eyed, she was slim and graceful, with movements as quick and assured as an eagle. She gave Baldwin the definite feeling that she had the bulk of the intelligence in her marriage.
“My brother, John.” This youth was clearly training to be a soldier. Well-formed, with lighter hair than the others in his family, he had surprisingly clear blue eyes for such a dark colored skin, which flitted over Simon and then passed on to Baldwin with an intensity the knight found curiously unsettling. Then there was one more.
“My brother’s master, Sir Ralph of Warton.” Slim and elegant in his flowing green tunic, he struck Baldwin as being a well-travelled man. It showed in his calm eyes, dark, hooded eyes under thin eyebrows. He had no visible scars, but Baldwin knew all too well that many men of war carried their battle honors under their clothes, at the points where their armor was weakest. As he studied the knight, Simon introduced them, and as his name and title were given, Baldwin was suddenly aware of his interest being reciprocated. Sir Ralph of Warton was plainly disconcerted by his presence, as if for some reason he had cause to fear Baldwin – or his position.
Food was brought, bread fresh from the ovens and cold meats, and Simon and Baldwin, as guests, were invited to join the family at their board. Gratefully they accepted, sitting together at the end of the table opposite Sir Ralph. By common consent all avoided mention of the reason for Simon’s visit until the meal was finished, then Matillida, her son John and Sir Ralph all rose and looked enquiringly at Sir Robert, expecting him to join them. He steadfastly refused to meet their eyes, staring instead at his father, who gave a petulant shrug of his shoulders in assent.
As soon as the other three had left them alone, it was the son who began to set out the case for the return of the wayward villein, his father toying with his empty pewter goblet.
“So what d’you intend to do, bailiff? We asked the chief warden of Lydford to come and investigate; instead he’s sent you, so what’re you going to do? This leaching away of our villeins must be halted or we’ll be ruined.”
“It’s difficult, of course,” said Simon soothingly. “The chief warden asked me to come and talk it through with you. But you understand the difficulties. Your villein’s now a miner, a stanner, and…”
“We know all that! The question is, what’re you going to do to get him back? If the Manor can’t produce food, we’ll have no money: we’ll be unable to pay our taxes. Mark my words, if this miserable cur gets away with his disloyalty, others will soon follow his example.”
“Yes, but the stanners have ancient rights…” Simon sighed as he was interrupted again.
“You don’t need to tell me of them! I was born here, I know about the stannary privileges. This isn’t the same. Peter Bruther’s no tinner. He’s not digging for peat or tinning. He’s just sitting in his new cottage and enjoying doing nothing. Don’t take my word for it, go and see for yourself!”
Speaking patiently, Simon said, “Even if I did, what good would it do? It makes no difference whether I see him lazing around or not. As far as the law’s concerned, he’s no longer your responsibility now, so…”
“None of our responsibility?” The boy’s voice rose to a shout. “He’s our villein, and the law’s allowing him to run away! Just to satisfy a few thugs on the moors…”
“And the King,” Baldwin interjected mildly.
Sir Robert shot him a glance of loathing. His voice shook with contempt as he sneered: “The King? That runt! What…”
“Be silent, Robert.” His father leaned forward at last, resting his elbows on the table. Like others Baldwin had known with wounded cheeks, the old knight had a slight lisp as if his tongue was damaged. He looked tired, and Baldwin was sure that it was not his idea to send to the chief warden for help. “Now, bailiff, you know my son is right. Something has to be done; I cannot allow my villeins to fade from my lands. What will the position of the chief warden be if I go and fetch this man Bruther back?”
“You mustn’t,” Simon said bluntly. “If you do, the miners will be within their rights to prevent you, and the chief warden doesn’t want a fight.”
“You will do nothing to help us, then?”
Simon held up his hands in a gesture of despondency. “What do you want me to say, sir? Do you want me to lie? To promise something you know I can’t offer? I’ve got no massive force to call on, I’m merely the King’s man here – and I can’t sanction any breaking of the law. Bruther has the law on his side. If you try to get him back, I must tell you I’ll have to support the miners if they want to stop you. But you already know that. Look – if you wish, I can try to lend some support to your plight by writing…”
“So, after many years of looking after the King’s interests, I must now accept the loss of my principal wealth, is that it?”
“This man has gone. Forget him. He’s effectively a free man now, owning his own land for mining.”
“Bailiff.” Sir Robert Beauscyr leaned forward, and his voice hissed as he spoke. “As far as I’m concerned, that man’s still our villein, and our villeins own nothing! They’ve use of some of our property while we let them, and that’s all. If they own anything, it’s their bellies and their hunger. Nothing else.”
“Sir William.” Simon ignored his son’s outburst. “There’s nothing I can say will change the facts.”
“No, there isn’t, is there?” said Sir Robert, and rising suddenly so that his chair slammed over, he glared at Simon. “But I’m not prepared to see my inheritance fail because of the stupidity of the law – and its officials! If you’ll not help us, we must sort out the issue ourselves!” And he swept from the room before Simon could answer.
For a moment, all three were silent. Baldwin’s eyes were on the curtain, still fluttering after Sir Robert’s angry passage, when he heard Sir William speak quietly, his tone thoughtful.
“He’s very worried, as we all are. Out here in the moors, it’s hard enough to keep the peasants working without losing the young ones who hope to gain their freedom and make a good quantity of money in the process.”
“Yes, I understand the problem, but what can I do? As bailiff, I must uphold the law.”
“And you think this is the way to do it? In God’s name!” He turned to Simon in despair. “I stopped my son from saying anything villainous about him, but – Christ Jesus! – the King cannot control the people. Look at affairs in Bristol – only two years ago, the city had to be assaulted with artillery because they refused to pay taxes due to the Crown. In the countryside, trailbaston is a growing problem, and outlaws are springing up everywhere. Villeins dare open rebellion. Nowhere do people want to obey the law; they all hold the King in contempt since Bannockburn. What’ll happen to us if this man is allowed to get away? We could have an uprising here, in my Manor. The villeins could decide to revolt – and what would you do then, bailiff? Would you come and apologize to my corpse? And to the bodies of my wife and sons?”
There was nothing Simon could say, and after a moment the old knight’s gaze dropped to his hands. He had hoped for some help, something constructive, but it was obvious that he would get nothing from the warden or his bailiff. As the miners well knew, they had power and the strength of the law behind them. There was nothing more he could do – all was now in God’s own hands. Slowly he stood and walked from the room, suddenly feeling his age. He must at the least stop his eldest son from behaving foolishly and provoking the miners.
When the curtain had fallen behind Sir William, Baldwin heard a heavy sigh. Glancing at the bailiff, the knight gave him a wry smile. “I think I begin to comprehend your trepidation about our visit here.”
Simon grunted. Then, looking quickly at the curtained doorway, he stood. “Let’s go and have a look round the Manor. This room makes me nervous. I feel like a prisoner waiting for the jailer to return.”
Once more in the courtyard, Simon took a deep breath of the warm, peat-tainted fresh air. He had expected the Beauscyrs to be angry, but that did not make it any easier. After all, he was in agreement with them, and he had no wish to be responsible for any harm to them should they be attacked by their villeins in an uprising. His friend’s sympathetic voice broke into his thoughts.
“Come now, Simon. There is nothing else you can do for them. As you said, Peter Bruther is legally entitled to stay there if he wants.”
“I know, I know, but that hardly helps. After all, like Sir William said, a Manor is only as good as its workforce, and if the villeins here find they can ignore their lord’s will, they’ll lose respect for him – and that can only lead to rebellion.”
Baldwin waved a hand at the buildings ringing the yard. “You need not fear for Beauscyr overmuch,” he said dryly. “Look at this place! It would take the posse of the county to break in here.”
Simon could see what his friend meant. From inside, the defenses could be better appreciated, and appeared even more impressive. Apart from the tall walls, the storehouses beneath the main hall looked full. Judging from the number of men bustling around, there was a fair complement of guards as well as the servants. Simon pointed with
