“Not by robbery. Life may be harsh, but outlawry is no way out. No, we must make an example of the ones we do catch,” said Simon decisively. “We have to show them they cannot expect to escape punishment – no matter where they go, they’ll be found and made to pay. It’s not just the hurt they cause to travellers, there’s some who live out in the king’s forests and break the forest law. They must be taught that they cannot rob and murder without expecting to be punished. Where would we be if these men were allowed to escape? Being poor is no excuse – if it was, we’d soon have all villeins going over to the trail bastons. No, we must catch them and punish them. If a man has been an outlaw, he must be caught and made an example of. There’s no other way to prevent others from following in his steps.”
“But what if the actual crime was not significant? What if the guilty man could still be useful to his lord?”
“Ha!” Simon gave a short harsh bark of a laugh. “If he could be useful to his lord he would be unlikely to be charged!” To his surprise, although Baldwin nodded, it was not with conviction – his head moved only slowly, as if in automatic response. The bailiff knew that it was only right that the law should be upheld – if he didn’t believe that, he would never have been able to accept the position at Lydford – but Baldwin’s contemplative silence made him consider. Being a fair man, he began to wonder how he himself would react if he found it impossible to live, if his livelihood was taken away and he still had to find a way of getting food for his wife and daughter. If Margaret and Edith were hungry and he could not provide for them, what would he not do? If they did not have the small farm and its food, what would he do to survive? He had the uncomfortable suspicion that he too could be tempted to join a band of outlaws and try to survive that way.
Shaking himself, he tried to force the idea out of his mind, but the awareness of the fear and despair that such poverty could cause would not leave him, and lowered his previously high spirits.
The movement seemed to wake Baldwin from his reverie. Looking up, he appeared to notice his guest again, and with a start he rose, his voice decisive. “My people will not be harshly or unfairly treated. I will be fair to them all. I have travelled far and I have seen how many injustices there are in the world. I want to be seen and known to be a good master.”
Simon finished his drink and stood. “I think you will be,” he said seriously. “And now, I think we must leave and finish our journey. By your leave.” He bowed and led the way to the door.
The two shook hands briefly outside while Hugh went off to the stables to fetch their horses.
“Thank you for the meal, Baldwin. I hope to see you again soon.”
“It was my pleasure. There will always be wine and beer for the bailiff of Lydford at my house while I am here. Goodbye, and safe journey, my friend.” Just then Hugh returned and Baldwin stayed there, watching them mount and make their way down the track to the lane that led back to Cadbury and on to Sandford. When Simon turned at the bottom of the lane, the knight was still there, staring after them with that thoughtful frown still darkening his face.
After their lunch Simon changed his mind and decided to go across country rather than follow the main road. It was more direct, and now, it being the middle of the afternoon, he was keen to get back to his own house and see his wife. Although Hugh was silent as he rode along beside him, he knew that his servant would be as keen as him to get back home again.
He was also happy to be able to miss the monks. He had found the abbot’s fear deeply unsettling. It was normal, he knew, for a traveller to be wary, but the abbot almost seemed to be in mortal fear of his life. It was much more deep than the usual nervousness that a wanderer through a new land would feel, it was an almost tangible terror as if the abbot knew that he would soon he attacked, and the company of a man so obviously scared was not relaxing. He would be bound to demand Simon’s company for the rest of his journey again, too. No, it was easier to avoid the monks.
As they left East Village and made their way down to their home in Sandford, following the tortuously winding lanes that led south and west, carrying them up and down the low and rolling green hills of the shire, Simon put the man out of his mind. For the most part he rode contentedly, with a smile of satisfaction on his face. Here, close to home, he knew all the lanes around, and it was with a thrill of pleasure that he recognised trees and fields, as if he was seeing old friends again for the first time after a long absence. The wind was chill but not strong, cooling them as they rode and preventing them from becoming too hot, and the bailiff took delight in standing occasionally at the top of the small hills and staring at the views.
It was always the same for him with this country. Even from the lower summits the views were good, showing the gently rolling land and the hamlets nestling under the hills. From the higher rounded and soft hills he could see for miles. To the southwest was Dartmoor, to the north Exmoor, and he peered in both directions, contrasting the blue-grey ruggedness of the southern hills ahead with the softer, more gentle contours of the sweeping moors behind. At last, though, they were riding down the track to their home, and here Simon forgot the views in his anticipation of his wife’s pleasure at the news of their new position.
It was with relief that he climbed down from his horse and stretched his shoulders. Rubbing his rump, he walked over to help Hugh with the packs. Then the door burst open and his daughter Edith erupted, running out to greet him, laughing and screaming her delight. Grinning, he swiftly dropped his bags as she came close, snatched her up and kissed her, feeling the pride and joy of fatherhood at her exuberant welcome. He had just set the six-year-old on his shoulders when Margaret, his wife, appeared at the door.
She stood quietly smiling as he walked over to her, a tall and handsome woman with a slim but strong body, and as he kissed her, holding her close, he smiled with the feeling of warmth and comfort she always gave him.
Margaret was almost five years younger than him. He had first met her when he was visiting her father eight years before and he had known immediately that she would be his wife, although he had no idea why the thought had come into his head. At first he had been attracted to her serious smile, her slim, fair face and her long golden hair, so rare in the country around Crediton. Now, as he held her and she wrapped her arms around him, he marvelled again that she had agreed to marry him. When she tried to break the embrace, he held her, squeezing gently to hold her close, and smiling down into her blue eyes.
“Welcome home, Simon,” she said, smiling softly up at him.
“Hello, my love. How are you?”
“Fine now that you’re home again. So how was the journey?”
He laughed. “The journey was fine, but not as good as the meeting! You’re holding the new bailiff of Lydford.” As she gazed up at him with her eyes wide in her surprise, he suddenly grabbed her to him and laughed, bellowing his joy infectiously, squeezing her in his delight as his daughter clung to his hair.
“Simon, Simon, let go,” his wife said at last. Free again, she stood, hands on hips, as she frowned at him in mock exasperation. “Don’t forget your daughter’s on your shoulders, you fool! So you’re the bailiff, are you? What does that mean? Will we have to give up the house? What will we do about the farm?”
Still smiling, he caught his daughter and carefully, as if she was a fragile and precious object, which she was to him, he put her down in front of them, where she stood staring up at them both. “We can if we want, but I think we ought to rent it out. We can afford to while we live in the castle.”
“So we’ll have to arrange for all our things to be moved to Lydford, then,” she said, with a small frown of concentration. She turned and went into the house, Simon following, and led the way through to the hall. Here, in their living room, she walked over to the trestle by the fire and sat, chin on her fist, gazing into the flames. Simon slowly wandered over to the wall to pick up another bench, which he carried round to the other side of the fire, so that he could sit and watch her.