it would be my own inclination to hurry back to Exeter, rather than towards London. If there is to be an invasion, it is likely to aim for London.’
‘But all reports say the French will land in Cornwall and make their way from there, which would mean Margaret and me being in the path of the French host.’
Baldwin nodded. He was thinking of his own dear wife. ‘But even if that were the case, you could ride away from them in Devon. You know the woods where you would be safe, you know how to survive on Dartmoor. You could take Margaret and Perkin there.’
‘Perhaps. But there is little enough to eat on Dartmoor, Baldwin. I don’t know. I feel torn. I would like to return home, but I really feel that the bishop needs my help. Our help.’
Baldwin gave a faint grin. ‘If I had any choice, I would already be back at Furnshill. It is the place where my heart longs to be. But I have a duty to be here and do all I may to protect the men I have ordered gathered up here.’
‘That is the thing,’ Simon said quietly. ‘I feel a sense of duty too, and it involves the bishop.’
Tuesday before the Feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary*
English Channel
‘I’m going to be sick!’ Paul de Cockington wailed.
‘Then put your head over the thwarts!’ Baldwin bellowed, resisting the urge to kick his backside as Paul leaned forward and vomited noisily over the side.
Baldwin had not expected to be here. He was not scared of battle — he had served in many, and was too experienced to feel that bone-shattering terror that the young must know at their first actions — but he had only one desire, when his efforts to raise a host for the king’s forces were done, and that was to return home, to make sure that his home was protected, that his wife was safe. It was heart-rending to be leaving the coast of England behind and heading for France and war. He knew that Jeanne would understand, because she was a mature woman and had been married to another knight before him, but that did not remove the strain from him. It hurt him like an infidelity, as though he was guilty of adultery again.