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reached the crest of a hill, and to their left stood a gallows. It looked quite new to Baldwin. He was never happier than when he was at home at his small estate near Cadbury, but in his capacity as Keeper of the King’s Peace, he often had to witness the deaths of felons. This gallows was constructed from solid baulks of timber, much better than the ancient device in Crediton, which he was always concerned about lest it might collapse on guards and hangmen. It was most worrying when the executioners leaped up to clasp the bodies, clinging to them until the victim had died. Then the Keeper’s eyes always went to the horizontal bar, fearing that it might snap. 1 “See The Cr
    by Michael Jecks, also published by
    editon Killings
    Avon Books.
    The Abbot’s Gibbet
    51
    A burgess had once suggested that he should stop the executioners performing that final act, and he had been so angry he had almost hit the man. The hangmen were speeding the death: it was no more than Christian kindness to halt the suffering. But the burgess was heavily involved in the gambling that revolved around hangings, with bets being laid on how long each man would live. He preferred to see them last longer so more bets could be taken.
    Baldwin still found some aspects of civil life difficult to accept, for he had not always been a secular knight. He had been a “Poor Fellow-Soldier of Christ and the Temple of Solomon”—a Knight Templar—
    and had lived by their Rule, swearing to obedience, poverty and chastity. After seeing his friends die needlessly in the fires when the Order had been betrayed by a malicious and covetous King, he had a loathing for unnecessary pain. He had no sympathy for gamblers who wanted to prolong another’s agony purely for profit.
    He looked away and down toward the town. At this time of day, in the middle of the morning, many towns would be quiet while people had their lunch, but today Tavistock was beginning her fair, and her streets were thronged with visitors. “I am glad the Abbot invited us to lodge with him,” he remarked. “It looks as if bed space will be in short supply.”
    Simon drew his horse alongside Baldwin’s and followed his gaze. “From here you can see how big the fair is, can’t you,” he said, awestruck.
    “Yes. It makes Crediton’s look quite small,” Baldwin observed. Simon waved a hand, encompassing the scene before them. “This is getting to be a problem. I always re-52
    Michael Jecks
    ceive complaints after Tavistock Fair because Lydford’s declines while this one grows. All the tinners tend to come here. It’s an easier journey than going up to Lydford, and the Abbot always sees to it that there’s more in the way of foodstuffs and supplies.”
    “So you’re already worried about this fair?” Baldwin teased.
    “Worried? No, I intend to spy, to see what they do here that attracts merchants from Lydford,” Simon said firmly. He didn’t mention his real concern: he was to meet his new master.
    As bailiff of Lydford, Simon was responsible for law and order in the stannaries. He had to make sure that no one smuggled tin; all the tin must be coigned, or weighed, marked and taxed, at the stannary towns of Tavistock, Lydford, Chagford and Ashburton. He also had to calm the incessant wrangles between tinners and landowners, maintain the stannary prison at Lydford Castle, and ensure that nobody broke the King’s peace. His master was the warden of the stannaries, and the Abbot had just been granted the post. Simon hadn’t met his new master before, and the prospect was daunting.
    Baldwin saw his pensive expression, but misread the thought behind it. “You’re already worrying that Tavistock will be a huge success, even before you arrive!
    Your husband, Margaret, is never happy unless he has something to worry him.”
    She smiled at his joke. “Only the other day he was anxious that his little daughter didn’t have enough young friends in Lydford, and then he was troubled she was