They had a short ride to their house, and on this day of rest Baldwin was looking forward to a good meal and an afternoon of utter peace. After the year he had experienced, the thought of such a day was enormously attractive. And for once there was no rain. It was not a bright sunny day, but nor was it cold or wet.
Still, he was still worried by all he had heard from his wife. The thought of the new sheriff was unpleasant, but there was nothing new about corruption in a sheriff. Baldwin was more concerned about the stories of violence in the shire generally. There were all too many outlaws now, since so many families had been dispossessed after Boroughbridge, and if their acts of violence were compounded by men who knew that they could rob or kill with impunity because of Despenser’s support, it would make life intolerable. ‘I wonder how Simon is faring,’ he muttered.
‘He’ll be fine,’ Jeanne said comfortingly. She slipped her hand through his arm and held on to him tightly, watching Richalda, their daughter, trotting uncertainly on ahead, stopping every so often to stare at an insect or into a puddle. Young Baldwin was being carried by Edgar’s wife, Petronilla, while Edgar was immediately behind Baldwin, his smiling face moving constantly, watching hedges and fences, always alert for possible danger. He had been Baldwin’s sergeant in the Knights Templar, and Baldwin knew that he could depend utterly on him.
It was a matter of pride to Baldwin that the household had grown so much now. Behind Petronilla came her own child, and then the various men and women who worked in the house or for Baldwin in the fields. It was a significant procession, he thought. Even Wat, who had been the bane of Baldwin’s life four or five years ago, when he had been merely the cattleman’s son and who had got himself beastly drunk at Baldwin’s wedding, had grown into a tall, good-looking soul of seventeen summers or so.
Baldwin had successfully managed to build a new life here after the horrors of the Templar persecutions. Perhaps he was extraordinarily fortunate to have been given this second chance — he only hoped and prayed that God had not given him this stability only to snatch it away again. Despenser knew that he had once been a Knight Templar, and that man was a bad enemy. It could all be taken away in an instant, Baldwin knew.
It was as they came in sight of the house that Edgar stepped forward.
‘Sir Baldwin,’ he said, ‘do you see the horse?’
Baldwin glanced at him, and saw that Edgar was looking ahead, a slight frown on his face. Following his pointing finger, Baldwin saw that in the roadway ahead, in front of his house, there was a horse thundering over the road. Even as he watched, it turned off and pelted along his pasture, heading to his door.
‘Edgar, you stay with the children and Jeanne,’ he said, and set off at a trot.
Jacobstowe
Agnes knew before the knock. She knew before the face in the doorway. She knew before he began to speak, and she could do nothing.
She had been distracting herself, sometimes even — God forgive her! — swearing at poor Bill. She was trying to see to the vegetables while at the same time looking after Ant and tending all the animals on her own.
There were others there who’d be happy to help her. She knew that. But the trouble was, she had her own way of doing things, and if they were to come and try to help, she knew that it’d take her ages to get things back to the order she was used to.
Except it wasn’t really that. The truth was, if she was to have another man come here to help her, she would feel as though it was admitting the fear she felt deep in the pit of her stomach: that he was dead.
He had never been away from home so long before. If he had gone to do any kind of work and been held up, he would always ensure that a message was sent to her, and if there was any doubt, he would have returned in person.
When he had gone, he said he would be no more than three days, maybe. To her that meant two days only. After that she had known something was wrong. And it wasn’t only the length of time, it was the sensation in her belly. There was an unnatural queasiness there that was unsettling. She knew, she knew, that it meant something was wrong. But there was no one for her to tell.
The knock on her door was only the confirmation.
Furnshill
Edith almost fell from the horse at Baldwin’s door as she ran to it and pounded on the timbers. ‘Sir Baldwin! Sir Baldwin, help me!’
‘My dear Edith, whatever is the matter?’
She turned to find Baldwin behind her, Jeanne and his household approaching up the lane. ‘My husband, Sir Baldwin, he’s been taken by the sheriff, and I don’t know what to do!’
The door was opened, and she allowed herself to be brought inside, but she felt like one stupefied. Her hearing was less acute, her legs were unsteady, and she was all the while aware of a strange whooshing sound in her ears, which made her want to sit.
Sir Baldwin helped her to his own chair before the fire, and his wife began to issue commands. She told Edgar to fetch wine, Petronilla was ordered to bring cloths and a bowl of cool water, a maidservant was told to find some sweetmeats from the box in the pantry, and then all the other household members were ordered to leave.
‘I feel sick,’ Edith said. The nausea began in her belly, it was true, but it wasn’t only that. There was the foul noise in her ears again, too, and now she was aware of flashing lights before her eyes. It was enough to make her heave. She had to close them just to stop the lights, to stop the urge to vomit.
‘Let me!’ Jeanne said to her husband, who had never been good when the children were sick, and she bellowed at the top of her voice for Petronilla again, to bring a bowl. The noise of her shouting was almost enough to make Edith throw up on the spot, but then the pandemonium eased and she was aware of a cool, damp cloth at the back of her neck, another on her brow, and even as she retched, her chest and belly tensing badly, she was aware of the effect of them. She was beginning to improve.
‘Tell me what has happened,’ Baldwin said.
His voice seemed to come from a great distance, as though the result of closing her eyes had made her a little deaf. It was too difficult to concentrate, too disorientating, and she forced her eyes open again. ‘It’s Peter! He’s been arrested for treason against the king!’
Chapter Thirteen
Lydford
Simon woke with the blessed feeling that all was well with the world. He stretched languidly, aware that there were birds singing loudly outside, and smelled fresh bread baking. His head felt fine, his arms were unstrained, his shoulders worked easily, and his eyes, when he opened them, focused.
This was the best morning’s wakening he had known while staying with Coroner Richard. It was almost as though the coroner had not been with him yesterday.
Simon was soon in his old hall, which felt odd. Last night it had been different. Perhaps it was because he had arrived here as a stranger, and was invited in. This morning, though, it was more peculiar. He had woken in his house, but not in his bed, and walked down to the hall which was his, and yet was filled with different people, servants and clerks who were entirely unknown to him. It made his breakfast feel rather unsettling.
‘Ha! Simon, glad to see you surfaced! Can’t keep a trout from snapping at the bait, eh? I said you’d be here as soon as you smelled the food. Don’t suppose you slept too well, though, eh? Not enough wine,’ added Sir Richard in an undertone. ‘Pox on the clergy for keeping their booze to themselves.’
‘So, Bailiff, I hope I see you well?’ the cardinal said.