Michael JECKS: The Last Templar

“Oh, very well,” said the monk petulantly.

They rode along in silence for a few minutes, until Simon said mildly, “So you are sure you will not join me and visit the manor? It will at least break your journey a little, and I’m sure your companions would like some refreshment.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw the oldest monk nod his head in approval at the suggestion and then wink, as if he knew Simon could see him but the abbot could not.

“No, we are all well. There is no need.”

“In that case, I will wish you a good and safe journey,” Simon sighed. “I must go back to the manor. I hope I shall see you soon, abbot. For now, goodbye.”

The abbot grunted and, annoyed at his demeanour, Simon wheeled his horse to gallop back to the lane to the manor. As he turned he caught a brief smile on the face of the older monk, as if in gratitude for his offer. The bailiff nodded to him and urged his horse into a gallop.

At the lane, he found Hugh moodily sitting on his horse and waiting.

“I thought you must’ve forgotten me, riding off like that.”

“Oh, shut up,” said Simon, having had more than enough sulkiness for one day, and led the way down the lane to the manor.

It was getting close to noon when they finally clattered their way up to the front of the old manor.

The house had been built by the Furnshill family over a hundred years before when they had first arrived in Devon to serve their lords, the de Courtenays. It stood high on the side of a hill, almost hidden from the sides by the thick woodland all around. It was a long, whitewashed cob building, with black timber to reinforce the single-storey walls. It looked much like the farmhouses of the area, and sat as if peering over the lane that led to its door. Small windows were set into the walls just below the thatch and the door was almost in the middle of the building, giving it a cheerful and pleasant aspect. This was not a fortified manor built in fear, a place constructed for defence. It was a family home, a strong and welcoming house.

Behind and to the right were the stables. They were a group of large buildings, similar to the main house, surrounding the trodden dirt of the yard. Here, as Simon knew, were areas for the horses and the oxen. There was even one large shed for the farm implements. Simon and Hugh ignored the entrance to the yard and rode up to the front of the house before dismounting, whereupon a pair of stablemen appeared from nowhere, making the bailiff smile to himself. Obviously the whole household was trying to put on a good show for the new master.

After Simon had got off his horse and handed it to the waiting hostler, he stood and took in the view. From here he could see for miles, over the tops of the tree-covered hills to the moors, lowering in blue-grey malevolence in the far distance. Tugging off his gloves, he turned to the door as Baldwin came out to welcome them.

“I think I was right to come on ahead,” he said, smiling as he shook the bailiff’s hand. “You have taken an age to get here, Simon. Can you not teach your servant to ride a little faster?”

Simon felt Hugh stiffen behind him, but smiled in return. “It was my fault, sir, I stopped to talk to the monks.”

“What monks?” asked the knight absently as he led them in through the thick wooden door.

“Didn’t you see them? We came upon them at the end of your lane here. Four monks and an abbot; they’re on their way to the monastery at Buckland.”

Baldwin frowned slightly. “No, I didn’t see them,” he said with disinterest, and shrugged, seeming to put them out of his mind as he smiled again. “Wine? Or would you prefer some beer?”

The manor did not seem to have suffered the privations of so many other parts of the county during the rains. Simon and Hugh were given a hearty meal of mutton stew with fresh bread, all the while having to answer a stream of questions from their inquisitive host, who seemed to want to know everything about his new estates, how they had changed in his absence and how the people had fared while he had been away. At last, as they all pushed themselves away from the table and sat closer to the fire, he smiled and apologised.

“I’m sorry if you had to pay for your food so dearly, but I want to be a good master to the people here. I have seen too many lords who treated their people badly and taxed them heavily. I want to be known to be fair to them, and to do that I must know all I can.”

“I think you have a good and strong estate, sir…” Simon began, but the knight interrupted him.

“As bailiff to knight, I think we can talk to each other as equals.”

Recognising the honour, Simon smiled and inclined his head. It was not his imagination – he could feel that already there was some kind of bond between him and this grave knight. The man seemed to be seeking his friendship and Simon found it flattering, even though he knew that it was likely to be only the interest of a lonely newcomer seeking the acquaintance of an important neighbour. He continued, “Thank you. So, Baldwin, your estate has not been so badly affected as some others. The rains have been very bad this year, but Furnshill is high enough to have missed the worst of the damage. The lower-lying areas were badly flooded, but your crops were not too badly affected, not as badly as some. In other shires the people are starving, but I think your people haven’t suffered much.”

“Certainly all I have seen and heard shows that the people of Guyenne and France are without food. And I saw that the people in Kent were suffering when I passed through.” He seemed to be thinking, drawing in on himself with a frown of concentration.

“When was that?”

“What?”

“When did you pass through Kent? Was it recently? I just wondered whether things are still that bad or whether they’re getting better.”

“Oh. Well, it would have been about nine months ago, I suppose. But I have spoken to many travellers since then and things do not seem to have improved.” He sighed. “It sometimes seems unfair that so many people have to suffer so much to survive, does it not?”

“Yes,” agreed Simon, staring reflectively into his mug. “But it is the natural way. We all have to serve, whether it is our master or our God, and the people must work to serve us, although some are more harshly treated than is needed.”

“In what way?”

“As you say, it can seem unfair sometimes. When you see men being taxed too heavily, or the sheriffs taking money from the taxes to put in their own purses, or when you see robbers taking all the profit from a farmer who will have to try some other way to feed his children. It’s not only the weather that causes problems when you are a farmer.”

“No. No, of course not,” said the knight reflectively. “But, tell me, why do you mention the sheriffs? Is there a problem with the man in Exeter?”

“No, we’re lucky here. He seems a good and honest man. No, he’s alright, but you must know about the others, surely? Only a couple of years ago almost all of them throughout the country were changed because of their corruption.”

“I hadn’t heard that, no. But I was out of the country at the time, so…”

“Well, as I say, most were changed. There were many cases of false indictments, and you can guess who benefited. I think it’s beginning again. And, as usual, it’s the poor that are hit hardest.”

“You seem to feel strongly about it, Simon.”

“I do, I do. I want to be known to be fair to the people in my area and known to be their protector. I don’t want to be thought of as a heavy and unfair taxer, as being interested in lining my own purse at the expense of others. And I want to make sure that the people here can travel safely. Thank God we are not yet plagued with outlaws here!”