“No, he is a good man, and I told him first that I would only tell him on his oath of silence.” He drained his cup with a determined gesture and stood. “So, my friend, I am ready. I yield to you. Do with me as you see fit.”
Chapter Twenty-six
One week later, Simon rode over to see his friend Peter Clifford for one last visit before he went to take up his new position at Lydford.
“Come in, come in and sit down, old friend,” said the priest when he entered, handing his cloak to the servant at the door. When he was seated and had a full tankard of wine in his hand, the priest sat back with a contemplative smile and surveyed him.
The last time they had met, on Simon’s return from the hunt for the trail bastons, Simon had seemed older. There had been new lines of worry and anxiety on his face and brow, deep impressions like scars. But now the priest was pleased to see that peace had returned to his features, making him seem younger once more. It was as if he had tested himself in a severe trial and found himself satisfied with the result. The memories of the horrors he had seen would never leave him, Clifford felt, but he already seemed to have been able to put them into perspective.
The priest nodded to himself. He was happy that his young friend was more than capable of the new job he had been given. He was not like so many officials, grasping for whatever extra money could be squeezed from others in unfair taxes, this man was fair and honest. Clifford was all too aware of the extortion and corruption prevalent in other shires, and was pleased to think that at Lydford at least the common people would be protected.
“So when do you leave for Lydford, Simon?” he asked after a pause.
“We go tomorrow. It will take a few days to go all that way with the things that Margaret wants to take with us. We have already had to organise two ox carts.”
“So you should be there in a week?”
“Yes, I would hope so. We shall stay in Oakhampton for a day or so and introduce ourselves to the bailiff there, then go straight on.”
“I see.” Clifford poured himself a little more wine and raised an enquiring eyebrow at his friend, who shook his head. He put the jug back on the hearth. “It was sad to hear about the Carters – and Roger Ulton. I suppose no man can see into another’s heart, but I would never have thought him a murderer.”
“No. He did not seem evil. The Carters will be all right, they’re mostly guilty of acting foolishly, and their offences seem unimportant compared with Ulton’s.”
“Yes, or compared with those of the outlaws. It’s good that the trail bastons are in gaol, thanks to God! That’s one horror less for the people hereabouts to fear, especially after killing the abbot like that!”
“Yes,” said Simon, avoiding his eye.
“They should be found guilty when they are tried, so that will be an end to the matter. Roger and they will soon have to pay for their crimes with a rope.”
“Yes.”
Frowning slightly, the priest nodded in amused perplexity as if he was confused by a disparity between the bailiff’s words and his appearance. Leaning forward, Clifford carefully placed his tankard down beside him while he looked at his friend. “Simon, you seem to be trying to keep something from me!”
The bailiff looked up, his expression one of indifferent innocence. “Me? What would I keep from you?”
“Simon!” the priest tried a mixture of sternness and humour together.
“Oh, very well, Peter, but I charge you to keep this silent as the confessional.”
The priest frowned slightly, but nodded. “You have my word.”
The bailiff smiled at him, but now Clifford could see that he was troubled as he spoke, as if something had been giving him difficulty for a while and it was with relief that he could at last speak to another of his problem.
“Let us suppose,” Simon began, “that there has been a murder, or some other crime. Let us suppose that men have been caught for this crime, but that they were not guilty of it. Somebody else was. There is evidence that shows who was guilty, but the man responsible is a fair and honourable man who could be of use to the area. The men who are assumed to be guilty are truly guilty of many other crimes and if they are punished they will not be missed. If the evidence is presented, a good man will be destroyed. Would I be right in withholding the evidence, do you think?”
The priest let out his breath in a low whistle. “You would have to be very sure that you were right!” he said at last. “You could be mistaken, after all, and be letting the guilty man go free purely because he has confused you and pulled the wool over your eyes. Why should you believe him?”
The bailiff shifted guiltily, as though he was himself the object of the conversation. He seemed to think carefully before answering, then spoke with conviction. “No, I am certain that I am right. I know who did it and I am sure of his motives. No, the only thing that worries me is whether I am right to keep back the evidence.”
“Well, if you are as sure as you seem to be that this man is good and useful, I would say that you would be right. There are so many crimes. What good would it do to have yet another man punished if he could be of use to the people around here? And if, as you say, the others who will be punished are already guilty of other crimes, I assume you mean by that they will die anyway, so what difference will it make to them? I suppose that if you must keep something back in order that one should remain free, I see no problem with that.”
“Good. That was as I thought. Thank you, old friend.”
“So, you have had a great success with the matter, anyway.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, you have caught the murderers of the abbot and of Brewer and the killers of the merchants. It is a good way to begin your tenure at Lydford, isn’t it?”
It was late afternoon when Simon returned home. He threw the reins of his horse to Hugh, who took them with his usual taciturn grimace, and wandered through to the hall of his house.
It seemed odd to see the place like this, he thought, with so many of their belongings packed away in boxes and ready to be collected on the morrow for the journey to Lydford. As he clumped over the floor to his wife it seemed as if the whole building echoed in its emptiness, and as he listened to his own footsteps, he realised that he must get used to the sound of emptiness, for the castle would be just as quiet in the absence of its master, Lord de Courtenay.
“How is Peter?” said Margaret as he kissed her.
“Oh, he’s fine. He wishes us all the best in Lydford, bless him. I shall miss him when we have gone.”
“I am sure he will visit us often, my love. Now, do you want some wine?”
He sat and gratefully took the mug she passed, then sat in silent contemplation. So much seemed to have happened since his return from Taunton that he was still not fully relaxed. Nor would he really be able to recover, he knew, until he was in his new home and had taken up his new duties. But now he had spoken to Peter Clifford at least he was sure he had done the right thing.
As he was thinking this, Hugh entered to announce a guest.
“Sir Baldwin Furnshill.”
The knight entered, Edgar a little behind him as usual, both loudly stomping over the floor and bowing slightly to Margaret and Simon.
“Welcome, friends. Please take a seat. Some wine?”
After a few minutes of general talk Baldwin asked Simon to join him outside to look at a new horse. Smiling quietly to himself, Simon followed the knight out into the open air and round to the stables at the side of his house.
“She is lovely, isn’t she?” said the knight, patting the neck of his mare, a pure white arab.
“Yes, she is,” Simon agreed, sipping at his wine as he looked at the animal. She seemed one of those creatures built for speed and agility, prancing nervously under the two men’s gaze, all fire and spirit as she rolled
