She looked away, and then gave a curt nod. Clearly she was not persuaded by all his reason, but Baldwin believed that she would at least obey.
He would have cause to regret his simple faith.
Chapter Fourteen
Tavistock Abbey
It was all over quickly, thanks to God. Stephen wanted nothing more to do with all these people. The knight and his men at Bow scared him, and he was anxious that he knew the contents of the message. The idea that he should be forced into collusion with Despenser and Sir Robert of Traci, through no fault of his own, was a dagger in his head. It felt as if a sharp blade was pressing upon his very brain.
He delivered the message while studiously avoiding the monk’s eye. The man took it, read it, and nodded quietly to himself. ‘Thank you. I shall tell you if there is to be a reply,’ he said.
Stephen waited without showing his irritation, a silent figure standing in the doorway to the monk’s chamber. It was odd to think that the man was here, in this little cell, when in theory he was to be the next abbot.
Tavistock might not be the greatest institution in the realm, but it wasn’t far from the best-endowed monastery in the West Country. From it the lands extended in all directions, and it possessed estates far away. The daughter house on the Isle of Ennor was a source of fair revenues, and the fishing on the rivers and the many other ventures here in Devon ensured that in normal times the abbey would profit. However, these were not normal times. The famine had affected the abbey’s stocks and herds of sheep, the rains and the river’s spate had washed away several mills and damaged other investments, and finally the death of Abbot Champeaux had been a sore loss. His mild manner and calm, sensible attitude, as well as his infallible eye for a proposition that would aid the abbey, had changed the whole nature of the place. Initially, when he had been elected, the abbey had been in debt. He had changed that, so that by the time he died he could be considered in the same light as one of the abbey’s founders and benefactors. Not that this happy condition could continue, from all Stephen had heard.
It was not only the massive payments the abbey was forced to pay to the king while it was in a state of voidance, nor even the sums that must be paid to the pope for the right to have the abbey’s case heard and adjudicated; it was more due to the natural inclination of the monks to enjoy themselves while they might. As the abbey was technically without an abbot, there was no one to enforce strict rules about conduct, and the monks were eating and drinking far more than before.
That was itself plain even to Stephen as he walked about the grounds. Carts were arriving all the time with barrels of wine and fish, freshwater and sea, and Stephen could hear the baying of hounds. Later, as he hurried down the stairs from the monk’s chamber, he knew only a relief that he would soon be away from here and back in the saddle once more.
It was a cause for enormous satisfaction that there was no message to be delivered to Bow. He would avoid that midden if he could. The casual murder of the farmer had scared him more than he would like to admit. And then Sir Robert de Traci had beaten his own servant, as though the steward’s dereliction could be cause for execution — the man was only late with some wine, in God’s name! So far as he was concerned, the messages had been delivered, and that was an end to it. He wanted nothing more to do with Bow, Sir Robert, nor even his son. The idea of passing through their town again was repellent.
Sadly, though, he couldn’t very well avoid it entirely. He had asked a few of the grooms and some of the servants about the best way to get back to Exeter. One man had suggested taking the road south and there finding a ship to sail him along the coast, but Stephen had experienced ships before. He knew how unreliable the damned things were in the best of weather. Getting on a ship at this time of year was not to be borne. He understood that the winds were all too changeable, and that could mean either being held in port for days or weeks, or, worse, being tossed about on the open sea until every meal he had ever eaten had returned to haunt him.
There was no better suggestion, though, other than that he should head north, and pass through Oakhampton, thence to Crediton and Exeter. He had little choice, apparently. The alternative was a ride straight across the moors, but all the men he had spoken to were agreed that the roads there were still worse than the usual roads about here. Mostly there was a trail that could be followed over to the middle of the moors, but it was so boggy and treacherous that no one would offer much for his chances when he asked. The main road led from Lydford eastwards, but that was a perilous route: the mires were hideously dangerous, and too many people died on the moors each year. All agreed that it was safer by far to head north.
Stephen had his doubts, but he didn’t feel justified in mentioning the fact that the moors were to him less terrifying than the thought of meeting with Sir Robert again.
As the sky began to darken, he was already on his horse and heading north. He would ride to a small inn he had seen that morning and demand a room for the night. There were not many advantages to his job, but the fact that he could demand and expect to receive a room and food wherever he travelled within the kingdom was a great benefit on occasion.
The weather was cool, but at least for the moment it was dry, and he had on a heavy coat against the wind. This road was a foul one. It followed the line of the river at first, and then began to climb away, up one hill, and through Tavymarie, where the inn stood at the side of the road. At least here there was no need to worry about the dangers of Sir Robert, but even the mere thought of the man was enough to send a shiver down his spine.
He rode on along the valley of the Tavy, his horse’s shoes sinking into the mud regularly. The river had plainly been in flood a little while ago — hardly surprising after this summer’s weather, he thought. All about there was the rushing sound of the fast-moving waters, and he grew lulled by it. Not only that, perhaps. There was the natural feeling of a job done when he had delivered the last message. Now all he need concentrate on was the journey back to London, handing over his final messages, and then home for a rest. Riding so far for so long was exhausting at the best of times, but this had been the worst journey of his life, without doubt. If he never came to Devon again, he would be happy.
The patter of gravel against his leg and his palfrey’s flank made him blink. He had been close to dozing, and the drowsiness was hard to lose, even when his mount jerked his head up and down in anger at such treatment.
‘Messenger?’ a voice said.
Stephen snapped his head around and saw Osbert on his left, a sword already in his hand, kicking his horse forward with grim determination. There was no defence against a man like him on his left, and Stephen drew his own sword as he spurred his beast into a wheel, so that he could meet the attack on his right, but even as he did so, he saw the dark, malevolent form of Basil hurtling towards him from the south. Shooting a look northwards, towards Tavymarie, he saw two more men cantering towards him. It was a most effective ambush — but they hadn’t covered the east!
He hacked with his spurs, and felt the poor creature burst into action. There was a hedge lining much of the road here, but there was a small, narrow gap, which he could take. Whooping at the horse to egg him on, Stephen slapped him hard on the rump with the flat of his sword to encourage him, and bent low over his neck as they sprang through the little gap, not seeing the hempen cord stretched across it.