The Prophecy of Death: (Knights Templar 25) (27 page)

As he watched, the knight span and whirled, sword in his right hand, now in his left, making the movements that had been taught
to him as a Templar. His order had placed a great deal of emphasis on daily weapons practice, and now Baldwin’s muscles were
inured to the routine. He stood with his sword up, point angled downwards, right hand over his forehead, left hand flat like
a blade, over his belly, where he could slap away an attack. Then he whirled, sword sweeping about, until he stopped with
his right fist at his belt buckle,
sword pointing upwards to block, left hand over his breast. Each manoeuvre carefully distinct, every time the blade glimmering
with speed, only to halt firmly, unwavering. And as uncompromising as the movements of the steel was the expression on his
face.

‘You should train as well,’ Baldwin said.

‘At this time of day? I don’t think so.’

‘At any time, Simon,’ Baldwin said.

Simon gave a twisted smile and nodded towards his shoulder and hand. ‘With the wounds still this fresh? Meg would kill me
if I opened them.’

‘Aye, you may have a point there.’ Baldwin grinned. He sheathed his sword before wiping a forearm over his sweaty brow. ‘Let
us not be fools. We both know that Despenser sent his man to you to make a threat. But the fact that we bested his man may
lead Despenser to decide to try again, just to soothe his feelings of injured pride. He does not need your land or house,
but the fact you stood up to him and prevented him from taking it makes it unbearably tempting for him.’

‘What will William Wattere do about it?’ Simon scoffed. ‘He’s in gaol.’

‘For now. Do not forget that Bishop Walter is a close associate of Sir Hugh Despenser. Despenser is perfectly capable of demanding
that his man be freed. He will twist the King’s arm until he has a pardon, or perhaps he will simply deny that there is a
case to answer and have his man released by threatening the Bishop.’

‘How could he threaten the Bishop?’

‘Simon, to my knowledge, he has stolen lands from ladies up and down the country. He has threatened and captured men, and
taken all he wanted from them. He has deprived men and women of their treasure. He will stop at nothing to maintain
his power and authority, and if he finds a man is in his way, he will do all he can to force him to move. Now if news of your
success against his man was to become known, he would be in an intolerable position: he would be in a situation where others
could see that he could be prevented. If men see that an outlaw can be stopped, they do not fear that outlaw again. It is
only the ruthless exercise of might that keeps Despenser in power. Take away that might, and he becomes a nothing. That is
what he fears.’

‘So what do you propose that I do?’

‘Keep a wary ear on any sounds of escape from the Bishop’s gaol. So shall I. If Wattere is freed, we know that Despenser is
tensing his muscles ready for some kind of demonstration. And beyond that, plan to defend your home.’

‘You do not fill me with confidence.’

‘I fear I have little enough of it,’ Baldwin said heavily.

It was later that same day that they heard Wattere had been released.

Beaulieu

Jack set about his own packing early in the morning. There was little for him to worry about. A small parcel of clothes which
was bound inside a linen sack, a goatskin for some wine, a leather wallet with some bread, smoked sausage and cheese, and
a pair of thick fustian blankets, rolled tightly and bound with thongs, for the colder nights. He pulled his cloak about him,
and he was ready.

Everyone else here appeared to be preparing to leave as well. The Bishop of Orange was watching carefully as men stored his
papers in a cart, the King’s steward and Despenser’s bottler were stalking about among the wagons and sumpter horses ensuring
that all was packed, while clerks of the various departments of state were hurrying about, squeaking at men who looked as
though they might drop a chest or misstore a box in the wrong wagon, and generally getting in the way of everyone else while
making themselves thoroughly miserable at the same time.

It was not the kind of sight a man like Jack would see often in a lifetime. Once, he would have stood here on the steps near
a hall watching for very different reasons. Then he would have been here to assess the best method of stealing as much as
possible. He would have kept an eye on the wagons so that he could see which was holding all the gold or coins. Treasure
was best, of course, because a handful of rubies was lighter than its value in coin. Yes, there had been a time when he would
have been eyeing all this with carefully concealed desire. But not today.

Strange to think that a man like him could change so much. Yet he had. What had he been? A farmer, a sailor, a fisherman,
an outlaw, and now a guard. Honourable again, he knew he was a rarity. Most men, if they once turned out bad, were bad for
life. That was what all said. A man who became a felon was as dangerous as a wolf. That’s why they were called ‘wolfshead’,
and the law entitled any man to strike off their head without fear of punishment.

It was just. A man who was determined to be evil, who wanted to make his living by stealing and taking the property of others
deserved his end, he told himself – and then gave a wry grin. Strange how quickly a man’s attitude would change to reflect
his new reality.

The carts and wagons were for the most part filled by the middle of the morning. Clerks and men-at-arms stood about looking
weary already before the last sumpter horse had been fully packed, and Jack took stock.

Over on the left the marshal of the horses stood frowning at a horse which was holding a hoof in the air, injured, while the
yeoman of the horses berated two grooms for some infraction in the beast’s treatment. Nearby were the wagons set aside for
the King’s favourite treasures. They were filled with the leather chests bound with iron, which, earlier, Jack had seen packed
with cotton before having the more easily damaged goods installed, the expensive silver plates and bowls, the salt and mazers
of gold. The buttery had been more or less squeezed into four different wagons, the barrels all chocked and held in place
with ropes, while
the other foodstuffs were kept in a pair of wagons behind. All in all, with the men milling about the place and the noise
of the hounds, it was impossible to concentrate on anything.

This was an enormous household. Jack hadn’t appreciated just how large before, because many of the men and most of the horses,
the palfreys, sumpters and many dexters, had all been lodged elsewhere in the neighbourhood – there were too many to expect
the good Abbot of Beaulieu to support on his own at one location. Of course, not everyone would travel together. The harbingers
had already gone. One from the King’s chamber, a clerk from his kitchen, a servant from his hall, and a pair of servants from
his kitchen staff. They left very early, so as to make sure that the next stop would have food and drink waiting. Meanwhile,
the second team to go was the party who had the clothsack. They had the King’s personal items with them, all his clothing
and basic articles, and would leave shortly. After them would come the King, once he had eaten his meal. With him would be
the steward, his marshals of the hall and chamber, the sewer and other servants who would serve him, and all his men-at-arms
and knights. Finally, all the other servants and main baggage would follow on behind.

Jack shook his head. He would be travelling with the Bishop in the main party with the King, so he had heard. It would be
a slow business, though. On the way here, they had managed between thirty and forty miles each day, striving hard to make
the journey as swiftly as possible, and now all was being delayed for the King’s pleasure. The Bishop had hoped to be back
at Avignon with the Pope by now, but instead here they were, waiting on the King’s letter. He wanted to write to the Pope,
he said, so the Bishop must hold up here,
and hope to receive the letter before winter arrived. And in the meanwhile, their journeying would be far lengthier than necessary.
The King would probably only make fifteen miles a day or so. Jack had heard a servant talking about the speed of the King’s
father, Edward I, who had managed twenty, but Jack seriously doubted that anyone could do that with so many wagons. The damned
things were so slow and unmanoeuvrable, and every time they came to a hill, the dexters hauling would fail, and the grooms
of the marshalsea would have to go and hire some oxen to pull them up. No, it would slow things down immeasurably.

All of which was frustrating. But there was nothing he could do about it, and besides, he was in no hurry personally. Jack
idled the early morning away, watching the preparations with some amusement.

Until, that is, he saw the man in a herald’s uniform.

Lydford

‘How could he have let the bastard loose?’ Simon demanded. He clenched a fist and slammed it into his cupped hand. ‘Sweet
Jesus! Didn’t he know the bastard would be a threat to us?’

The messenger from the Bishop stood, somewhat disconcerted by the reaction to his news, and immediately Wolf grumbled deep
in his throat. The man looked at him, alarmed. ‘I was only asked to come and tell—’

Baldwin shook his head at the man, and held out both hands soothingly. ‘Simon, be calm! Wolf! Silent!’

‘My love,’ Margaret said, pale but calm, ‘he is an old friend. I feel sure he would never knowingly put us in danger. He knows
us all so well, and he is so kindly towards us. Can you imagine him willingly hurting us or our children? Of course not!’

‘Whether he intended it or not is irrelevant, Meg,’ Simon said harshly. ‘That goat-swyving churl is a danger to us while he
lives, if he remains with his master and in Despenser’s service.’

She was silent as he stalked away and stared from the window.

‘I begin to wonder whether the Bishop is truly our friend,’ he said, and there was a cold tone to his voice she hadn’t heard
before.

She turned to the messenger. ‘Was there anything else the good bishop wished us to know?’

‘Like I say, he has released the man Wattere, but only because Sir Hugh le Despenser has asked for his man to be sent back
to him so that his transgressions may be investigated.’

‘I suppose Bishop Walter couldn’t do that himself in Exeter?’

‘Simon!’ Margaret snapped. ‘Let the man finish!’

‘He has been taken by the Bishop with his entourage. The Bishop has been summoned to advise the King in Westminster. He told
me to tell you that it is a matter of grave importance about the affairs in France. And he said to tell you that the man will
not be likely to come here to trouble you. He will remain with the Bishop all the way to London.’

‘How reassuring!’

She hated seeing her husband like this. It was unnecessary; pointless. She had been nervous, of course, when the horrible
man had turned up and threatened her. It wasn’t something she was used to, having been a bailiff’s wife for so long. People
usually tended to show her and her family respect. But perhaps this was just a sign of the troubles to come.

Simon and she had known that when the Abbot of Tavistock
died, it was possible that their lives could become more difficult, for Simon had already been sent to Dartmouth to work,
ironically, as a kind gesture by Abbot Champeaux, who thought he was rewarding Simon for all his work in the past years. Sadly,
though, it was the worst thing he could have done. It split their family, and made it extremely difficult for Simon to maintain
contact with their children. Let alone the debilitating effect it had on his relationship with Meg herself. When she heard
that poor Abbot Robert had died, she was slightly relieved to hear it. She knew that with Abbot Robert gone, there would be
a change in power at the abbey which must inevitably lead to Simon being asked to give up his post on the coast.

As had happened. However, she had not been prepared for the fact that both of the protagonists seeking the abbacy might try
to put someone in Simon’s place on the moors as well. If he were not to have his old post as bailiff, when he had already
lost his position at Dartmouth, then what would they do for money? It was hard to tell. Perhaps he would be forced to leave
this area completely?

At least Simon was not a serf of the abbey. He was one of Sir Hugh de Courtenay’s men, so he could leave here whenever he
wanted, and they could return to their farm, if need be. The little farm near Sandford. It would be a shame to leave this
house. She had been very happy here – but the farm was a good property, too. It had been a wrench when she had first been
told that Simon had won the post at Lydford. With a sad little smile, she could now remind herself that she had not wanted
to come here. It was odd how attitudes could change.

It was Jeanne who tried to placate him now. ‘He tries to be your friend.’

‘You don’t understand,’ Simon said.

‘I think she understands better than you, Simon,’ Baldwin said.

‘What does that mean?’ Simon demanded.

Margaret said, ‘Surely if Despenser’s demanded the release of his man, the Bishop can hardly refuse? The Despenser is the
most powerful man in the country after the King, you keep telling me.’

‘He is, yes, but the Bishop must be almost as powerful. The King listens to him, and—’

‘There is no “and”, Simon,’ Baldwin said. ‘You were in London with me. You saw how the King deferred to Despenser. The two
are close. Very close. And the good bishop has little power compared with Sir Hugh.’

Simon turned to face him. His face showed his bitterness and concern. Margaret would almost have called it fear. ‘You want
me to just accept it, then? Should I give up my home here? Make a gift of it to Despenser? What is it to him, after all? The
man has so much, so many houses, castles, entire provinces! What does he want with this little place?’

Margaret shook her head. ‘He doesn’t care about the size. From all you’ve said, he’s like a hound who feeds until he cannot
eat more. He won’t stop eating because he’s full, because he doesn’t know when he can gorge again; in the same way Despenser
won’t stop stealing all he can because he doesn’t know how to. While he is in a position to, he will seek to continue taking
all he can.’

She stopped and looked about her. This little house had been her delight. She still loved it. That screen she had had built
a while ago, a neat, wooden construction that kept their private chambers beyond warmer and less draughty.
She had had paintings on the wall, one of St Rumon, the patron saint of the Abbey at Tavistock, and one of St Boniface of
Crediton, to remind them always where they had come from, where they had been so happy. This had been her home for almost
ten years. It was a long time. Hard to give it all up. But better that than find a man like Wattere appearing again.

‘No man just keeps stealing for the fun of making mischief, though,’ her husband was saying.

‘But, Husband, he isn’t. He is doing this to upset you, as he has succeeded, and to upset Baldwin through you,’ she said.
‘Why else would he do this?’

Simon stopped and stared at her. It was Baldwin who responded, though.

‘I think you are quite right, Margaret.’

‘What can we do, then, Baldwin?’ Simon said. ‘If you two are correct, and the evil bastard son of a whore is trying to anger
you and me, what should I do?’

‘Well, there is little point arguing with his henchman,’ Baldwin said. ‘It is he alone who can prevent any further problems.’

‘But would he? He hates us both, so he’ll hardly want to help us, will he? He could deny all knowledge of Wattere’s actions,
and support Wattere in the background, and we’d not be able to do anything. We could take Wattere to court, and with his money,
Despenser would be able to bribe any justice, any jury … I would be ruined in no time.’

‘There is no point, Simon,’ Margaret said sadly. She looked about her again. The picture of St Boniface had a lovely smile
to the face, and she smiled with a weariness she hadn’t known since her boy had been weaned. ‘He has won the battle. There
is no point in struggling against him. We should rent this
house, and move back to Sandford. That way, we gain more time. And it won’t matter, because you aren’t Bailiff any more.’

‘You want to give up all we have done here?’

She looked at Baldwin. ‘How many men and women has he killed?’

‘I don’t know. Many, though.’

‘Simon, I cannot lose you, and I cannot risk losing Peterkin. The house is just a house. We have another. Perhaps if we move
back to Sandford, he will leave us alone.’

‘Perhaps he will, at that,’ Baldwin said, to her surprise. And then he continued, ‘But I should feel happier if I had brought
the whole matter to the attention of the King himself. And I think that he owes you and I a favour, Simon.’

Beaulieu

Thomas of Bakewell never felt entirely right here among all the King’s men. At heart, he was still the Queen’s, heart and
soul. He would never forget her lovely face, only a little older than his own, and the frown of compassion on it as she smoothed
the hair from his brow that dreadful day of the King’s coronation.