He looked relaxed enough today as he rode back from Tavistock to his home at Lydford, but that was only on the surface. As Bailiff, he was an official of Stannary Law, and all too often his expression must reflect the severity of the rough justice given at the Stannary Court. Outside the Court, he was contented enough, and judged by many to be a good companion, but when he was at his rest, his smile was often tempered with sadness in memory of his firstborn son, Peterkin, who had died some few years ago of a fever. The pain of losing him would never leave Simon, or so he felt. Death had marked both him and his wife; their grief was only moderated when their second son was born, named, like the first, Peterkin.
Now he had more to occupy his mind than memories of his dead child. Since the terrible events of the last year, life was becoming more complicated.
In 1318 Abbot Robert had paid three hundred pounds to buy the revenues from all the tin-mining in Dartmoor for three years. It had proved a worthwhile investment, and in 1321 he leased the revenues for one hundred pounds a year over ten years. It brought in a good sum annually, and his most important official was Simon, his Bailiff, the man charged with maintaining law and order on the moors. It was Simon who must negotiate with miners and landowners, who had to defuse arguments almost before they started, who had to soothe the ruffled feathers of knights and barons all around the King’s forest of Dartmoor when the tinners took it into their heads to divert streams or declare that another prime piece of pasture was perfect for mining. There were always rows between the miners and the other inhabitants of the Stannaries or their near neighbours. When those disputes came to blows, it was Simon who must perform his inquest and record the details so that the matter could be raised at the next Stannary Court and suitable fines or punishments imposed.
It was wearing on a man, but Simon had coped well so far. Nowadays, though, he was losing his temper more and more often. He wasn’t naturally irascible, but he had problems enough to distract him, and they made his brow darken now as he lurched on homeward.
The problems had begun with his daughter, Edith, about a year ago. Recently he had felt close to a form of peace with her, but things had flared up again. He knew why, but knowing the root cause of a problem was not the same as possessing a cure.
It started during the last summer. She had bitterly resented his interference in her choice of a suitor, and she had become a source of disharmony in his household. Meg, his wife, and even his servant Hugh began to take her part in discussions, leaving Simon feeling like an outcast in his own home. Later in the year, she had appeared to submit to his authority, when her favourite died, and for some time thereafter she had been friendly, as she used to be, but now her attitude had suffered another reversal and she was once more froward and uncooperative.
If it were only her, he wouldn’t mind, but a sullenness had infected his wife and other members of his household. Young Peterkin sat and watched Simon and Meg whenever they were in a room together, with an oddly adult expression on his young face, as though he was gauging their mood and assessing how he might make best advantage of their mutual antipathy.
Simon sighed deeply. He knew it wasn’t Meg’s fault – it was the way that her dreams had been so rudely shattered.
The whole trouble was, Simon was being promoted. Abbot Robert was so pleased with his work that he had arranged to send Simon to the coast because at the same time as leasing the mining revenues, the Abbot had acquired the position of Keeper of the Port of Dartmouth as well. Naturally he had no intention of removing himself to a place so far from his comfortable quarters at his Abbey in Tavistock, but it was plain that he needed a representative there whom he could trust, and since the death of the previous Lieutenant, he had decided that Simon should go.
Margaret was delighted that he had won so much favour with the good Abbot, as she often said. ‘If you are happy in your work, my husband, I am happy.’
‘But you’d be happier not to move to Dartmouth,’ he had said last week when she protested her delight once too often.
She had bent her head slightly. ‘I love our home here.’
‘It took you a while to get used to Lydford, didn’t it?’
‘I adored our farm in Sandford.’
He knew that. They had married there, and set up their family in Sandford. That house was where their daughter had been born, and their memories of the place were all happy. The summers seemed longer and hotter, the winters more mild, and life itself had been simpler. ‘You were unhappy to move here to Lydford.’
‘Yes, Husband, but that was mainly because we lived in the castle itself, and that is a terrible place,’ she said with a delicate shiver. ‘The walls seem to echo with screams. I have been very happy here.’
That was obvious. Her manner had become calm again since they moved here, to the little house near the castle at Lydford. ‘Perhaps you will find it as easy to like Dartmouth,’ he said hopefully.
‘Perhaps,’ she said dully.
‘I believe it is a pleasant enough town.’
‘Filled with sailors? A nice place for Edith to mature,’ she countered.
‘We should be able to afford a good house. I believe people say that it is healthful to live next to the sea. It may be good for Peterkin.’
‘Yes, Husband. Unless pirates raid the town and fire the house about our ears,’ she retorted, and that was where they had left the matter.
Simon could have refused the post. He was almost a free yeoman, scarcely a serf owned by his master, but even an entirely free man who had taken his Lord’s livery and salt must obey his Lord’s whim. If Abbot Robert decided that Simon would be best used down at Dartmouth, to Dartmouth he must go, no matter what his wife thought, if Simon wished to remain in his service. There would have to be an overwhelming need and urgency for Simon to even postpone taking up his new responsibilities.
Meg could stay here at Lydford, but neither of them would enjoy so long a separation. Others left their wives at home when they went to their work: Hugh himself had to leave his wife and son miles away up at Iddesleigh while he worked for Simon, just as any other servant would. A household, whether it was a man’s, woman’s or child’s, would only expect men to remain to serve their masters. Women were called in for specialist tasks, for wet or dry nursing, for brewing, or for jobs where their skills were valued, such as milking, but generally a servant was a man, and he left his wife while he served his master. Women tended to be too much of a distraction and cause of dispute in a household. For that reason some poor fellows didn’t see their wives for months at a time. Simon could never leave his Meg that long.
He couldn’t refuse the post, but he knew that his wife dreaded the idea of moving so far from their home. Especially with the dangers of pirates, as she said. There were always French ships prepared to test the defences of little ports like Dartmouth.
There was no way out of it. He had already received the seal from Abbot Robert, and now he must set about packing up all their belongings on carts ready to be transported to Dartmouth.
Not that he was looking forward to informing Meg that the date for their departure was agreed.
It was almost time for their midday meal when Baldwin heard hooves ringing loudly on the cobbles outside. There was shouting, a horn was blown, and he could hear servants chattering while a horse stood blowing, clattering its shoes. Scut looked up at the door with a face filled with annoyance, which was itself enough to lighten Baldwin’s mood.