It was just. A man who was determined to be evil, who wanted to make his living by stealing and taking the property of others deserved his end, he told himself — and then gave a wry grin. Strange how quickly a man’s attitude would change to reflect his new reality.
The carts and wagons were for the most part filled by the middle of the morning. Clerks and men-at-arms stood about looking weary already before the last sumpter horse had been fully packed, and Jack took stock.
Over on the left the marshal of the horses stood frowning at a horse which was holding a hoof in the air, injured, while the yeoman of the horses berated two grooms for some infraction in the beast’s treatment. Nearby were the wagons set aside for the King’s favourite treasures. They were filled with the leather chests bound with iron, which, earlier, Jack had seen packed with cotton before having the more easily damaged goods installed, the expensive silver plates and bowls, the salt and mazers of gold. The buttery had been more or less squeezed into four different wagons, the barrels all chocked and held in place with ropes, while the other foodstuffs were kept in a pair of wagons behind. All in all, with the men milling about the place and the noise of the hounds, it was impossible to concentrate on anything.
This was an enormous household. Jack hadn’t appreciated just how large before, because many of the men and most of the horses, the palfreys, sumpters and many dexters, had all been lodged elsewhere in the neighbourhood — there were too many to expect the good Abbot of Beaulieu to support on his own at one location. Of course, not everyone would travel together. The harbingers had already gone. One from the King’s chamber, a clerk from his kitchen, a servant from his hall, and a pair of servants from his kitchen staff. They left very early, so as to make sure that the next stop would have food and drink waiting. Meanwhile, the second team to go was the party who had the clothsack. They had the King’s personal items with them, all his clothing and basic articles, and would leave shortly. After them would come the King, once he had eaten his meal. With him would be the steward, his marshals of the hall and chamber, the sewer and other servants who would serve him, and all his men-at-arms and knights. Finally, all the other servants and main baggage would follow on behind.
Jack shook his head. He would be travelling with the Bishop in the main party with the King, so he had heard. It would be a slow business, though. On the way here, they had managed between thirty and forty miles each day, striving hard to make the journey as swiftly as possible, and now all was being delayed for the King’s pleasure. The Bishop had hoped to be back at Avignon with the Pope by now, but instead here they were, waiting on the King’s letter. He wanted to write to the Pope, he said, so the Bishop must hold up here, and hope to receive the letter before winter arrived. And in the meanwhile, their journeying would be far lengthier than necessary. The King would probably only make fifteen miles a day or so. Jack had heard a servant talking about the speed of the King’s father, Edward I, who had managed twenty, but Jack seriously doubted that anyone could do that with so many wagons. The damned things were so slow and unmanoeuvrable, and every time they came to a hill, the dexters hauling would fail, and the grooms of the marshalsea would have to go and hire some oxen to pull them up. No, it would slow things down immeasurably.
All of which was frustrating. But there was nothing he could do about it, and besides, he was in no hurry personally. Jack idled the early morning away, watching the preparations with some amusement.
Until, that is, he saw the man in a herald’s uniform.
Lydford
‘How could he have let the bastard loose?’ Simon demanded. He clenched a fist and slammed it into his cupped hand. ‘Sweet Jesus! Didn’t he know the bastard would be a threat to us?’
The messenger from the Bishop stood, somewhat disconcerted by the reaction to his news, and immediately Wolf grumbled deep in his throat. The man looked at him, alarmed. ‘I was only asked to come and tell-’
Baldwin shook his head at the man, and held out both hands soothingly. ‘Simon, be calm! Wolf! Silent!’
‘My love,’ Margaret said, pale but calm, ‘he is an old friend. I feel sure he would never knowingly put us in danger. He knows us all so well, and he is so kindly towards us. Can you imagine him willingly hurting us or our children? Of course not!’
‘Whether he intended it or not is irrelevant, Meg,’ Simon said harshly. ‘That goat-swyving churl is a danger to us while he lives, if he remains with his master and in Despenser’s service.’
She was silent as he stalked away and stared from the window.
‘I begin to wonder whether the Bishop is truly our friend,’ he said, and there was a cold tone to his voice she hadn’t heard before.
She turned to the messenger. ‘Was there anything else the good bishop wished us to know?’
‘Like I say, he has released the man Wattere, but only because Sir Hugh le Despenser has asked for his man to be sent back to him so that his transgressions may be investigated.’
‘I suppose Bishop Walter couldn’t do that himself in Exeter?’
‘Simon!’ Margaret snapped. ‘Let the man finish!’
‘He has been taken by the Bishop with his entourage. The Bishop has been summoned to advise the King in Westminster. He told me to tell you that it is a matter of grave importance about the affairs in France. And he said to tell you that the man will not be likely to come here to trouble you. He will remain with the Bishop all the way to London.’
‘How reassuring!’
She hated seeing her husband like this. It was unnecessary; pointless. She had been nervous, of course, when the horrible man had turned up and threatened her. It wasn’t something she was used to, having been a bailiff’s wife for so long. People usually tended to show her and her family respect. But perhaps this was just a sign of the troubles to come.
Simon and she had known that when the Abbot of Tavistock died, it was possible that their lives could become more difficult, for Simon had already been sent to Dartmouth to work, ironically, as a kind gesture by Abbot Champeaux, who thought he was rewarding Simon for all his work in the past years. Sadly, though, it was the worst thing he could have done. It split their family, and made it extremely difficult for Simon to maintain contact with their children. Let alone the debilitating effect it had on his relationship with Meg herself. When she heard that poor Abbot Robert had died, she was slightly relieved to hear it. She knew that with Abbot Robert gone, there would be a change in power at the abbey which must inevitably lead to Simon being asked to give up his post on the coast.
As had happened. However, she had not been prepared for the fact that both of the protagonists seeking the abbacy might try to put someone in Simon’s place on the moors as well. If he were not to have his old post as bailiff, when he had already lost his position at Dartmouth, then what would they do for money? It was hard to tell. Perhaps he would be forced to leave this area completely?
At least Simon was not a serf of the abbey. He was one of Sir Hugh de Courtenay’s men, so he could leave here whenever he wanted, and they could return to their farm, if need be. The little farm near Sandford. It would be a shame to leave this house. She had been very happy here — but the farm was a good property, too. It had been a wrench when she had first been told that Simon had won the post at Lydford. With a sad little smile, she could now remind herself that she had not wanted to come here. It was odd how attitudes could change.