But the place wasn’t empty now. Smoke curled up from the fires of the small band of travellers.
They were a colourful group. Men and women alike wore bright reds and greens, oranges and purples. Some of the younger women had their hair braided and unconcealed by wimple or veil, while the men had their hair longer than was strictly fashionable. Simon grunted to himself, thinking that they looked like a band of actors or musicians on the move.
That they were not intending to remain here in one place for long seemed evident by the pony carts that created a defensive wall; one, with a badly broken wheel, sat in an ungainly manner, its shafts pointing to the sky. The folk rested inside this palisade, their rear defended by the stream and, from the look of the cotton-balls dancing in the wind, a bog of some sort.
As the trio rode slowly down through the thicker grass, watching carefully for stones or pits which might harm their mounts, Simon could see that the people were wary and alert. Three men stood and walked forward, all grabbing long staffs or axes; two youths stood behind them with crossbows strung, bolts held negligently, ready to be fitted in the slots. The women grouped near the stream, children protectively gripped by the shoulders.
Glancing across at his companions, Simon acknowledged that they had good reason to suspect any visitors. This was too out of the way for most travellers, and it was always alarming to find, horsemen approaching, even when two of the three were clearly belted knights – or perhaps especially because two were knights: there were too many men of noble birth who were prepared to resort to robbery and murder. No one on the road could afford to take the risk that the smiling face of the man next to him didn’t belong to the advance guard of a raiding party whose sole intention was slaughter and pillage.
‘Godspeed!’ Baldwin called as they approached within hailing distance, lifting his hand to show he meant no harm.
Simon kept his eye on the two bowmen. They were still standing without pointing their weapons at the three, but the bolts were fitted now, ready to be fired.
‘God’s blessings on you.’
The man who spoke was dark-faced, with raven-black hair and clear, unblinking brown eyes. His lips were bright, like those of a woman, but although they made him look young, Simon saw that he was older than he appeared at first sight. As he sat on his horse swatting the flies away, Simon could see that the man bore fine wrinkles at eyes and brow.
His accent was strong, but curious. Simon hadn’t heard it before. It was strangely guttural, quite thick.
It was clear that Baldwin had heard his accent before. The knight smiled and bowed to the man. ‘Grüss Gott. It is pleasant to hear a man from your land again. You are from the mountains?’
The man bowed with a faint smile. ‘Yes, we are from the Forest Cantons.’
‘Then believe me when I say that you need have no fear of English knights,’ Baldwin said, introducing himself and the others. ‘We are here to ask your help.’
‘You are welcome. I am called Rudolf – Rudolf von Grindelwald. Would you like a little wine?’
Soon the three were dismounted, and they took their seats outside the little encampment on a group of rocks. The two men with crossbows removed their bolts and carefully released the tension in the bows, while the others set their own weapons to rest on carts, although none of them let them far from their hands, Baldwin noticed. He would not have expected them to.
The woman who came to serve them as guests of the leader of the travellers was a buxom creature in her late thirties, with hair pulled back and tied in a bun. Her limbs were long and elegant, her hips broad and swaying, her waist narrow. Her face was long, somewhat oval, with prominent cheekbones and full lips. Not beautiful, she was nonetheless extremely attractive, with the slow, economic movements of a dancer, and Baldwin thought her great blue eyes calming. She wore a long tunic, but at the hem and on her apron there were a multitude of tiny embroidered flowers. When Baldwin looked up at her, she smiled with her eyes, although not her mouth; it gave her a soothing expression that could calm a man’s nights for the whole of his life, he thought.
‘What do you do?’ Baldwin asked.
‘We have been attending fairs. We sing and dance to amuse. Many men call us to their halls for entertainments,’ Rudolf lied. It was untrue, but the sort of thing that these men would believe.
He could kick himself. If only they had ditched the rest of their things. Welf had only returned a short while ago, and the pony he had brought was scarcely able to carry half the load which they had on the cart, so they might as well have carried on the day before. By now they could be lost in the streets of Ashburton, far from an enquiry. Instead here they were, being questioned by three grim-faced officials.
Not least of his troubles was the youngster hidden away. The boy could prove to be more than a mere embarrassment.
‘There are few halls about here,’ Simon observed.
‘Ja, but
