Sir Baldwin sat and surveyed the dishes with a sober expression, like a man who was interested but not devoted to food; for his part the Bailiff appeared to lose his yellowness, and instead his face took on a ruddy hue. Probably the normal colour for a man who spent much of his time in the saddle, Anne thought. He was a pleasing-looking man, with his regular features, dark hair and pale-grey eyes. When he caught her glance, he grinned. ‘This makes me feel more at home! Real English food.’
‘You missed it on your travels?’
Seeing Nicholas begin to eat, Simon speared a slab of meat with his knife and almost thrust it into his mouth, only hesitating when he realised he should answer. ‘I did. Foreign food is peculiar. It isn’t so hearty as ours. Doesn’t mix well in an English stomach. Down in Galicia, I was ill for weeks. It must have been the food that did it.’
‘You must stay here as long as you like and rebuild your strength, then,’ she said warmly.
‘I am sure that there must be an inn?’ Baldwin said politely, but there was little enthusiasm in his face.
‘Yes,’ Nicholas said, ‘but it is not attractive. My wife is quite right. You must remain here with us. I am sure that there is no urgency in your journey homewards?’
‘Only the urgency of a man who misses his wife and family,’ Sir Baldwin remonstrated gently.
Lady Anne grinned broadly. ‘I wish my own husband had been so devoted, when he was on his travels!’
‘He travels much?’
‘No, but during the wars with Mortimer and the Lords Marcher, he had to go. This is the result of his homecoming,’ she smiled, patting her belly.
Sir Baldwin inclined his head graciously. ‘Any man would find it impossible to leave so beautiful a companion, let alone stay away from her.’
A compliment that was meant honestly was always a delight, but coming from a man who was so senior in rank, that made her almost light-headed with pleasure. It was kind of him, very kind.
Her husband was talking again.
‘The Coroner should be here before too long, I hope. He lives just outside Bodmin, so he could be here before noon tomorrow, if he is nearby. I only hope he hasn’t been sent away on another murder.’
Baldwin said, ‘We could wait until he arrives. It would be pleasant to speak to him, and he may have questions for us. We weren’t the First Finders, but we were early witnesses of the bodies.’
‘So long as it’s a quick inquest,’ Simon growled through a chicken bone. ‘I want to get home.’
Baldwin laughed and leaned towards Anne. ‘He is not only keen to see his wife, he has a new job.’
‘Aye, well, I’d like to get there before the end of the year,’ Simon said.
Nicholas glanced from one to the other. ‘What is that? What new job are you to take?’
‘I’ve been asked to go to Dartmouth as the Keeper of the Port for Abbot Champeaux. He has bought the farm of the port, and wants me to manage it for him,’ Simon said.
‘That is fascinating,’ Anne said. ‘You must be very pleased.’
Simon nodded, but he was keen to avoid further discussion of the matter. He kept his head down.
Anne was surprised, because from being a mere bailiff on the moors to becoming responsible for the Abbot’s Farm of the Port must represent a marvellous improvement in position. It was more than she could hope for, she thought with a pang.
Nicholas was no youngster. He was certainly valued by Sir Henry, but it was unlikely that he would ever rise beyond this little castle. He had achieved his highest position, and although he professed himself content, and Anne would never suggest that she felt otherwise, both, she knew, had a sneaking jealousy for men like this Baldwin. She would have liked to be wedded to a man who had the possibility of receiving golden spurs and a knight’s belt.
Born to rule, this Baldwin had the grace and courtesy which she associated with the best-born men in the realm. If he was ill-at-ease, he hid it. He was also clearly a man with brawn. His arms were as thick as her own husband’s, and his neck muscles were enormous: he was obviously used to wearing armour and riding a destrier.
Here, in the hall, with the different candles and torches throwing their light haphazardly, she saw a long history in his face. It was a face that had seen a lot, perhaps witnessed too much cruelty and horror. He had suffered.
They were there in Nicholas’s face too, the hard edges of a warrior’s suffering. He, like this knight, had deep gouges carved in his cheeks and forehead, the channels of pain without which no fighter could advance. If a man wished to make his living by war, he must gain such wounds, unless he won the other, less honourable signs of dissipation and excess. Such men were not to be entertained in Lady Anne’s hall, though.
‘How many men do you have here?’ Sir Baldwin was asking.
‘Including myself, twelve at present. We are a small garrison, but then our lord lives away, and his main household is with him.’
‘Excuse me, but you are not knighted?’ Baldwin asked.
‘I am afraid not, Sir Baldwin. I never earned that accolade.’
‘My friend, I am sure that you deserve it more than many a gilded parrot in the King’s court,’ Baldwin said easily. ‘You are a man who has been to war, I see, and from your look you’ve not always been on the winning side.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Nothing, Nicholas,’ Baldwin said with raised brows. ‘I meant no insult, my friend, but it would be rare indeed for a man who fought in several wars not to have been on the side which did not win occasionally. It is no reflection upon your martial prowess, I assure you.’
‘Yes, well, a man who has been in the service of the King must have known defeats,’ Nicholas said.
‘Of course. I too have known defeats, my friend,’ Baldwin said softly, but Anne was sure that she could see sadness in his eyes as he spoke.
Anne took a little more meat from the pile in the dish. She and Nick had never discussed his past in any great detail. There was not a lot to tell, he always said, but for how wet the Welsh borders were, and how miserable the climate for a young soldier. Of the fighting he had said nothing, and Anne had not pressed him. It would have given her no pleasure to hear that he had been a brutal, violent killer. So the two avoided that subject — although now she could be tempted to find out a little. It was so strange to hear him flash out in near anger.
‘I apologise, Sir Knight. It’s just been a painful day, with that poor woman being found.’
‘Especially with her dead children,’ Anne said pensively, her hand back on her bump. She felt, rather than saw, the eyes of the three men turn to her.
The door opened, and the new squire called Warin entered. He glanced at them, crossing to a table and gesturing to a servant. Soon Richer also walked in and joined Warin.
There was something about those two which she found unsettling. Warin seemed to hold little respect for her or her husband, and she had mentioned his insolence to Nicholas already, but Nicholas had been quite short, saying only that Warin came with a letter of recommendation from their master — and if Sir Henry of Cardinham felt that this arrogant fellow was a suitable guard for his castle, who was he to disagree?
This was the age-old problem. Nicholas had more experience in his little finger than this Warin possessed in his entire soul, yet Warin was presumably well-born. He would one day be knighted, while Nicholas would remain here, mouldering slowly until he expired.
Looking up, she saw that Warin was watching Richer. The fellow seemed withdrawn, like one who was close to collapse. She wondered at that, but then she saw that Warin had turned and now studied Sir Baldwin and his friend. Nicholas noticed his interest, and called Warin and Richer over. The two were introduced to the guests, and Anne was secretly pleased to see how Sir Baldwin cast a negligent eye over them both, although he glanced at Nicholas as he was introduced to Richer. Anne herself noticed that Nicholas was as fulsome introducing Richer as he was Squire Warin. It was strange: he was respectful towards Warin, a man so much his junior, and almost affectionate towards Richer, who was a mere man-at-arms and rated no respect.