‘A little exercise is always good,’ Baldwin remarked. He was standing still, staring out to the east. ‘You should try it more often, lad.’
Simon heard a snort, but as was his wont, Bob said nothing. Instead, Simon sat up and rested on his elbow. The ground was damp and chilly, but he was overheated. ‘Do you know any of this country?’
Baldwin shook his head. ‘Sometimes a man from Cornwall would come and present a matter at Exeter, and I have met knights at the court of our lord, Hugh de Courtenay, but I have never travelled this way myself before.’
‘A great shame,’ Simon grunted as he rose to his feet. ‘Christ’s pain. If I sit there any longer, I swear I shall fall asleep.’ He stretched, then gasped. ‘Ow! I am too old for all this toil and meandering about the countryside. Once we arrive home, I’m going to rest for at least a month.’
‘What? The new master of Dartmouth will rest on his laurels when there is all that work to be done?’ Baldwin asked with malicious pleasure.
Simon’s face fell. ‘You evil … I’d forgotten that for a moment!’
‘Yes. Your move to Dartmouth.’
‘Must you remind me that the first thing I have to do on returning is pack up and move to the coast, to live with hordes of sailors and shipmen. My God! And my daughter … I wonder what has become of Edith in my absence.’
Seeing his crestfallen expression, Baldwin regretted his brief attempt at humour. Their relationship was too important for him to want to upset the other man. ‘Simon,’ he said, going to stand at his friend’s side, ‘when you reach the coast I am sure that it will be a delight to you. There can be little better than a home near the sea. The atmosphere is cleaner, fresher and more invigorating there.’
‘And it will no doubt remind me at every opportunity of the pleasures of this pilgrimage,’ Simon rasped sarcastically.
Baldwin sniffed, but couldn’t restrain his grin. ‘Perhaps.’
‘Well, let’s get on with it, then. If I’m to be reminded of my pains and sores, I might as well reflect on them from the warmth of my own fire as soon as possible.’
‘Masters, I have to return soon with these mounts,’ the boy piped up.
Baldwin eyed him with dissatisfaction. ‘We have paid for them and for you.’
‘That was money to travel to the next town, but you have forced me to come twice that distance. Do you expect me to go all the way to … to Exeter?’ Bob demanded, picking the most distant city he knew of.
‘Not quite, no,’ Baldwin said unsympathetically. Then Simon touched his arm, and Baldwin gave him a sharp look, which slowly transformed into comprehension.
Simon had lost a son only a few short years ago, and a matter of days ago he had been responsible, in part, for another young man’s death. That death was a sore regret to him, as Baldwin knew. It was a matter he could all too easily understand, because the reason for both of them launching themselves upon their recent pilgrimage was another death, one for which Baldwin was himself responsible.
Baldwin nodded, and it was good to see Simon give him a short grin in return. There was no need for words. Baldwin understood his feelings: Simon had no desire to see this boy taken too far from his home and put in danger. Any long trip in these uncertain times was hazardous. Horse thieves could easily murder a youth like Bob to get their hands on the mounts. Better that he should be released from their service as soon as possible and sent homewards.
‘Young Bob, you have to return to your home. Do you know how far it is to the next town? If we can find an ostler prepared to hire us more horses and a boy to ride with us, we shall release you. Will that suffice?’
‘Yes. I suppose.’
‘Where is the next town, then?’ Baldwin asked.
Bob scowled. ‘I think it’s Bodmin. After that, all is rough moorland.’
‘At least you’ll feel at home there, Simon,’ Baldwin said lightly.
‘Yes,’ Simon said aloud, but inwardly he felt a little clutch, like a small hand pulling at his heart’s strings. It could be one of the last times he rode over stannary lands. Soon he would be installed in Dartmouth, and then he’d have little to do with miners or moors.
With a pang of loss, poignant and terrible, he realised how much he would miss both.
Richer atte Brooke chuckled quietly to himself as he trailed after Serlo on the track to the church.
‘You are pleased with your threats?’ Warin asked stiffly. ‘For my part, I see no advantage in them, and the potential for a lot of disorder in the vill.’
‘But did you see the fat arse’s face?’ Richer asked with delight.
Warin’s voice was colder as he said, ‘Friend Richer, I do not wish for the peasants to be roused to anger over your insults against one of their own.’
‘There will be no disorder, Squire,’ Richer said more seriously. ‘The fat fool is pushing too hard. He seeks ever more money from people, and this shows him I have a hold over him. If he misbehaves, I can crush him. The news that I am aware of his appeal to have some of his payment for the farm refunded will keep him sensible, and then I can speak to him of other matters.’
Warin eyed him speculatively. ‘Do not endanger the vill’s peace. I would be very unhappy, were you to do that.’
‘I won’t,’ Richer said easily. And he wouldn’t — not unless Serlo gave him no choice. Not that it was Serlo with whom he must concern himself — the dangerous brother of the two was Alex. If the Constable thought that someone was giving his kid brother a hard time, he’d wade in to protect him.
Yes, he should be more cautious with Alexander.
In the church, Father Adam watched over his flock with a feeling of distaste.
Look at these foul peasants! Standing in small groups, haggling over their bits of business — didn’t they realise that they were in God’s House? Tatty churls, breath reeking of garlic, unwashed armpits adding to the stench, their hosen soaked and foul with mud or worse, their faces grimy and hands all blackened and callused — they were hardly the sort of men Adam wanted in his church.
He saw Serlo arrive, and watched him cross the floor to join his brother Alexander. What a pair they were! Alex was at least intelligent, which was more than you could say about Serlo. The latter was revered only for the strength in those great biceps. Men were naturally cautious about upsetting someone who could pick them up with one hand and toss them into the next field, but they should worry more about his brother, the suave, collected Constable of the Peace who appeared to own more than half of the vill. As usual, Alex greeted Serlo with a broad smile and clasp of his forearm, slapping him on the back. Then he introduced him to the group around him. No doubt discussing the hire of his oxen, Father Adam thought. The beasts would be in demand to haul the heavy carts laden with the crop, and Alexander possessed a near monopoly of them.
Still, Alexander was the least of Adam’s problems. If the people of the vill were owned by him, Adam was owned by another man. And he was terrified.
At two and thirty years, he was old enough to know the dangers and escape them, but his life had ever been a series of errors and misjudgements, and now he had made the worst mistake of his life … if it felt natural and right, that was surely only a proof of the depth of his fall. Once he had been a good, right-thinking man, devoted to the cure of the souls in his little parish, and never, not even once, had he been tempted by the pretty women of the vill. Now, though, he had lapsed. He was in love, and had even declared his love. Oh, Christ in Heaven, save me, he prayed.