Leaving the tavern, he stood outside breathing heavily. It would have been all too easy to accept her offer. She was a cheeky, bright, pretty little thing – just the sort of girl he had so often longed for and, every so often, the sort of girl whom he had bedded.
He was lonely, sad, and had that curious emptiness, almost a hunger for companionship, that afflicted him occasionally. It was a desire, almost a lust, for simple pleasures and the conversation of generous-hearted, ordinary people.
There was a man he knew who could help him. Looking up the way, he could see Nob and Cissy’s cookshop, and he turned up the lane towards it.
‘Hello, Nob,’ he said, but then he stopped with a slight frown on his face. ‘Ah, Gerard. What are you doing here?’
Hearing his voice, Gerard dropped his pie with a startled cry.
‘Master Bailiff, I understand the good abbot has spoken to you already?’
Simon nodded. ‘Yes, Sir Tristram. He tells me you are to collect men for the Host?’
‘Quite so. There is a need for many fighting men now that the King has chosen to attack Scotland again and punish the Scots for their constant attacks over the borders and into English territory. They cannot get away with it.’
‘Oh. So we won’t see all our men die, like at Bannockburn.’ Sir Tristram’s face hardened a moment. His eyes were like chips of diamond, Simon thought. They reflected light in the same way that a cut stone will shine from its facets under a light. Hard and uncompromising, but that did not necessarily make him an unpleasant man. Simon decided he would give Sir Tristram the benefit of the doubt.
‘I think you should be careful who hears you making comments like that, Master Bailiff.’
He sat very neatly, a trim man with narrow shoulders and a slim waist. His robes were well fitted and richly embroidered, with plenty of fur at his neck and wrists. He had his belt on, with his sword, but at his right hip was a dagger with a magnificent enamelled pommel that looked expensive, like a gewgaw that was meant for show, That it was a working weapon was shown to Simon’s quick eye by the roughened leather of the grip. It had been worn smooth and dark in places, where the knight had gripped it, presumably in battle.
‘My friend, it was merely a pleasantry,’ Simon said.
‘Some comments like that could be thought dangerous. An uncharitable man might think they were seditious, even: tending to incite rebellion. Never a good idea.’
‘I would never seek to spread sedition,’ Simon protested. His chest felt constrained, as though he was already being shown the gibbet on which his body would hang. The charitable thoughts he had harboured burst into tiny flames and disappeared. This was one of those stuffy, self-important fools, he decided.
‘I am glad to hear it,’ said the knight. ‘Come, shall we begin again? I am sorry if I sound harsh, but I have a lot of work to get through. There are so many vills down in this area, and as arrayer I have to try to get to all of them. Tell me, are all the roads down this way as bad as the one on the way here?’
‘Which way did you come?’
‘From the north. I passed through Oakhampton, then came southwards. The men at Exeter strongly advised me to avoid the moors without a guide. There are mires there?’
‘Many.’ And I hope you fall into one, Simon added silently. ‘They move each year. You need a man who knows his way there, it’s true.’
‘But the roads! It took me twice as long as I had expected.’ Simon shrugged. ‘The weather has been inclement, and the roads aren’t paved. At least you took one of the better ones on the way here. It follows the river in the valley. That is much better than others, like the roads between Oakhampton and Crediton. They are considerably worse.’
‘My God!’ Sir Tristram muttered, then gave Simon a wan smile. ‘Well, at least I understand you are a good guide to much of the country about here. And the moors, of course.’
‘I know the moors well enough,’ Simon agreed, taking a goblet of wine from the steward, who returned at this moment with a tray on which stood a heavy jug and two goblets. ‘But that won’t help you.’
‘There are men there, aren’t there? Strong, hardy fellows who dig and mine?’
‘Oh yes, hundreds. But you can’t have any of them. They are all exempt, by the King’s own command. While they mine his tin, they are secure.’
‘Ah. I see.’
‘But there are many others about here. Strong enough, I’d guess, for your Host.’
‘Good. Then perhaps we can begin today. I should like to See the good abbot’s vills about this town with a view to winning the strongest and fittest men for the King’s service.’
‘How many do you need?’
‘As many as possible. You know how the Host is organised? I take twenty men and inspect and list them and put them under a vintenar, for every hundred, there is a centenar in charge, usually a cavalry man of some sort. When they are collected, they will march off to the King’s army.’ He paused and stared down at his hands. ‘It will be a long, weary walk up to Scotland.’
‘I thought that the King recruited his men from nearer to the border?’
‘Yes, but the trouble is, there are so few. Since the famine and the murrains, the Scottish borders are denuded of men, and the ones remaining are scurvy-ridden and feeble. We need hale, competent fellows, like the farmers you have down here. It looks as though the famine didn’t affect people this far west and south.’
‘We lost many people,’ Simon said shortly, thinking of those dreadful times. ‘God
