accommodation here will be stretched to its limits, but I can at least provide you with the solar block, if you wish some solitude.’
‘No. I will remain here with my men.’
‘Very well. I will leave a guard here for your safety, and hope that you rest well, my lord.’
The King nodded. His reverse of fortunes, while expected, had still come as an appalling shock, and he glanced at Sir Hugh as though expecting his friend to chastise those who had taken him and now held him in this demeaning way. But Sir Hugh had nothing to say.
As the Earl made to walk from the room, he said, ‘Sir Baldwin! I hope you are well?’
‘As well as a prisoner may be,’ he answered. He held no malice for those who had caught him, only trepidation. All could be executed for remaining at the King’s side, if Mortimer wanted. It was a distressing situation, but not so worrying as the thought of how Jeanne would survive without him. His only consolation was that Edgar, his Sergeant from his Templar days, was still with her and would ensure her safety, if it were humanly possible. ‘Thank you for not binding us.’
‘There is no need with honourable men. Is that the Bailiff? Was he with you?’
‘No, my lord. The good Bailiff was with your men, but when your fellows charged through the hedge, he was knocked from his saddle and dragged along by his mount. His back is sorely lacerated. Sir Charles of Lancaster has gone to fetch a leech for him, and I will stay at his side, if my captor will allow it.’
‘For my part, Sir Baldwin, if you give me your parole not to try to escape, that will be good enough for me.’
‘I so swear.’
‘I will have wine brought for you both. I hope he will recover. Is there anything else I can do for you?’
Baldwin saw that Sir Charles was returning with a fretful-looking cleric hurrying along behind him. ‘Only that you tell your men that if the clerk asks for hot water, or anything else they might have here for treatment of wounds, that they fetch it for him. I am worried that Simon is sleeping. A man with a broken head will sometimes sleep and snore, and I fear his injuries may be worse than I realised.’
‘I’ll tell them. You make sure that he recovers.’
The clerk stood at Simon’s side, gauging his injuries, but when he tried to cut away the clothing to look at Simon’s back, the Bailiff suddenly woke, staring about him in a state of shock. ‘Settle yourself, my son,’ the priest said, wincing at the sight of his back. ‘This will take time.’
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
It took an age to clean Simon’s back. The priest had a bowl which the guards filled with hot water, and in that he steeped rose petals and lavender, using it on a clean linen strip to wash the damaged skin. There were so many thorn splinters and bloody gashes there that he could only dab gently, while Simon hissed and muttered. He seemed very drowsy still, and Baldwin felt sure that Simon must have hurt his head badly. The wound resembled one that a mace or cudgel could produce, and Baldwin knew that on occasion a man would die from such a blow even when there was no sign of blood or broken bone, and he worried more now for Simon than he did for himself.
Sir Ralph had assisted, and now that the clerk had completed cleaning and salving and binding Simon’s wounds, he advised the two to go and rest themselves, for they could do no more to help Simon now. His health was in the hands of God.
Reluctantly, Baldwin walked away, while the clerk pulled a blanket up over Simon’s poor back and settled at his side.
‘At least he’s stopped that snoring,’ Baldwin sighed. ‘It worried me to hear that.’
‘Yes, I’ve known men snore like that, and vomit,’ Sir Ralph agreed. Both had seen enough men die in such a manner for them not to need to discuss it further.
Robert Vyke was sitting a short way away with Wolf, stroking the great mastiff’s head. He looked up as the two approached.
‘Do not worry,’ Baldwin said, for Vyke looked terrified, as though he could be punished for making a fuss of his dog. ‘Wolf enjoys attention.’
‘He is a handsome animal.’
‘You like such brutes?’ Baldwin said. He could not deny his own affection for the dog, but it always rather surprised him to see others who had the same feeling. ‘I bought him from a Bishop who detested him. He would keep beating and kicking poor Wolf, wouldn’t he, fellow?’
‘I dislike cruelty to dogs.’
‘I know I distrust those who would use such behaviour. A good dog is a wonderful thing,’ Baldwin said. He was suddenly struck with the thought that if he were to die, Wolf would have no master. Perhaps, if Simon was well enough, he could take Wolf back to Jeanne.
It was his last thought as he settled himself later – that he had so many people and animals dependent upon him. It left him feeling feeble. At this precise moment, was unable to support anyone.
He had nothing left he could give.
The Earl of Lancaster was as good as his word the next day. Baldwin was woken by a servant to tell him that a light cart had been procured for ‘the good Bailiff’, and would he be ready to travel with the rest of the men?
Simon did look a little better. His eyes opened when Baldwin sat beside him, although the right one was bruised and bloody, and had swelled alarmingly.
‘I imagine I am a pretty sight?’ he croaked.
Baldwin chuckled. ‘It is good to see you in your usual humour, Simon. I think it is fair to say that Margaret would find it hard to recognise you.’
‘Aye, well, she may desire a new man, of course,’ Simon said with a grunt of pain as he tried to ease himself upright.
‘I would take your movements cautiously for now,’ Baldwin said. ‘Your back is a mass of scabs.’
‘I’m not surprised. I feel as though someone’s thrown me into a bear pit for the fun of watching me be torn apart.’
Baldwin said, ‘If not for this good priest, you would feel greatly worse.’
‘I thank you, Father.’
The priest yawned expansively. ‘I am glad I have provided some service to you, my son.’ But soon he made his apologies, and hurried off to his chapel to hold services for those who wished to pray and confess.
The two old friends chatted quietly for a while, about the small matters which both felt comfortable discussing, nothing to do with their arrival at that place, nor what might happen to Baldwin once they had returned to England. His future was uncertain, and both knew it.
In the clear morning, they were herded outside, and mounted their horses. Simon was helped to the back of a cart, but looking at the worm-infested wood and the wheels with their worn and rusted tyres, he shook his head firmly. ‘No. I’m not travelling on that. Bring me my horse.’
It took some little time to get going. A number of men were injured from the fighting the day before; they lay in three carts, moaning piteously at every rut and pothole.
The rain of the day before had given way to a steady drizzle now, and more than one man was shivering with an ague as they marched or walked their horses.
Simon did not feel too bad. His head still hurt abominably, but apart from an occasional desire to vomit, which he reckoned was as much due to the poor food he had eaten yesterday as to any injury, he felt well enough
