‘Me? Go back all alone? I could be set upon, and then where would I be?’
Baldwin sighed and faced the road ahead once more.
It had not been his idea to bring the foul bint. She had insisted on joining them as soon as she heard that Jeanne would be leaving with her husband. There was nothing that could give her greater pleasure, Baldwin felt, than ruining someone else’s day.
Well, she would not affect his. It was already ruined.
Wat had not been able to give him much in the way of details. All Baldwin knew was that there had been an attack on Hugh’s house, and he had been knocked down. From the sound of things, Wat thought that the homestead had been destroyed, and Hugh’s family killed, but that seemed unproven so far. They would have to wait until they reached the place before they found out any more.
Iddesleigh. When Hugh had told Simon that he was to live up there, Simon had been glad for his man. It seemed that Iddesleigh was known mainly for its excellent inn, and that the ales and accommodation there were superior to any others on this road. Baldwin felt sure that he had ridden through the place once: he had a vague memory that it lay between Hatherleigh and Winkleigh, that there was a long road that led from Monk Oakhampton, fairly flat and straight, through trees. For the rest, he was sure that the people there had been quite respectful and friendly. He hadn’t been there for a murder, he recalled; it was some other little affair farther up at Dolton, but he had stopped at Iddesleigh to rest on his way home. Better, always, to leave a vill where a man had been arrested and tried, and partake of hospitality elsewhere. Men who had seen their comrades, neighbours or brothers attached for the next court were sometimes liable to be poor companions for a meal. Better to seek the next vill, which would almost inevitably have a healthy disrespect for the folk who lived in the barbaric, heathen place all of two miles away.
Yes, he remembered Iddesleigh.
They had set off as soon as they could after Wat had left, but when a man had a wife and child to consider, travelling took longer. Jeanne had carried Richalda in a sling for much of the journey, but it had meant that they must go more slowly than Baldwin would have liked. He daren’t hurry with his daughter resting on the horse in front of Jeanne. For now she was snoozing, her pretty head nodding with the horse’s movement. Even as he glanced at her, he felt a wave of pride filtering away his anger at Emma. Richalda was so beautiful, so precious …
‘So how far is it, Sir Knight? My mistress is tired already. We should be seeking an inn for her to rest if it’s not nearby,’ Emma said.
‘Emma! I am perfectly all right. I can manage,’ Jeanne declared.
‘Certainly you are. It’s not an illness!’
‘Emma!’
Baldwin felt a sliver of ice penetrate his vitals. Still staring ahead, his eyes widened, and he almost turned and faced his wife, but restrained himself at the last possible moment when he considered the look of triumph that would inevitably appear on Emma’s face, were she to realise that he had not any idea that his wife was pregnant again. He swallowed, and spoke. ‘It is not far. In fact,’ he said, peering up ahead, ‘I think that this must be Monk Oakhampton.’
‘We aren’t going to Monk Oakhampton,’ Emma said with slow, poisonous serenity. ‘We are going to Iddesleigh, you said.’
‘And Iddesleigh is but a mile or two beyond this,’ Baldwin said shortly.
The road was as he had recalled it. A series of bends gave the impression of a great distance, but in reality it was a fairly straight path, so far as a Devon roadway could be. Soon the land opened out on their left, and fields appeared, their regular lines delineated by twigs thrust into the ground so that each peasant would know where his strip began and ended. The place looked well farmed, and the soil had been worked efficiently from what Baldwin could see. It was freshly turned, and, from the odour, manure had recently been spread. Hopefully there would be a good harvest again, he prayed.
The vill, when they clattered in, was a small huddle of houses. There was a group on the road itself, which curved left in front of them, and then right, northwards again. Encircling the houses was a second lane, which led up the hillside, and fronting this was a large longhouse, which was now used half as the farmer’s storeroom and byre, but also as an inn. Next to it, on the left as Baldwin looked at the place, was the church, which lay in the right-hand bend in the road. He wondered whether Hugh’s body was already in there.
Stopping at the inn, he tied his horse to the rail provided, then reached out his hand to his wife. She took it, and had the grace to look down when she saw the expression in his eyes. He was not cross — good God, how could he be angry with her for falling pregnant? — but he was annoyed that her maid was aware of this marvellous news while he remained ignorant.
‘I hope they have some food in there. I’m fairly starved!’ Emma said, rubbing her hands together as she sailed past them and in through the wide, low doorway.
‘When did you know?’ he asked as soon as they were alone, taking their daughter from her. Richalda mumbled sleepily, then set her head on his shoulder.
‘I don’t really, not yet. But I have a feeling, and I think my monthly time is late,’ she confessed. ‘I wasn’t going to say anything until I was more certain. Are you upset, husband?’
He smiled and gave her his arm. ‘My love, if you are right, I shall be the happiest man in Christendom!’
Adcock was settling down to sleep when he heard the muffled noises from outside.
This was a weird place. The men here were all more or less permanently armed, as though they expected a battle at any moment. Yet the land round about seemed ridiculously quiet.
He had mentioned that on the first day, when he had been sent about the manor with a man who the steward had described as a good source of local detail.
‘I’m Beorn, sir,’ he had said, bending his head respectfully, a large man whose face seemed composed mainly of beard.
‘Call me Adcock. I am no better than you,’ Adcock said, and he was speaking nothing more than the truth. As he knew full well, a sergeant was only the man set to farm the main activities on the estate. Unlettered, his skill must lie in his ability to persuade people to perform their duties willing or no, so that the manor showed a profit. Any failures or discrepancies were likely to be set to his account.
‘Adcock it is, then,’ Beorn had said without interest. ‘What do you want to see?’
‘Let’s go and walk the boundaries first. I’ll need to know where the holding finishes.’
Beorn had given a slightly twisted smile on hearing that, but he took Adcock all round the place, pointing out the boundary markers on the way, and explaining the small details which a new man wouldn’t understand immediately. ‘There’s the little bog, but see those green reeds farther on? Avoid that, sir. That’s the mire. We’ve been thinking of draining it for an age, but nothing ever comes of it. It’s dangerous. When we do clear it, I dare say there’ll be some dead oxen, horses and sheep in there, not to mention people.’
‘Really?’ Adcock asked, staring at the trembling ground with disgust. He’d seen mires often enough before, of course, and he rather thought the first thing to do with a small patch like this was to dig a trench to let the water run away, and fill the hole with good soil afterwards until the land was level, and then something could be made of the ground. He would take advice, and if no one had any objections to advance he would go ahead with the drainage.
Yes, Adcock was untrained in his spelling and reading, but he knew what his job was about. In his last manor he had been the assistant to the sergeant, and together he and his old master had taken the place by the cods and shaken it until every tiny patch of land was fruitful and of value to their lord. Here he would do the same, he decided. The land wasn’t different, not really: the soil was good and rich, from the look of the grass; and all the animals thrived, looking sleek and fat, so it was plain to see that there was nourishment in the ground.