He looked away and down toward the town. At this time of day, in the middle of the morning, many towns would be quiet while people had their lunch, but today Tavistock was beginning her fair, and her streets were thronged with visitors. “I am glad the Abbot invited us to lodge with him,” he remarked. “It looks as if bed space will be in short supply.”
Simon drew his horse alongside Baldwin’s and followed his gaze. “From here you can see how big the fair is, can’t you,” he said, awestruck.
“Yes. It makes Crediton’s look quite small,” Baldwin observed.
Simon waved a hand, encompassing the scene before them. “This is getting to be a problem. I always receive complaints after Tavistock Fair because Lydford’s declines while this one grows. All the tinners tend to come here. It’s an easier journey than going up to Lydford, and the Abbot always sees to it that there’s more in the way of foodstuffs and supplies.”
“So you’re already worried about this fair?” Baldwin teased.
“Worried? No, I intend to spy, to see what they do here that attracts merchants from Lydford,” Simon said firmly. He didn’t mention his real concern: he was to meet his new master.
As bailiff of Lydford, Simon was responsible for law and order in the stannaries. He had to make sure that no one smuggled tin; all the tin must be coigned, or weighed, marked and taxed, at the stannary towns of Tavistock, Lydford, Chagford and Ashburton. He also had to calm the incessant wrangles between tinners and landowners, maintain the stannary prison at Lydford Castle, and ensure that nobody broke the King’s peace. His master was the warden of the stannaries, and the Abbot had just been granted the post. Simon hadn’t met his new master before, and the prospect was daunting.
Baldwin saw his pensive expression, but misread the thought behind it. “You’re already worrying that Tavistock will be a huge success, even before you arrive! Your husband, Margaret, is never happy unless he has something to worry him.”
She smiled at his joke. “Only the other day he was anxious that his little daughter didn’t have enough young friends in Lydford, and then he was troubled she was growing too quickly, and would soon have a husband.”
“That’s not fair,” Simon protested. “I was just saying that…”
Margaret listened to their banter with half an ear. She was content that Simon was recovered from his black depression. It was in large part due to Baldwin, she knew. Baldwin’s cure for a man with so heavy a weight of misery was to make him laugh, and it had worked better than any medicine. Her husband had aged since his son’s death: before he had looked five years younger than his age of thirty-three, but now he seemed older. The lines were etched deeper into his forehead and at either side of his mouth. Though his hair was still almost black, it had begun to recede, giving him a distinguished appearance.
Looking at Baldwin, she could not help but notice the thickening at his waist. Weight was Baldwin’s main enemy now. When she had first met him, he had spent many years as a penniless, wandering knight with no lord. In those days, he and his man-at-arms, Edgar, had been forced to live on whatever they could collect for themselves, eked out with a few pulses or a loaf from a farm. Since inheriting the Furnshill estate from his dead brother, he was able to eat well, and his belly was growing.
For the rest, he was an attractive figure, she thought. He was tall, and though his brown hair was shot through with silver, the black beard that followed the line of his jaw was unmarked with gray. But he was not the perfect image of a modern knight. Most men were cleanshaven, like her husband. The old King, the present King’s father, had had an aversion to beards and in his day few even wore a moustache. Though times had changed since his death, facial decoration was still rare. It was one concession Baldwin made to his past as a Templar; the knights had always been bearded.
But Baldwin’s dress did not impress. He sported an old tunic, stained, worn and unfashionable. His boots had hardly any toe and did not follow the courtly trend for elongated points. That he was capable of fighting was proven by the scar on his cheek, stretching from temple to jaw; but that was the sole remaining evidence of a lively past.
Margaret eyed him affectionately. He was a good friend, honest, loyal and chivalrous. It was only sad that he was still a bachelor. She was sure he wanted to find a wife, but so far he had been unsuccessful. When she tried to interest him in women she knew, her attempts met with failure. None tempted him, not even Mary, Edith’s young nurse, who had flirted outrageously when she met him.
That brought her mind back to her little girl. Edith was getting to be a handful now, and it was a relief to have found a nurse who seemed to understand her, and who was willing to indulge her passion for riding over the moors. Mary had been quiet when she had first come to live with them, but now the fourteen-year-old had become Edith’s best friend – after Hugh, Simon’s servant. He still held a special place in Edith’s capricious heart.
“What is it, Margaret?” Baldwin asked.
“I was thinking I should buy you some cloth. That tunic is too old.”
He stared a moment, eyebrows raised, and there was alarm in his voice. “Old? But this is fine.”
“It’s old and faded, Baldwin; it’s also too tight round your belly.”
“Um… but it is comfortable.”
“Comfortable it may be. I’m surprised Edgar hasn’t persuaded you to get a new one.”
Baldwin threw a dark look over his shoulder. Edgar had been his man-at-arms since they had joined the Templars together. All knights operated as a team with their men, training with them and depending on them for protection, just as a modern knight would with his squire. Edgar had proved to be an efficient steward as well as soldier, but he had the servant’s love of ostentation. If the master displayed grandeur, some was reflected on the servant.
And Edgar wanted magnificent display now. Baldwin had been aware for some little while that his servant had won the hearts of several women in Crediton, although now he evinced passion for one only, a serving girl at the inn.
Edgar looked back serenely, and Baldwin faced Margaret. “Has he put you up to this, Margaret? Has he asked you to persuade me to buy new things? If he has, he might have to find a new post.”
“Do you suggest that I am unable to form my own opinions of a tired and threadbare tunic?” she asked tartly.
“No, no, of course not. It’s just that Edgar has been worse than a nagging wife recently, telling me…”
“Well, I think it’s time you bought a new tunic. You can afford it.”
“Simon, give me some support!”
“No,” said Simon with delight. “My wife knows her own mind, and I’ll be buggered if I’m going to get in her way over this: if she takes you to the stalls to find a new tunic, that means she’ll have less time to spend my money. Meg, you carry on. Make sure he gets new hose, hats, gloves, shirts, cloaks, belts, boots, and anything else that will take time to buy and keep you from your own favorite stalls!”
They had descended to the outskirts of the town, and continued down the street toward the Abbey, passing by the market.
“What’s going on there?” Baldwin wondered, seeing a huddle of people.
“Some kind of excitement,” Simon said disinterestedly. “Probably only a thief or something. Cut-purses always come to the fairs. They know they can steal with impunity in the crowd.”
“Perhaps.” Baldwin noted the heavily armed watchmen, and the burly figure of a man stooping. A group of people muttered nearby. Then he saw the body on the ground. “Hello? Is someone hurt?”