The knight was obviously in his element while entertaining, and was remarkably well informed about a variety of subjects about which Simon was, at best, only vaguely aware, talking about matters with a depth of knowledge that could only have come from personal experience. He spoke about trade, about ships that carried goods from Venice and Rome as far as Palestine. The cargoes obviously fascinated him, the cloths from Gaza and sweets from the old cities on the coast. It was clear that he knew a great deal about transport and shipping, and he told them about the merchant warships of the Italian cities and how they traded. He told of the great wealth amassed by them, but as quickly as he had begun, he suddenly stopped, a faint, wry smile on his face, as if it was getting too close to his own past, and started to talk about the troubles with the Scots in the north.
Simon was surprised to find that the knight seemed to know a great deal about the troubles with the Scots. Since Robert Bruce’s brother, Edward, had crowned himself king of Ireland earlier in the year, the British armies had been subjected to a number of trials, leading finally to the siege of Carrickfergus. At the same time, the Scots had other men harassing the Border counties, even raiding down as far as Yorkshire, killing and looting all the way. Baldwin’s deep voice took on a solemn tone as he described the events in the north and his eyes took on a glazed look, as if he could see the hordes running south in his mind’s eye as he spoke.
One thing did seem odd to the bailiff during the meal -Simon noticed that Baldwin drank only very sparingly. It made him wrinkle his brow in wonder. The knight’s servant often refilled the other mugs on the table, but even as the light faded and the servant tugged a tapestry over the window, Baldwin seemed to drink little but some water and an occasional sip of wine. Simon mentally noted the point. It seemed strange, for everyone drank beer or wine, and moderation was a rare or curious trait, but soon, as he drank more himself, he forgot, and devoted himself to taking advantage of his host’s generosity.
When they had all eaten their fill, Baldwin led them over to the fire while his man cleared the remains of their meal from the table.
Being a newer house, the manor had a fireplace by a wall with a chimney, and Margaret found herself looking at it speculatively. It certainly did not seem to smoke as much as hers, where the smoke simply rose to louvres in the roof to escape. Perhaps a chimney would be a good idea for their own house? What did Lydford castle have?
Simon and Hugh carried their bench over to the fireplace and the bailiff sat on it, back to the wall, with his wife beside him. Meanwhile Hugh wandered over to a bench by the wall, stretched out, and was soon snoring, looking like a dog lying out of a draught while sleeping off a meal. After supervising the tidying, Baldwin brought his own low chair over to the hearth and sat nearby, his eyes glittering as he stared at the flames, occasionally glancing up as his man took the dishes away.
He looked strangely noble, Margaret thought dreamily as she watched Baldwin take a sip of his wine. Noble and proud, like a king, lounging with one elbow resting on the arm of the chair as he watched the logs, the other resting in his lap with his wine. She was happy to see that the air of brooding pain that Simon had mentioned after their first meeting at Bickleigh, seemed to have gone, to be replaced by an inner calmness. Instinctively she felt sure that it must, in part at least, be due to being home again, to being back in the land that he so obviously loved, in the shire he had been born in, and in the house he knew so well. But she could not help wondering why the man had such an aversion to talking about his time abroad.
She listened and watched the two men while they spoke in low voices, feeling the warmth of the fire seeping into her bones as she considered them both. Simon had the quiet, calm expression she knew so well, the look he wore when he was relaxed and at his ease. He sat with his head a little forward, almost as if he was about to doze, one hand at her head, the other in the air to occasionally emphasise a point.
Their host, too, was obviously at peace. His dark face was still and restful as he stared at the flames with a small smile, nodding now and again to a remark from Simon. But even while sitting quietly, he managed to remind Margaret of a cat. He had the same feline grace, the same apparent readiness, if necessary, to explode into action.
The two men chatted inconsequentially, their faces lit by the fire and the candles. The knight was a good listener and Simon found that he was talking more and more under the gentle prompting of his host, telling of his pride in his new position, of his wish for more children, especially sons, and of his hopes and dreams for the future. Margaret soon started to feel herself nodding gently under the hypnotic effect of the warmth and the two rumbling voices, until at last she felt the weight of her head to be insupportable. Leaning against Simon’s shoulder, her breathing grew slower and deeper as she gave in to her exhaustion and began to doze. Simon put an arm round her shoulders, holding her close as he spoke, gazing into the fire. The clearing finished, Baldwin’s servant came back in and stood by the door, seemingly relaxed, but to Simon as he glanced at him, he also seemed ready, like a guard on duty. The bailiff shrugged to himself.
“So what will you do now that you are here, Baldwin? Are you going to start looking for a wife immediately?”
The knight nodded gravely, not taking his eyes from the flames. “Yes, if I can I’d like to marry soon. I’m like you, Simon. I want to be able to leave my house and wealth to a son. I have done enough travelling; all it has given me is a desire for rest. I want to finish my days in peace, looking after the people who live on my lands and never having to travel far away again.”
“You sound as though your travelling was a bad experience.”
“Do I?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “It wasn’t really. I certainly don’t regret it. No, I had to do something when my brother inherited our father’s lands, and it seemed best to leave the area. It was enjoyable, too, at first. Very enjoyable.” He smiled reminiscently, but then his cheerfulness faded and his face changed, becoming morose and reflective. “But these things change. When you are a knight without a lord, you are nothing, just a sword arm – and oftentimes you can’t even afford to keep your sword.” He sounded bitter.
“Your lord died?”
Baldwin shot a quick, suspicious glance at him, but then grinned as if mocking himself for his distrust. “Yes. Yes, he died. We have fought our last war together. But enough of this misery!” He stood, straightening slowly as if his bones were of iron and long rusted from disuse. “I will go to my bed now. I’ll see you in the morning, Simon. I hope you sleep well.” He crossed the hall and went through to his solar, his man silently watching him go before walking out to his own quarters at the other end of the hall.
The bailiff’s eyes followed the tall figure of the knight as he went, then stood and gently eased his wife down to lie on her bench; in case of rats it was better to stay above the rushes covering the floor. Bringing another bench from the table, he set it near her and lay on it, settling comfortably and staring at the fire, waiting for sleep to take him. But as he watched the flames, he could not get rid of a nagging question. Why was Baldwin so anxious to avoid any talk about his past life?
Just as he felt the drowsiness start to wash over him, as he felt his eyes grow heavy under the soporific effect of the flames, another thought came to him. Why had he been so disinterested in the murder of the abbot, an event that had started tongues wagging all over the area, when he was so interested in the death of Brewer? Reproaching himself for getting too suspicious, he rolled over and was soon asleep.