In a society where most men were living in a state of poverty, it was inevitable that there were often robberies. Burglars, draw-latches, thieves, cut-purses and poachers were a constant problem, but all men living within the law were expected to be ready to fight for their lord at a moment’s notice and could be called up by the constables quickly to chase criminals. After all, the king himself wanted the folk ready for the defence of the realm, and everyone was expected to be able to arm themselves quickly to defend their homes. The people living within Simon’s new area were all hardened countryfolk and were well used to using their weapons for hunting. God help any man who tried to commit a crime. He would be chased like a wolf by some of the best hunters in the kingdom until he was caught. It would not be difficult; few people needed to travel, so any stranger in a district would always be questioned by the locals, and news of travellers would always filter back to Simon’s friend Peter Clifford, the priest at Crediton. If there was a hue and cry shortly after a newcomer had arrived it would be obvious who would be the main suspect.
He was just thinking this when he was surprised to see, a little beyond the lane to Furnshill manor and travelling from Cadbury on the road to Crediton, a small group of monks. Wondering who they were and where they were going, he coaxed his horse into a trot and left Hugh behind to catch up with them. Since his schooling with the priests at Crediton, where he had met many monks as they travelled on their way to Buckland Abbey and beyond down into Cornwall, Simon had enjoyed meeting these godly men who had exchanged worldly sins for lives of poverty, helping the people and dedicating their years to God.
There were five men in the group, four walking slowly, one of them leading a pack-mule, another on horseback.
From their habits they must be Cistercians, the same as the monks of Buckland.
As he came closer, he slowed his pace to a walk and greeted them. “Good morning, brothers, where are you travelling to?” At the sound of his voice, the man on the horse whirled suddenly and Simon was shocked to see the fear on his face.
He was a large man, running to fat, with flabbiness around his heavy features and showing in his jowls and chin, but for all that he looked muscular and rode like a knight, sure and steady, if a little hunched. He looked as though he had been a strong and sturdy man in his past, but had now developed too keen an interest in good food and drink.
“Who are you, sir?” he asked, in an almost petulant voice with a heavy accent in which Simon recognised the tones of France – but that was normal with many monks now that the pope lived in Avignon.
“Simon Puttock, sir. I am the bailiff of Lydford,” he answered, smiling to put the man at his ease. It did not seem to help. The man was plainly terrified of strangers, and his eyes flitted over Simon as he rode alongside. Unconcernedly, Simon looked at the other men in the group. The eldest, a jovial-looking man with almost white hair and a cheeky smile, grinned at him as if in mute apology for the rude introduction, then turned his eyes to stare fixedly at the road ahead, the remains of the smile showing as a slight grin that played around his lips. The others simply walked on quietly and ignored him, to his faint surprise, because usually monks, like other travellers, would be happy for any diversion on the road.
“You are a long way from Lydford, bailiff.”
Simon laughed briefly. “I’ve only just become bailiff, sir. I’m on my way back to my home in Sandford to collect my wife and tell her, then I will be going to Lydford to take up my new responsibilities. So where are you going? To Buckland?”
“Yes.” The man seemed to pause. “Yes. we are going there. I am to become the new abbot of our monastery.” His eyes quickly darted from Simon to the road behind.
Catching the glance, Simon smiled again. “That is my servant, abbot. You need not worry on your journey in these parts. I’ve not heard of trail bastons this far south, they all seem to be near Taunton and Bristol. Your journey should be safe.”
“Good, good,” the abbot said absently, his brow furrowed, then glanced over to the bailiff with a calculating stare. “Tell me, my friend, which is the best way to Buckland from Crediton, do you think?”
Simon drew his mouth down as he thought. “There are two main ways, either west to Oakhampton, then south through Lydford. I know that way – the roads are good and there are places for you to rest overnight. The other would be to go to the east of the moors and down that way. I’ve never been that far, although I did go to Exeter once. The Oakhampton route would be my choice.”
“Good. Then we shall take that road.” He seemed to think a moment, staring at the road ahead, then turned back to Simon. “Would you travel with us? I would be grateful for the protection of the bailiff on the road.”
Looking at him, faint surprise on his face, Simon said, “But, as I say, there’s no need to fear robbers. The country is quiet here.”
“Maybe, maybe, but your company would be added protection and desirable, sir.” When Simon looked over at him, he was shocked to see the expression on the man’s face – he seemed to be trying to smile, but he could not hide the anxiety on his face. His eyes were wide and staring, almost as if he was pleading with the young bailiff, and Simon found himself wondering what could have created such fear. He almost asked, but decided not to – he might cause offence.
“I’m afraid that I’m going to visit a friend not far from here, Sir Baldwin Furnshill at Furnshill Manor. Why don’t you join me? We can go on later,” he said, and, although he could not be sure, he felt that the older monk nearby shot him a sharp glance on hearing the name “Furnshill‘.
“No, no. We must get to Buckland as soon as we can. You must come with us now.”
Simon found himself repelled by this man, who was so obviously scared for no reason. It seemed almost obscene to be so fearful in such a quiet part of the country. Of course travel was dangerous, no matter where the destination, but to be so terror-stricken here in Devon… He thought a moment. “No, I must go to the manor, I gave my word. But I will not stay there for long, so perhaps I shall overtake you on the road later. At least I can go with you as far as Crediton.”
“But why can’t you come with us to Buckland?”
“I must go to my wife first and take her with me to Lydford.”
“Could you not collect her after coming with us to Buckland?” his voice was whining, like a child begging for a sweet.
Simon almost laughed, but then he saw that the abbot was serious and checked himself. “That would mean I would be delayed for seven or eight days, abbot. No, I can’t do that. I must get to Lydford with my wife.”
“Oh, very well,” said the monk petulantly.
They rode along in silence for a few minutes, until Simon said mildly, “So you are sure you will not join me and visit the manor? It will at least break your journey a little, and I’m sure your companions would like some refreshment.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw the oldest monk nod his head in approval at the suggestion and then wink, as if he knew Simon could see him but the abbot could not.
“No, we are all well. There is no need.”
“In that case, I will wish you a good and safe journey,” Simon sighed. “I must go back to the manor. I hope I shall see you soon, abbot. For now, goodbye.”
The abbot grunted and, annoyed at his demeanour, Simon wheeled his horse to gallop back to the lane to the manor. As he turned he caught a brief smile on the face of the older monk, as if in gratitude for his offer. The bailiff nodded to him and urged his horse into a gallop.