“So what will you do now that you are here, Baldwin? Are you going to start looking for a wife immediately?”
The knight nodded gravely, not taking his eyes from the flames. “Yes, if I can I’d like to marry soon. I’m like you, Simon. I want to be able to leave my house and wealth to a son. I have done enough travelling; all it has given me is a desire for rest. I want to finish my days in peace, looking after the people who live on my lands and never having to travel far away again.”
“You sound as though your travelling was a bad experience.”
“Do I?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “It wasn’t really. I certainly don’t regret it. No, I had to do something when my brother inherited our father’s lands, and it seemed best to leave the area. It was enjoyable, too, at first. Very enjoyable.” He smiled reminiscently, but then his cheerfulness faded and his face changed, becoming morose and reflective. “But these things change. When you are a knight without a lord, you are nothing, just a sword arm – and oftentimes you can’t even afford to keep your sword.” He sounded bitter.
“Your lord died?”
Baldwin shot a quick, suspicious glance at him, but then grinned as if mocking himself for his distrust. “Yes. Yes, he died. We have fought our last war together. But enough of this misery!” He stood, straightening slowly as if his bones were of iron and long rusted from disuse. “I will go to my bed now. I’ll see you in the morning, Simon. I hope you sleep well.” He crossed the hall and went through to his solar, his man silently watching him go before walking out to his own quarters at the other end of the hall.
The bailiff’s eyes followed the tall figure of the knight as he went, then stood and gently eased his wife down to lie on her bench; in case of rats it was better to stay above the rushes covering the floor. Bringing another bench from the table, he set it near her and lay on it, settling comfortably and staring at the fire, waiting for sleep to take him. But as he watched the flames, he could not get rid of a nagging question. Why was Baldwin so anxious to avoid any talk about his past life?
Just as he felt the drowsiness start to wash over him, as he felt his eyes grow heavy under the soporific effect of the flames, another thought came to him. Why had he been so disinterested in the murder of the abbot, an event that had started tongues wagging all over the area, when he was so interested in the death of Brewer? Reproaching himself for getting too suspicious, he rolled over and was soon asleep.
In the morning, Simon awoke to find that the sun was already shafting in from the opened tapestries. Margaret and Hugh must already be up, he was alone in the hall. He rose stiffly and wandered out to the well, bringing up a bucket and emptying it over the back of his head, blowing and shivering under the shock of its coldness but grateful for the immediate sense of wakefulness it gave.
For some reason, he was beginning to find that he felt slower and older when he woke on the morning after a good meal. He was aware that his father had complained of the same problem, but he had not expected the sensation to appear so soon, before he was even thirty years of age. Now, as he stared through narrowed eyes at the view from the house, he found that he felt worse than usual. His belly was turbulent, the acid boiling and readying to attack his throat; his head was heavy, as if full of lead, and he could feel a dull hammering behind his eyes, as if there was a small army of miners excavating his skull. And as for his mouth… he smacked his lips a couple of times experimentally and winced. No, better not to think about his mouth.
Slowly, he wandered along the side of the house, to an oak log that sat waiting to be split and cut ready for the fire, and gently lowered himself onto it, so that he could peer down at the lane while he attempted to reorder his thoughts and, in the meantime, take control of his body and stop the mild shaking in his hands.
He was still sitting there and glaring at the view, when Baldwin came out and, smiling, wandered over to sit next to him.
“How are you this morning? It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”
Simon squinted at him. “Yes,” he ventured. “It is bright, isn’t it?”
The knight laughed heartily. “I used to feel like you look when I had drunk too much. I learned to drink in moderation, and that stopped the pain. You should try it!”
“If it is as well with you, I think I’d prefer to try some wine instead. It might help my head to stay on my shoulders,” said Simon, and winced when this brought on another bellow of laughter.
They walked back inside. The servants had already put food on the table, and Margaret was sitting and pecking at a full plate. She looked as if she had little appetite and was eating merely to show gratitude for the food provided, rather than from any desire or need to eat. Simon grinned through his hangover. He recognised the look on her face; it meant she would be irritable today – her head was hurting her more than his own hurt him. He winced – how would they feel when Edith gave them her cheerful welcome? She would be bound to be noisy after an evening with her nurse. Margaret sat tentatively absorbed, her face so pale that it seemed almost transparent, and he felt that if there was a candle behind her he would be able to see its flame through her head. Sitting beside her, he found that even with his feeling of fragility, the world began to look better after taking a good measure of wine with some cold cuts of lamb and bread.
They were just finishing their meal when they heard a horse draw close. Baldwin listened expectantly to the murmuring of voices outside. Soon the visitor entered, and Simon almost dropped his bread in his surprise. It was the monk, Matthew.
Even though he was still feeling hungover and in need of a good gallop in the fresh air to clear the fog from his mind, Simon could clearly see the changing emotions chasing each other across the man’s face as he came into the room. The monk walked swiftly at first, his eyes firmly on the knight. Simon was almost certain that he could discern accusation in his expression, and anger, but both seemed to be fighting against doubt and confusion. It was almost as if he knew that the knight had done something, but was not quite certain. For some reason he could not fathom, the sight of the monk’s expression struck a cold chill, a warning, that seemed to stab at his heart and put him on his guard immediately.
But even as he saw the look, the monk noticed the guests and seemed to slow, almost as if he was regretting entering now he had seen the bailiff. But then, with an almost palpable resolution, he seemed to quicken his steps, and marched across the floor to them, with a look of wary pleasure on his face.
“Sir Baldwin,” he said, as if to an equal – which caused Simon to frown in momentary surprise, “A good morning to you. My apologies if I have interrupted your breakfast.”
Baldwin rose, with a cheerful smile of welcome on his face, and motioned the monk to a seat. “Please join us, brother. Some food?”
“Thank you, but no,” said the monk, and sat opposite Simon. “Bailiff, I am afraid I have some bad news for you.”
Simon raised an eyebrow. “Why, what is it?”
“Last night one of your men passed by the Clanton Barton and asked where you were. It seems that your men have had no success in their search for the man that took my abbot hostage, but they have found that there has been another attack, over near Oakhampton, yesterday. He said that some travellers have been killed, although some escaped. Your constable has gone on to the town, and he asks that you join him there. I fear more people have died on the roads, bailiff.”