‘Very good. So, are you ready to leave now?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Simon said. ‘I shall ask for my horse to be prepared.’
‘Ask for mine as well, would you? I shall just fetch my bag.’
Simon nodded ungraciously as he walked from the room. Outside he stood and took a deep breath. Arrayers were generally corrupt as hell, in his opinion. Maybe this one wasn’t so bad as some, but after the knight’s harsh introduction, Simon had taken a dislike to the suave Sir Tristram, and the thought that the vills about Tavistock were to be told to produce their finest men for this Sir Knight to take them away to war suddenly struck Simon. As he marched to the stables, he found his lips twitching into a grin.
He had a suspicion that Sir Tristram was not going to find recruiting men to be very easy.
Chapter Ten
By the middle of the morning the earlier groups of men had left the shop and Ellis could close the shutters, pack his scissors and razors, strops and soaps into his little satchel, and head for the tavern for a quick ale before going over to the abbey and seeing to the chins and pates of the monks there.
Although not vain, Abbot Robert hated having a beard. He often told Ellis that he disliked the roughness, but Ellis also knew that the abbot was keen to make sure that he and his monks all dressed in a manner which reflected their serious duties. They should look sober and professional, not slovenly like the mendicants so often did. It wasn’t simply pride; Ellis knew that the abbot thought it important that their pastoral flock should see in the monks men whom they could respect. Few felt, like Augerus, that they could flout his will about facial hair.
As far as Ellis was concerned, his job was merely to shave. He had taken up his profession because there would always be men with hair, beards, teeth and veins, and while there were, he could count on being paid to trim, shave, pull or slash.
An essential part of his business was the cheery patter that he had developed over the years. With some it was bantering conversation, often making mild jokes at his client’s expense, sometimes simply being crude, but after seeing Wally, both at the coining and on Friday, he still felt little urge to be amusing. It was enough that he should keep his scissors away from his clients’ ears, his razors from nicking their throats.
Sara must have been mad. She had flaunted herself at the miner, no doubt, and he had taken advantage. Ellis couldn’t in all fairness blame the man. When he had seen her with Wally, he had felt his rage growing within him like a canker, but now he was able to be more sanguine. And since Wally’s death, Sara had certainly been mortified. She had been wailing and weeping almost all the time. No surprise, Ellis thought, with Wally’s bastard inside her.
He grunted sadly. A loyal man to his family, he had paid a lot of money towards his niece and nephews’ upbringing. This would simply be another one for him to help feed.
Augerus waited until Simon and the arrayer had both left the room, then he went in and collected the goblets and jugs, setting them on his tray and carrying them back to his little buttery. He rinsed one goblet, glanced over his shoulder, emptied the remains of the jug into it, and drank it off in a long draught before washing the goblet and jug, and drying them with a long piece of linen.
He had nothing to do at the moment, for Abbot Robert was gone. Whenever he could, he’d take his hounds out and see what he could catch with a few of the burgesses in the town. Canny devil, the abbot, in Augerus’ mind. He knew how to get his neighbours and tenants talking: he’d take them out for a good race through his park and afterwards, over wine and ale, he’d ask them what they thought about many of the issues of the day. That way he’d be the first to hear of dissatisfaction before any of his officials, and often he’d soothe disgruntled townspeople before their complaints could grow into full-blown feuds. It also gave him an opportunity to catch out his bailiffs.
Augerus had heard him once, talking to a gather-reeve, the rent collector. The poor fellow was bowing nervously in the presence of his master, trying to show the abbot a confidence he didn’t feel.
Abbot Robert had stopped at his side and peered down at him. ‘Aha! Reeve, and how is your lady this fine morning?’
‘Oh, she is well, Master, well.’
‘And your… let me see, you have two sons, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Master. They are well, very well.’
‘I am sure they are. And you, you are well?’
‘Yes, my Lord. I am very well indeed,’ the poor fellow had answered effusively, visibly relaxing. If the abbot was so kindly, it was hard to remain scared.
‘Really? And yet my rents from Werrington have not been collected yet. I thought it was because you were unwell.’
‘No, Master.’
‘Or your children were.’
‘Um. No, Master.’
‘Or maybe even that your wife was ill.’
There was a disconsolate mumble.
‘Well, in God’s name get over there and do your job, man! You aren’t employed by me to sit about swapping tall stories and drinking ale all day!’
The memory of the man’s face as the abbot rode off imperiously on his great mount would stay with Augerus for ever. He smiled as he worked, and when his jobs were done, he glanced out of the window at the shadows in the court. In an hour or two he would have to prepare the abbot’s table so that he could entertain whoever was with him today, but until then Augerus was free. He walked out of the abbot’s lodgings to the Great Court.
The salsarius, Brother Mark, who
