He patted the dog on the head and started back towards the house as the party came closer, the mastiff lumbering happily just behind his heel. Then, as if he was determined to enjoy himself and ensure the pleasure of his guests, a vast, welcoming smile spread over his dark features, and he spread his arms wide and bellowed his greeting.
“Welcome!”
A slow smile lightened Simon’s features. It was impossible not to be cheerful with a host who was so obviously delighted to see them, and when the bailiff finally dropped from his horse he found his hand being grasped firmly before he could even go to his wife and help her down.
“Welcome, Simon. Welcome, Mrs. Puttock,” said Baldwin, smiling broadly and showing his small, square teeth. But the lines of worry on Simon’s face did not escape his notice, and the bailiff saw the small beginnings of the frown, swiftly followed by a sharp nod, as if to acknowledge to himself that he had noted the change in the bailiff correctly and filed the knowledge for reference, before the knight turned to his wife.
“My lady, your servant.” He bowed low, suiting action to words. Margaret smiled as Simon helped her down and nodded at the knight with a coquettish, mocking expression as she had her first sight of her husband’s new friend.
It was plain that this was not a man who had spent his life locally. The erect, proud mien and the clear, glinting dark eyes showed that, and the dark skin pointed to a life spent in regions farther south, where she had been told the sun was more hot. With his square, serious face and curiously powerful gaze, she found him oddly intriguing, and realised why her husband seemed so fascinated with him. There was a niggling thought at the back of her mind, though: he seemed to remind her of someone. It was only after he had appeared to subject her to a careful scrutiny that she realised who.
When she was young there had been a regular annual procession of pilgrims to the church at Crediton to visit the shrine of Saint Boniface, the famous missionary who had brought Christianity to the German peoples. Among them she had once seen a man similar to Baldwin.
He had been a monk, a tall, strong-looking and holy man in a white robe. That he spoke with a strong accent she had first noticed when she had heard him singing. Walking at the head of the column, he had immediately drawn her eyes to him. Interested, and wanting to see what his face looked like, she had followed the line of dirty and threadbare pilgrims for a distance, listening to their songs and chants, until, at last, fascinated by this stranger, she had run ahead to the front of the group so that she could see him more clearly.
At the time, she had felt that this was how Jesus must have looked. The monk was not like the slender, bookish men she sometimes saw at the church and chapel; he looked like a warrior. He had a massive sword hanging from his waist by his heavy leather belt, and his arms were plainly visible as they held the wooden cross high, the material from the short-sleeved tunic falling back and showing the huge biceps. Those arms were not made so strong by hewing wood or tilling soil; they were created to serve God in war, fighting heretics and non-believers. This all came to her as she stared at him walking towards her, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon, walking trance-like, seeming to be almost other-worldly, as if he was dropped from Heaven to raise the masses but would be taken back soon.
Then, as a vague fear of him started to make itself felt, as she began to think about going and leaving the procession to carry on its way, he glanced at her and winked. It was so unexpected that she felt her mouth fall open, and she gaped at him, so obviously astounded that he almost bellowed with laughter, appearing to stop himself with an effort, but then, as he continued on his way, he winked again and the grin stayed on his face, she was sure, until he had quite passed out of sight.
This stern but gentle knight struck her in the same way. His was a similar dark and almost forbidding visage, but today, in his welcome, there was the same preparedness to give himself over to humour and enjoyment that she had noticed about the leader of the pilgrims so many years before. She could see the lines of pain that Simon had described, but they seemed not so pronounced as she had expected from what her husband had said.
She smiled again, graciously accepting the knight’s look of frank approval and Simon was pleased to see that his wife was obviously as taken with Baldwin as he was.
“My lady, your husband does you no credit when he describes you. Let’s leave him here and go in ourselves.” And so saying he took her by the arm and led the way into the house, roaring for his servants to come and take care of their horses.
They all went in, Hugh following with an expression of frowning distrust, to the main hall, where they found the table almost hidden by plates of food. The mastiff wandered over to lie hopefully in front of the fire. It was not quite dark yet, and the room was lit by the sun streaming in through the westernmost windows and the fire, which was surrounded by a wide range of pots. A small lamb was roasting in front on a spit, tended by his sullen and watchful servant Edgar. Before they sat, Baldwin poured them all mugs of mulled ale and insisted on drinking a toast to their new life in Lydford. Even Hugh slowly began to unbend a little in the face of the enthusiastic hospitality of their host.
“It would seem that you are settling in well in your new home, Baldwin,” said Simon at last when they were all seated.
Baldwin waved at the food, then patted his dog on the head as she sat beside him, smiling at her briefly. “Yes, it’s marvellous to be back, and it does already feel like home.”
“Even after travelling so much?”
“Oh, I’ve seen many other countries and I’ve stayed in a number, but there’s nowhere like the place you were born in, and for me the best country to live in is this.”
“So where have you been, sir?” asked Margaret, “and what have you done?”
“I have been all over the known world, lady. I have been through France, Spain, and even to Rome. But you must remember, I have been travelling for many years. I left my home here over twenty-five years ago, and I have been travelling ever since.”
“You must have seen many strange sights.”
“Oh yes, but nothing as strange as some of the sights you see here in Devonshire. There is little quite as unique as the moors – all through my travels I have been surprised by that. Dartmoor really is astonishing. It has so many different parts – the moors themselves, the forests, the farm land, the quicksands. I went for a ride yesterday and went down through to Moretonhampstead. I had forgotten how beautiful the land is down there.”
Simon leaned forward slightly. “But surely in some of the countries you have visited there were more magnificent sights?” he asked innocently, trying to get the knight to speak more about his journeying.
“Oh, I suppose to many there were, but, for me, to be able to stand on the hills above Drewsteignton and look out over the moors with the wind in my hair is worth any number of foreign sights. Margaret, would you like a little more lamb? Or perhaps some rabbit?”
The bailiff sighed inwardly. It was clear that the knight was still keen to avoid any further discussion of his travels, and that he would be happier if he could change the subject.
“So have you heard about the murder, Baldwin?” Margaret said when she had taken more food. Simon looked up quickly.
“Yes, of course. I was there at Blackway with Simon to…”
“But what of the killing of the abbot.”
“Abbot?” asked the knight, looking at Simon questioningly. “Oh, that was why you weren’t around, of course, you sent me a message.”