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to clerk for the king or my lord de Courtenay. Edgar!” This last in a bellow. “Where’s the wine?”
    His servant soon arrived, bringing a pot and mugs for the sweet, heated drink, serving them all and setting the pot by the fire to keep warm as he sat with them, flashing a brief smile at Margaret and Hugh, Simon noticed, but not to him. Ah well, he thought resignedly. It was only last year I had him trussed like a chicken and called him a liar.
    â€œSo how is Lydford, Simon?”
    â€œLydford is cold, Baldwin.”
    â€œCold?”
    Margaret broke in. “It’s freezing! It’s at one side of the gorge, and the wind howls up the valley like the Devil’s hounds on the scent of a lost soul.”
    â€œIt sounds lovely the way you describe it,” said Baldwin gravely. “I look forward to visiting you both there.”
    â€œYou’ll be very welcome, whenever you want to come, but the cold’s not all,” said Simon, grinning in apparent despair. “Since I arrived I’ve had visits from everyone. The landholders complaining about the tinners; the tinners complaining about the landholders. God! The king allows the tinners to take any land they want—well, it’s worth a fortune in taxes to the king’s wardrobe—and everyone is up in arms about them, and expect me to do something about it! What can I do? All I’ve been able to do so far is try to keep them all apart, but now they’re starting to come to blows.”
    â€œI’m sure you’ll be able to sort matters out. After all, things are never easy—you had your own troubles here last year, didn’t you? Margaret, try some squirrel—or rabbit, it’s fresh and young.”
    â€œEr, no, thanks,” she said, wincing and taking a chicken leg. The knight glanced at her in surprise, while Simon continued:
    â€œThe trail bastons, you mean? Hah! Give me a group of outlaws any day; they’re easier to deal with than free men and landowners, all you need do is catch them and see them hang. I can’t even do that with the mob at Lydford.”
    â€œAnyway,” said Margaret, holding up her chicken thigh and studying it as she searched for the most succulent meat. “This must all be very tedious for you, Baldwin. What’s been happening here? Anything exciting?”
    Laughing, the knight shrugged shamefacedly and pulled a grimace of near embarrassment. Head on one side, he said, “Not a great deal, really. Tanner hasn’t cleared some of the tracks hereabouts, and my warhorse went lame some weeks ago. Apart from that…”
    â€œI could learn to dislike you, you know,” said Simon with mock disgust.
    Baldwin laughed, but then his eyes narrowed a little. “What else is there, anyway, Simon? You must have heard more news from Exeter.”
    Belching softly, Simon upended his mug before rising and refilling it. When he spoke, the humor had passed, to be replaced by a sober reflection. “There’s lots of news, Baldwin, but none of it’s good. This must go no further, of course, but even Walter has lost all patience. He says although King Edward was irresponsible before, now his favorite, Piers Gaveston, has been killed, he’s worse!”
    â€œIn what way?” asked Baldwin frowning.
    â€œHe’s playing one lord off against another, ignoring the Ordinances, allowing insults to go unpunished…It seems that he just wants to be left alone to play about in his boats and other frivolities. He spends his time in sailing—and playing with his common friends! There are even rumors that he was not his father’s son,” said Simon quietly.
    Nodding slowly, Baldwin reflected on the tales he had heard: that this second Edward was a supposititious child, a replacement inserted into the household like a cuckoo chick in a nest. Wherever there were troubles, Baldwin thought, there are people prepared to imagine the