“So, after many years of looking after the King’s interests, I must now accept the loss of my principal wealth, is that it?”
“This man has gone. Forget him. He’s effectively a free man now, owning his own land for mining.”
“Bailiff.” Sir Robert Beauscyr leaned forward, and his voice hissed as he spoke. “As far as I’m concerned, that man’s still our villein, and our villeins own nothing! They’ve use of some of our property while we let them, and that’s all. If they own anything, it’s their bellies and their hunger. Nothing else.”
“Sir William.” Simon ignored his son’s outburst. “There’s nothing I can say will change the facts.”
“No, there isn’t, is there?” said Sir Robert, and rising suddenly so that his chair slammed over, he glared at Simon. “But I’m not prepared to see my inheritance fail because of the stupidity of the law – and its officials! If you’ll not help us, we must sort out the issue ourselves!” And he swept from the room before Simon could answer.
For a moment, all three were silent. Baldwin’s eyes were on the curtain, still fluttering after Sir Robert’s angry passage, when he heard Sir William speak quietly, his tone thoughtful.
“He’s very worried, as we all are. Out here in the moors, it’s hard enough to keep the peasants working without losing the young ones who hope to gain their freedom and make a good quantity of money in the process.”
“Yes, I understand the problem, but what can I do? As bailiff, I must uphold the law.”
“And you think this is the way to do it? In God’s name!” He turned to Simon in despair. “I stopped my son from saying anything villainous about him, but – Christ Jesus! – the King cannot control the people. Look at affairs in Bristol – only two years ago, the city had to be assaulted with artillery because they refused to pay taxes due to the Crown. In the countryside, trailbaston is a growing problem, and outlaws are springing up everywhere. Villeins dare open rebellion. Nowhere do people want to obey the law; they all hold the King in contempt since Bannockburn. What’ll happen to us if this man is allowed to get away? We could have an uprising here, in my Manor. The villeins could decide to revolt – and what would you do then, bailiff? Would you come and apologize to my corpse? And to the bodies of my wife and sons?”
There was nothing Simon could say, and after a moment the old knight’s gaze dropped to his hands. He had hoped for some help, something constructive, but it was obvious that he would get nothing from the warden or his bailiff. As the miners well knew, they had power and the strength of the law behind them. There was nothing more he could do – all was now in God’s own hands. Slowly he stood and walked from the room, suddenly feeling his age. He must at the least stop his eldest son from behaving foolishly and provoking the miners.
When the curtain had fallen behind Sir William, Baldwin heard a heavy sigh. Glancing at the bailiff, the knight gave him a wry smile. “I think I begin to comprehend your trepidation about our visit here.”
Simon grunted. Then, looking quickly at the curtained doorway, he stood. “Let’s go and have a look round the Manor. This room makes me nervous. I feel like a prisoner waiting for the jailer to return.”
Once more in the courtyard, Simon took a deep breath of the warm, peat-tainted fresh air. He had expected the Beauscyrs to be angry, but that did not make it any easier. After all, he was in agreement with them, and he had no wish to be responsible for any harm to them should they be attacked by their villeins in an uprising. His friend’s sympathetic voice broke into his thoughts.
“Come now, Simon. There is nothing else you can do for them. As you said, Peter Bruther is legally entitled to stay there if he wants.”
“I know, I know, but that hardly helps. After all, like Sir William said, a Manor is only as good as its workforce, and if the villeins here find they can ignore their lord’s will, they’ll lose respect for him – and that can only lead to rebellion.”
Baldwin waved a hand at the buildings ringing the yard. “You need not fear for Beauscyr overmuch,” he said dryly. “Look at this place! It would take the posse of the county to break in here.”
Simon could see what his friend meant. From inside, the defenses could be better appreciated, and appeared even more impressive. Apart from the tall walls, the storehouses beneath the main hall looked full. Judging from the number of men bustling around, there was a fair complement of guards as well as the servants. Simon pointed with his chin at a couple standing idly near the gates. “Looks like the Beauscyrs can afford their own army.”
Following his gaze, Baldwin nodded slowly. “Yes, well, it’s no surprise. Sir William was a soldier with the King for a number of years. He was known to have captured several of Edward’s enemies, so he must have made a lot of money from ransoming them. And no doubt he won plenty of loot.”
There was a cynical note to his voice. “What is it?” Simon asked. “You used to fight – you must have taken captives and won your own loot. It’s the spoils of war which make it worthwhile, after all. No one would bother to join an army unless there was a reward.”
Baldwin smiled but said nothing. Because they rarely discussed his time as a Knight Templar it would be difficult for the bailiff, so strongly rooted in the secular world as he was, to understand that the Templars had fought not for profit but for God. When they gained wealth, it was not for an individual, but used to enrich the Order so that it could continue to perform its vital function of protecting pilgrims in the Holy Land. All else was unimportant compared with that holy task. But then, the Knights of the Order were not worldly soldiers fighting for their own profit; they were the vanguard of Christ, the warrior monks. Their chivalric code made the concept of mercenary soldiering distasteful to Baldwin.
“Come, my friend. Let’s go back inside,” he said quietly. “At least we will be returning to Lydford tomorrow.”
“Yes, but I’ll not be allowed to forget this issue, I’m sure. With a young man like Sir Robert Beauscyr involved, who feels his inheritance is threatened, this matter will be bound to come up again before long.”
Standing on the castle walls above the gate the following morning, watching the two men ride away, Sir Robert Beauscyr was filled with righteous indignation. He had always had faith in the rule of the law, had believed it gave protection to those who needed it, and was convinced his family had right on their side. It was not just unfair that Peter Bruther should be allowed to escape justice, it was wrong. Worse was the fact that any attempt to put things right would mean breaking the law.
“So, brother. No satisfaction there.”
John had stepped quietly to his side and was also staring at Baldwin and Simon as they cantered up the gentle slope. Sir Robert could not resist a scornful jibe.
“All alone for once, John? Where’s your master, Sir Ralph?”
“Oh, he wanted to go for a ride to see the moors.” He gave his brother a faintly amused, questioning look, but then half-shrugged as though Robert’s mood was to be expected, and was, in any case, of little consequence. “So, the bailiff will not help. That seems certain.”
His brother nodded angrily. “What’s the point of the law if it’ll not uphold what’s right and good?”
“Ah, but this time the law has to try to find a way between the interests of a small family in the moors and the King.”
His dry sarcasm made Sir Robert stare. “What do you mean? Our father, and his before him, have aided the kings of England in all the wars over the last fifty years. We’ve the same interests as the King. He must know that.”
“Are you certain about that?” Now John’s voice was scornful. “From what I hear, this King of ours is too weak to choose what tunic to wear of a morning. All he wants is money so he can show largesse to his friends – and the miners give him that money. What are we worth? And how much can he value our loyalty when he has the choice of great lords – the pick of men such as Aymer de Valence and Thomas of Lancaster? Does he need the Beauscyr family to protect him as well?”