Baldwin had adopted in days gone by, had stayed at her side, sitting quietly, and gazing at Baldwin with an expression of anxious confusion. When the knight touched her old body, it was still warm, but there was no breath whistling and snorting through her short, age-whitened muzzle, and he suddenly found his eyes brimming at the realization that she would no longer chew his sticks, or dribble on his lap while he ate, or leave a noxious reminder of her presence in the corner of the hall. He found he missed her.
So he had decided to take one of her great-grandchildren to replace her. He had overruled Edgar and gone to the kennels behind the stables, and as soon as he had seen the tawny mass of blubber and fur, he had pointed, and said, “That is the one.” And so “Uther” was chosen as the house’s guard.
Except Baldwin’s servant refused to dignify the animal with such a name. He felt that the monster should be identified by something that reflected the reality. Consequently, due to Edgar’s constant repetition, the eight- month-old now answered to “Chops.”
“This dog should return to the kennels, sir,” Edgar said.
“Uther stays.”
“He attacked Cottey this morning.”
“Uther st-” Baldwin gave his servant a suspicious look. What do you mean, “attacked Cottey”?“
“Cottey came to speak to you and the dog scared him almost stupid.”
“You mean Uther made him brighter than normal!” he growled.
“It was nothing to laugh about. When I got there, Uther had him up against the table and-”
“The table?” A light glimmered in Baldwin’s eye. He asked suavely, “So this was in the hall, was it?”
Edgar waved a hand. “It’s irrelevant, the point is the dog terrified the poor-”
“Uther is a guard. Cottey should have known that. If he walked straight into the hall, it’s no surprise Uther tried to defend the place. The dog was doing his duty against a draw-latch.”
Seeing that he had lost that sally, Edgar ventured a fresh attack. “And what about other guests? What if this mutt should take it into his so-called brain to defend the house against someone staying with you?”
Baldwin’s attitude altered subtly. Now there was a degree of shiftiness in his manner as he avoided his servant’s gaze. “He just needs a little training. Anyway, he’s fine with people he’s been introduced to.”
“Yesterday Chops was with me all morning. I left the room for a few minutes, and when I came back in he barked at me! I had been gone long enough to draw one quart of ale from the buttery; in that time the mutt had forgotten me, and you seriously suggest he’s going to be fine with strangers?”
Baldwin ruffled the dog’s ears. At his touch Uther sprang up, and the knight had to avert his face as another gobbet of slobber flew upward. “He’s just affectionate,” he said gruffly, forcing the dog down again. On his chest two massive, damp paw prints reflected the light from the open doorway.
Edgar stared at them pointedly. “And what about the lady Jeanne?”
The knight hesitated. He had to admit that Edgar had a point there, as he looked at the fresh mud that spattered his tunic. The widow from Liddinstone was due to visit any day, in the company of Simon Puttock and his wife.
It would be good to see them all. Simon was the bailiff of Lydford Castle, a man with the unenviable task of keeping the tinminers and local landlords apart to prevent bloodshed. He and Baldwin had joined forces several times now to solve unexplained local murders. Simon’s wife Margaret had exerted herself on Baldwin’s behalf, introducing him to all her more marriageable friends; she had seen his loneliness and had tried to tempt him with women she knew to be available and of the right level in society, yet none had attracted him. None until he met Jeanne, anyway. The slim, grave woman with the red-gold hair. Perhaps…
Perhaps it would be better if Uther was elsewhere when Jeanne arrived. He would have to consider it. “Enough! Fetch me wine and water,” he commanded, walking into his hall.
As usual, the old black and brown farm dog lay before the hearth, and barely glanced up as the knight crossed to his chair, merely sweeping his tail from side to side and watching without moving his head. Uther forwent the pleasure of the fireside and sat with his back to Baldwin’s chair, turning his head to stare at the knight until he submitted to the dog’s clear desire and rested his hand on the animal’s flank, patting gently.
Edgar walked in with a jug and goblet, setting them by the fire to warm. “So how was the good Bishop?”
The knight shook his head. “He’s got too much on his plate.”
Testing the watered wine, Edgar poured. “What did he have to say?”
Baldwin had met Edgar in the hell-hole of Acre, when both were young. Once the city was clearly doomed, the two had been saved by the Knights Templar, who had allowed them space on a ship making for Cyprus. It was as a mark of their gratitude that both had taken the vows of poverty, chastity and obedience and joined the Order. Baldwin became a knight, and Edgar his man-at-arms. More recently, since the Templars had been destroyed by an avaricious French king, Edgar had become Baldwin’s servant and trusted seneschal. After so much time, Baldwin knew he could trust his man.
“War is close,” he said bluntly. “Stapledon doesn’t mince his words. Lancaster has shut himself up in his castle and refuses to meet the King. Stapledon is convinced it’s because he doesn’t trust the King’s new counsellors.”
“Stapledon said all this?”
Baldwin nodded gloomily. “Stapledon, from what I can gather, is now one of the few men whose judgment the King does trust. Edward knows the Bishop is honest and reliable, while others in the royal household are less committed to the King and more interested in what they can get for themselves. Stapledon thinks the Despenser family in particular have gained too much power recently. They are threatening the peace of the realm, and Lancaster will not tolerate the way their strength is increasing-not for much longer.”
His servant watched him with concern. It was rare for the knight to express his thoughts so explicitly, even with him. As Edgar refilled his master’s goblet, he considered the implications. War would mean that Baldwin must be called upon to support his lord in battle, and likewise Edgar must go with his master to fight with him. The thought of riding to battle again kindled a spark of excitement in his breast.
But it felt wrong to go to war over such foolishness, and that fact tempered his delight. King Edward II was too fond of his favorites. Even people here in Crediton had heard the rumors about the King’s attraction to other men in preference to his wife, and now that Gaveston had been killed, beheaded by other lords, the Despensers were enthusiastically taking over his place at court. Especially the son, who, from what Edgar had heard, appeared to have designs on the whole of Wales, the way he was acquiring land-and often by illegal means too, if the rumors were true. To support the Despensers and fight Lancaster seemed absurd, yet it was all too likely.
He was about to speak when Uther stiffened and then began to growl, low and insistent. A few moments later the men heard the drumming of hooves, and they stared at each other. It was late for someone to visit, with darkness having fallen, especially since the roads were so icy.
Edgar hurried out, Uther lumbering behind him as far as the doorway. The dog stood there, hackles up, waiting and guarding his domain. Baldwin could hear voices, a tone of surprise in Edgar’s, then the speeding steps as his servant returned to the hall.
“Master, you must go back to Crediton. There’s been a murder!” 5
I t took little time to get the horses ready, and soon Edgar and Baldwin were riding off with the messenger. Baldwin knew that his Arab wanted exercise, but in preference took the rounsey again. The Arab had too much of a mercurial nature, and was dangerous to take out in the dark when it was as chilly and icy as this. Baldwin had made sure that Uther was shut indoors. The dog would want to follow his master if he could.
“Who is dead?” Baldwin demanded when they moved off.
The messenger, a lad barely in his twenties, threw him an anxious look over his shoulder. Baldwin had to give him a reassuring smile. He recognized the symptoms: it was fearsome for a peasant boy or young apprentice to be questioned by the King’s highest local official. The lad gave a nervous nod of his head. “Sir, it was the old gold merchant, sir.”
“Gold merchant?”
Seeing his bafflement, Edgar interrupted. “I think he means Godfrey of London, sir. He’s the only one I can think of.”
“Yes, of course.”
Baldwin pursed his lips. He had met Godfrey a few times-the Londoner was rich enough to be familiar to someone of Baldwin’s status. As he cantered along, mentally cursing the slight breeze that somehow contrived to
