Downstairs, Baldwin walked through the screens passage and out to the back door. He was already confident that there was no threat out here. Experience told him that if felons had arrived and intended to plunder his home, he would have heard more shouting by now. Once outside, he saw his servant Edgar holding the reins of a shortish man’s horse. He bellowed a greeting and climbed down as he saw Baldwin.
Coroner Roger de Gidleigh was a shorter man than Baldwin, but he had a barrel chest and shoulders that spoke of immense strength. He also had a large and growing belly from the quantity of ale he drank, which often put people off their guard, making them take him for a happy-go-lucky soul, the sort of man who would always welcome a stranger with a cheerful demand that they might share a jug of ale – but then the stranger might notice the shrewd, glittering eyes and realise that the only reason for the Coroner to be so interested and conversational was because he held a suspicion against his flattered babbler.
‘Coroner! Thanks to God!’ Baldwin cried with real delight.
‘Sir Baldwin! Greetings and Godspeed, my friend. How are you? And Lady Jeanne?’
‘Well, I thank you.’
‘So you thought it might be outlaws?’ Coroner Roger de Gidleigh said, nodding towards Baldwin’s sword as the two entered the hall.
‘It is best never to take risks. The rumours of war are as vigorous here as anywhere in the kingdom.’
‘True enough,’ the big man said, walking to a bench at the table on Baldwin’s dais. ‘We live in dangerous times.’
Baldwin rehanged his sword, then rapped sharply on the door to his solar, calling to his wife. ‘I hear that anyone who wishes to talk to the King must pay the Despenser whelp.’
‘You should be careful to whom you speak like that, Sir Baldwin. Some could report your words and accuse you of treachery to the Crown.’
Baldwin smiled. The Coroner was a friend, and he took the warning in the way it was intended. ‘I know that, Roger. But while Hugh Despenser the Younger is Chamberlain of the Household, no man can speak to the King without his approval, nor without paying. It is not enough that Hugh Despenser the Elder has been made an Earl, nor that his son has acquired the Clare inheritance – they will seek ever more money and lands to enrich their lives.’
Coroner Roger took the jug of wine which Baldwin proffered. ‘I dare say that may be true enough, but there is nothing we can do about it. It is human nature to enrich oneself, and that means depriving someone else.’
‘The priests would argue that case, my friend,’ Baldwin chuckled, but with little humour. ‘They tell us that God’s bounty should be shared, that no man should suffer or starve from want of money when his neighbour has enough to support both.’
‘True. But the Church isn’t exempt from making money. And although they talk about men sharing their wealth, I don’t notice the Bishop in Exeter selling his house in order to give the money to the needy.’
‘Coroner!’ Baldwin exclaimed in mock horror. ‘My friend, you have become infected with my own prejudices!’
At that moment Jeanne re-entered the room, and graciously welcomed their guest. Baldwin smiled and took his seat in his chair as his wife spoke gently and courteously, putting the traveller at his ease, soothing his tired muscles and bones with her cheerful chatter. Before long Sir Roger was smiling, and soon after he was laughing, and Baldwin allowed himself to relax.
It was not easy. Baldwin had been a Poor Fellow Soldier of Christ and the Temple of Solomon, a Knight Templar, the Order of warrior monks which had been respected and revered by all those who were most religious. Pilgrims sought out Templars for protection wherever they travelled in the Christian world, and Kings were proud to call them friends.
Yet the greed of the French King and the Pope were sufficient to destroy the noble Order. They had hatched a plot between them, Baldwin believed, in order to share the fabulous wealth of the Order. The fact that their greed must result in the death of thousands of God’s most loyal warriors, that the future reconquest of the Kingdom of Jerusalem must be jeopardised, was nothing to them. They destroyed for their own benefit, and the Knights were tortured and burned to death.
It had given Baldwin an abiding hatred of political power and, most crucial, of any form of bigotry or injustice, and it was a mix of all of these that made him detest the Despenser family. Others hated them for their greed, while some loathed Hugh the Younger because of the rumours of his homosexual relations with the King. That was why, the stories said, the Queen was kept away from the King. Because he had no interest in her.
That was one aspect of the King’s life which did not concern Baldwin. He had lived for a while in the East, and there he had learned tolerance for the sexual activities of others. No, although his wife might despise such unmanly behaviour, he was unbothered. Much more worrying to him was the sheer greed of the Despensers. The family was pillaging the realm every bit as rapaciously as the appalling Piers Gaveston had done only a few years before. Gaveston’s acquisitions had only been halted when he was captured and beheaded, Baldwin recalled. He wondered whether a similar fate might await the Despensers. Somehow he doubted it. They had effectively destroyed all the powerful factions which sought to harm them. There were few left in the country who could challenge them now.
‘So what do you think, Sir Baldwin?’ Coroner Roger asked.
Baldwin realised that his mind had wandered so far from his guest as to be in a different county – or even country. He fitted a serious, intent expression to his face and turned to Jeanne, who was now sitting next to the Coroner. ‘What do you think, my love?’
‘I am sure I would not stop you,’ she said sweetly, recognising his dilemma from his demeanour. ‘I leave it up to you, Husband.’
‘Thank you,’ he said with a fixed smile.
‘It would please me to have your company,’ the Coroner said. ‘And of course, the Abbot was very insistent. He has some regard for your skills, I think.’
‘It is good that someone does,’ Jeanne said.
Baldwin cast her a glance. She was shaking with suppressed laughter. ‘Very well,’ he said.
‘Good, then we can ride for the moors this afternoon,’ Coroner Roger said. ‘For now, may I rest my limbs and head on a bench somewhere? I had to rise early to get here, and a short doze would do me wonderful good.’
‘Of course,’ said Jeanne. ‘And where is this body you need to investigate, Coroner?’
‘Out in the middle of Dartmoor! I am growing heartily sick of the wet, miserable, bog-filled place. It seems as though I must travel there every couple of months to view a corpse.’
At his words, Baldwin felt his stomach lurch, and when he looked to his wife, he saw her face had paled too.
He had paid well for a mere barber, but Simon was pleased. He felt clean and refreshed by the shave, and had learned a little more about Walwynus, or so he thought. No one else had mentioned that Wally was a man for the girls. It certainly sounded odd, though. Just as Ellis had somewhat cruelly said, most men wouldn’t think a man like Wally could have struck a chord with women.
Still, for the first time since he had arrived at the Abbey and realised that he had left the hammer behind, Simon felt clean and content. The removal of the stubble at his chin had given him a new confidence, and he actually felt capable of finding Walwynus’ murderer.
Walking along the lane towards the Abbey, Simon increased his stride. There was much to do today. He would tell Hugh to remain in the Abbey for the forseeable future, exercise their horses and see to their saddles. It was time they were both oiled and serviced. There were plenty of jobs for him to be getting on with, and there was no point in his joining Simon to watch a Commission of Array. Hugh might as well be doing something useful.