Michael JECKS - The Last Templar

“It would seem that you are settling in well in your new home, Baldwin,” said Simon at last when they were all seated.

Baldwin waved at the food, then patted his dog on the head as she sat beside him, smiling at her briefly. “Yes, it’s marvellous to be back, and it does already feel like home.”

“Even after travelling so much?”

“Oh, I’ve seen many other countries and I’ve stayed in a number, but there’s nowhere like the place you were born in, and for me the best country to live in is this.”

“So where have you been, sir?” asked Margaret, “and what have you done?”

“I have been all over the known world, lady. I have been through France, Spain, and even to Rome. But you must remember, I have been travelling for many years. I left my home here over twenty-five years ago, and I have been travelling ever since.”

“You must have seen many strange sights.”

“Oh yes, but nothing as strange as some of the sights you see here in Devonshire. There is little quite as unique as the moors – all through my travels I have been surprised by that. Dartmoor really is astonishing. It has so many different parts – the moors themselves, the forests, the farm land, the quicksands. I went for a ride yesterday and went down through to Moretonhampstead. I had forgotten how beautiful the land is down there.”

Simon leaned forward slightly. “But surely in some of the countries you have visited there were more magnificent sights?” he asked innocently, trying to get the knight to speak more about his journeying.

“Oh, I suppose to many there were, but, for me, to be able to stand on the hills above Drewsteignton and look out over the moors with the wind in my hair is worth any number of foreign sights. Margaret, would you like a little more lamb? Or perhaps some rabbit?”

The bailiff sighed inwardly. It was clear that the knight was still keen to avoid any further discussion of his travels, and that he would be happier if he could change the subject.

“So have you heard about the murder, Baldwin?” Margaret said when she had taken more food. Simon looked up quickly.

“Yes, of course. I was there at Blackway with Simon to…”

“But what of the killing of the abbot.”

“Abbot?” asked the knight, looking at Simon questioningly. “Oh, that was why you weren’t around, of course, you sent me a message.”

“Simon is in charge of the hunt for the men. They took an abbot hostage from the road, he was travelling down to Buckland Abbey with some monks, and they burned him at the stake only a few miles from Copplestone.”

“Really? Well, no doubt Simon will catch the men responsible,” said Baldwin, turning an expressionless face to the bailiff. Simon was sure he could see a glitter in his eyes for a moment, but then it passed and the knight seemed uninterested. In an obvious attempt at changing the subject he passed a roasted rabbit to the bailiff and said, “So have you any more about the death of Brewer?”

“Yes, I went and spoke to the warrener.” Simon sighed; he did not really want to get involved in discussions about the deaths tonight – just for the evening it would be pleasant to be able to relax. “He reckons he saw someone on the night that Brewer died, in the woods over on the other side of the road from his house, but he couldn’t say who it was or when he saw him. Oh, and I went to see Ulton’s woman. She says he left her early that night, so it seems he could have been back at Brewer’s in time.”

Baldwin fidgeted, his mouth a thin line, his brows puckered tight as he thought. “Why would Ulton have used her as an excuse for not being there if he knew she would not support him? Does that mean he thought she would lie to protect him?”

“Surely,” said Margaret, elegantly dismembering a chicken and sucking her fingers, “surely he would have made sure of her support?” She glanced at the knight.

“Yes. He would, if he had realised that he was going to kill Brewer that night. If he was going to kill the man, he would have made sure his woman would agree to protect him, wouldn’t he. What did you think about this Cenred, Simon?”

Swallowing a hunk of meat, the bailiff wiped the grease from his mouth, his knife in his hand. “I thought he seemed honest. He didn’t seem to have any secrets, he even admitted that he saw a figure – but did nothing because he was scared.”

“Scared?”

“You know, the stories. Old Crockern.”

“Oh. Yes, I see. So we’re left with this Ulton, anyway. I’ll have to think about that. Why do you think he…”

“Baldwin,” said Simon patiently, “I’m going to have my work cut out dealing with the death of the abbot. I don’t have time to worry about a farmer like Brewer.”

“But if he was murdered, his killer should be sought,” said Baldwin with a small frown. “He may not have been high born, but he still deserves to be avenged.”

“Yes, but I am an officer. I must find the killers of the abbot before anything else. The abbot’s murderers must take priority.”

“I see. Yes, of course,” said Baldwin, then airily waved his knife. “Anyway, for now let’s forget all about death and murder. Margaret, may I interest you in some lamb?”

Simon felt vaguely pleased; he did not want to have the evening spoiled by talking about the murder. He had no desire to discuss the hunt for the killer, he wanted to enjoy himself, not bring the miserable death of the abbot into the room, and he was relieved that the knight expressed no more interest in the murder.

The knight was obviously in his element while entertaining, and was remarkably well informed about a variety of subjects about which Simon was, at best, only vaguely aware, talking about matters with a depth of knowledge that could only have come from personal experience. He spoke about trade, about ships that carried goods from Venice and Rome as far as Palestine. The cargoes obviously fascinated him, the cloths from Gaza and sweets from the old cities on the coast. It was clear that he knew a great deal about transport and shipping, and he told them about the merchant warships of the Italian cities and how they traded. He told of the great wealth amassed by them, but as quickly as he had begun, he suddenly stopped, a faint, wry smile on his face, as if it was getting too close to his own past, and started to talk about the troubles with the Scots in the north.

Simon was surprised to find that the knight seemed to know a great deal about the troubles with the Scots. Since Robert Bruce’s brother, Edward, had crowned himself king of Ireland earlier in the year, the British armies had been subjected to a number of trials, leading finally to the siege of Carrickfergus. At the same time, the Scots had other men harassing the Border counties, even raiding down as far as Yorkshire, killing and looting all the way. Baldwin’s deep voice took on a solemn tone as he described the events in the north and his eyes took on a glazed look, as if he could see the hordes running south in his mind’s eye as he spoke.

One thing did seem odd to the bailiff during the meal – Simon noticed that Baldwin drank only very sparingly. It made him wrinkle his brow in wonder. The knight’s servant often refilled the other mugs on the table, but even as the light faded and the servant tugged a tapestry over the window, Baldwin seemed to drink little but some water and an occasional sip of wine. Simon mentally noted the point. It seemed strange, for everyone drank beer or wine, and moderation was a rare or curious trait, but soon, as he drank more himself, he forgot, and devoted himself to taking advantage of his host’s generosity.

When they had all eaten their fill, Baldwin led them over to the fire while his man cleared the remains of their meal from the table.