‘Is that where you are taking me, then?’
Baldwin smiled. ‘If Sir Gilbert had money, he wouldn’t have left it with a sailor whose trustworthiness was questionable.’
‘Why do you suppose William Small’s loyalty was questionable?’
‘Look at it from Sir Gilbert’s perspective: he was a trained Templar. Forget how he has lived recently, for he wouldn’t count it as important. He was taught as a Templar and that is how he would think.’
Simon nodded. He knew that Baldwin had himself been a Templar and trusted his judgement.
‘Very well,’ continued Baldwin, ‘could a man like Sir Gilbert trust a man like William? No! Sir Gilbert would trust a man who was bound by oaths as strong as his own; he wouldn’t trust someone who could choose to leave his craft on a whim. That is what William did, from his own testimony.’
‘All right, we’ll take that as a reasonable hypothesis.’
‘If he could not leave the money in William’s hands, it is perfectly clear that he couldn’t take it with him to Tiverton either. Where could he leave it? He would not wish to carry it with him wherever he went; that would invite trouble. Fairs attract thieves, cut-purses and more vigorous felons. It would be madness to walk about with it.’
‘Couldn’t he have placed it somewhere safe?’
‘With whom? If Sir Gilbert had visited Tiverton, how long ago was that? Could he be sure that any friends he used to know would still be alive? No! He would want to ensure that the treasure was concealed far from a robber’s eyes.’
Simon gave an elaborate yawn. ‘Does this mean you’re getting close to the point?’
‘Patience, friend! We know that Sir Gilbert was a Templar and we also know that he came from Templeton.’
Simon slapped his forehead. ‘So he would be aware of any number of places to hide the stuff!’
‘Precisely.’
Originally their path had taken them along the side of a small stream which meandered down towards Tiverton where it joined the Exe, but now they left it behind and entered a thicker section of woodland. The sun was still high overhead, and the men and their mounts began to feel the heat. With no breeze to cool them, it was immensely warm and the dust beneath their horses’ hooves stirred and rose to choke them. Aylmer sneezed regularly, shaking his head comically. It was a relief to all of them when they found themselves at the bank of another river with a mill.
They dropped from their beasts, Simon dipping his hands into the water and dashing his face before drinking deeply. Aylmer lapped fastidiously at the edge, while Baldwin rinsed a cloth and spread it over his face a moment before tasting the water.
As they rode on past the mill, Baldwin stopped and nodded to the miller in his doorway. ‘Is this the mill of Harlewin le Poter?’ he asked.
The miller – a short, scruffy individual with a bald head and guilty smile, nodded shortly.
‘Was he here the night before last?’
The miller chewed his lip before venturing, ‘Yes.’
‘Alone?’
In reply the miller went red from his shirt upwards. His obvious discomfort made Simon laugh aloud. ‘Don’t worry, miller. He has already told us about Lady Cecily Sherman.’
The man’s face relaxed instantly and he seemed to sag with relief.
‘Did they leave together?’
‘No, sir. They always left separate. She went first, he a while later.’
‘Thank you. Now…’ Soon they had directions to the village and were on their way once more. Their path took them northwards, up narrow tracks, between thick hedges, and on one side Baldwin could hear the munching of cattle although he could see nothing. Every now and again there came a loud roaring from a bull and he hoped that the beast would not be able to escape from its field. In a narrow lane like this a bull could easily create mayhem and kill or injure both Simon and him.
As they arrived on a broad plain they could see the little ramshackle manor to their left and they turned off on the small untended road which led down a slight hill to the small chapel. From the look of the lack of graves, the ground was not consecrated.
‘My God! What a sad place,’ Simon said in a hushed tone.
‘There was once a large staff here,’ Baldwin said sadly. ‘It was a thriving little manor bringing in enough money to cover the cost of a Templar Knight. And it has been left to rot.’
He knew that many other Templar sites had suffered the same fate. The lands had been taken by the King together with all their moveable property. But the Templars had not owned the lands – they were owned by the Church. The Pope decreed that they should all pass to the Knights of St John of Jerusalem, the Hospitallers, to ensure that the wealth that they represented should continue to be put to the use intended. Unfortunately, the Hospitallers did not have the manpower to administrate so many properties, and King Edward II had an expensive court to maintain. He still, from what Baldwin had heard, had not passed over the deeds to any of the Templar manors; this meant that local men had plundered the little that the King’s own Keepers had left. Everything of any use whatsoever had long since been carted off.
The lands had fallen into disuse. Some farmers had taken over fields and houses, encroaching ever closer to the main precincts, for although some had heard of the sins of the Templars and feared contamination by excommunicates, many had never been told of the hideous crimes the Templars were supposed to have committed.
Only fifteen years before, Baldwin thought bitterly, this place would have been bustling, filled with hurrying servants. There would have been a brewery, storehouses, a small mill down to the west, orchards filled with pears and apples, cattle being driven to and from the dairies, men and women, the lay-workers, busy at work, ensuring the profit from the manor’s lands that would help pay for a knight to protect pilgrims.
And now it was all waste, as devastated as a farmstead after a marauding army has passed. It struck a blow at Baldwin’s heart. He had seen this kind of place at its prime; to see it like this was hideous.
‘It’s not what I expected,’ Simon said softly. His wife only rarely accused him of empathy, but seeing his friend’s face Simon could share a little of Baldwin’s despair.
‘I had not realised how they had simply left the preceptories to ruin.’
Simon glanced about him. There was little remaining. Roofs had collapsed and the walls wouldn’t stand much longer. Doors hung from torn and broken leather hinges; shutters had fallen away. Peering inside the shell of a house Simon was surprised to see that a bowl still stood on a table as if the owner had rushed out to chase a dog from his sheep.
‘Come!’ Baldwin said gruffly and resolutely swung himself from his horse. ‘There is no point in a mawkish display. I knew my Order was destroyed. There! Let us seek this wealth.’
‘Yes, Baldwin,’ Simon said. He tied his horse to a ring in a wall, testing it doubtfully to see whether it would take the strain. Waiting while his friend tied his own to a post, he didn’t glance behind him until Baldwin was done, and then he saw another horse tethered. ‘Whose is that?’
‘Perhaps when we know that we shall know more about the whole affair,’ said Baldwin, patting Aylmer’s head. But as they set off to the door Baldwin’s hand slipped to his sword.
Andrew Carter was about to cross the road and enter his house when he paused. The noise in the street was loud enough, but he was sure he heard the barking, harsh laugh of the Coroner, and even as the merchant stared up and down the street, his ears told him where that voice had come from: his own hall.
It wasn’t unusual for the Coroner to come and see him, but such visits were usually foreshadowed by some form of warning. Still, Andrew Carter prided himself on being a good host and he was prepared to make le Poter most welcome. Especially since he had hopes of discovering more from the fellow about the Lord Hugh’s plans.