The King sat slumped in the saddle. 'Jesu, will you never be at peace, nor let other men be?'
Simon turned to look at him, a shaft of memory carrying him back to the early days of their friendship when he could do no wrong. 'I have always wanted peace,' he said, 'but not at the price of my honour – no, nor of England's welfare.'
It was nearly dark when they reached Hereford and the King lodged in the best chamber of the castle, demanding that supper be served to him when he was in his bed.
Simon sat in conference with his most able lieutenants, the Earls of Norfolk and Arundel, the Justiciar Hugh Despenser, and one or two others. If they could deal quickly with Gilbert and Mortimer there was a fair chance that the King and Edward, robbed of these powerful allies, would settle for a permanent truce. At last Simon sought a pallet in the antechamber outside Henry's room and when Harry, coming to bid him goodnight, asked if he and Edward might race their horses outside the walls in the morning to settle a wager, Simon gave his consent, too weary to consider so trifling a matter, stipulating only that Harry should take sufficient armed men with him.
It was a brilliant morning when the cousins rode out, seemingly on the best of terms. Edward made great play of his new charger, sent to him by Roger Leyburn, now with Gloucester. He beat Harry easily and then tried out several other mounts owned by the knights accompanying them. The young men lolled on the ground, watching their lords, relaxing in the warm sun, and when Harry ordered ale to be brought, they all drank together. He flung his arm about Edward and said how glad he was that there was no more enmity between them.
Edward looked deep into his mug of ale and said, 'You're a good fellow, Harry, but you've much to learn about –’ he paused and a smile crossed his face as he finished the sentence, ' – about horses.'
'Then let my grey race yours again,' Harry said. 'Give me a chance to win back my wager.'
'Ten marks then,' Edward agreed. 'You are wealthier than I now for your father keeps a tight hold on my purse strings.'
'I wish you would not say things like that. When we have beaten the rebels all that will be altered.'
Edward lay back on the grass, his hands behind his head. He seemed inordinately long stretched out thus on the turf. 'By Our Lady, you always were over-sanguine, Harry. Did you note that minstrel who came after supper last night and sang so sweetly?'
'I saw him. Why?'
'Naught.' Edward was laughing. 'But I adjure you to think of him now and ask yourself if his shape was not somewhat voluptuous for a man.'
Harry gaped. 'What are you saying? Do you tell me he – she – was a woman? And what should that signify but a freakish jest? Or,' he grinned amiably, 'did this minstrel beguile your bed for you?'
'I only wish there were more like her,' Edward said ambiguously.
'You are talking nonsense. Only a woman of no virtue would dress thus and sing before the court.'
'My great-grandmother once put on man's clothes to elude my great-grandfather's vengeance,' Edward told him. 'And they say old Henry's vengeance was something to be feared. She was caught and shut up in Winchester Castle, but my minstrel is long gone. Only remember her.'
'In God's name, why?' Harry laid down his mug and jumped up without waiting for an answer. 'Aren't we here to race?'
'Indeed,' Edward agreed, 'but my groom has a black I've not yet tried – a poor enough mount, I fear, but he needs exercise.'
'Are you so eager to throw your money away then?' Harry mounted his own percheron and Edward's man brought up the black. For a brief second it crossed Harry's mind that the horse was not so poor a specimen as his cousin claimed, but though his own grey was already tired for a while they went neck and neck. And then suddenly Edward set spurs to the black. The horse, quite fresh, leapt forward before Harry realized what was happening, and Edward was away, galloping across the springy turf towards a clump of trees.
Startled, Harry dug in his own spurs, but on his blown horse he could not hope to catch his cousin. Some instinct warned him and he yelled to his companions who scrambled to their feet, dashing for their wandered horses, seizing reins, leaping into their saddles.
But it was too late. A large group of horsemen appeared from the trees and Edward rode into their midst, disappearing at once into the thick green foliage.
It was a hopeless pursuit and Harry drew rein. His knights and armed men came up and cursing them with rare savagery he sat breathless in the saddle, beating his fist and again on his pommel.
Simon was furious. He treated Harry to a diatribe such as his son had never heard from him, and knowing he deserved it be stood still, scarlet-faced and ashamed.
'Do you know what you have done?' Simon thundered. 'By your folly you have put us all in danger. Edward has gone to Gloucester, that's plain enough, and now they will raise a great army with Edward's banner to float over it. By the arm of St James, I did not think any son of mine could be so stupid, so gullible. I am tempted to whip you myself! As for this tale of a woman minstrel, that is how it was planned! Did you not at least suspect when Edward told you of her? No, I suppose you would not. How sure Edward must have been of your credulity to tell you of it! He will laugh over this for the rest of his life.'
'I thought he was boasting of a conquest,' Harry muttered.
'A conquest! Edward has more craft in his little finger than you have in your whole head. I would have guessed there was some meaning in what he said. God in Heaven, he may well have a different sort of conquest to boast of before long. He was a prize in my hand and you have lost him to me. You have served me very ill this day, my son.'
When the angry words ceased, Harry, unable to stem the tears of shame and bitter remorse, stumbled away to his own quarters, and when Guy also told him he was a fool Harry for once lost his temper and struck Guy across the mouth. And Guy, the fiery, flung out of the chamber, letting the blow pass with rare forbearance, but he notched up the incident as one more in a list of items to be avenged one day on his royal cousins.
Simon sent for young Martin Finch and despatched him to Odiham. Eleanor was in the still-room when a servant came to announce the messenger from her lord. She loved this narrow stone chamber near the wine-cellar, with its aroma of spices and herbs, the large jars of nuts and dried fruits. She spent an occasional half hour here distilling concoctions of her own against the fever, purges for stomach troubles, crushed almond milk for the complexion. Such ingredients were expensive and she carefully locked the door with her own key before going up the stair to find young Martin Finch.
He poured out the story of Edward's escape and she listened in growing consternation, aware only too well that the charisma of Edward's personality and the tale of his daring bid for freedom would bring young men flocking to his banner. Martin ended by saying that his lord desired urgently that she should go at once to Dover Castle, take charge of that vital stronghold herself and send her son, Sir Simon, to raise all the forces he could from Kenilworth.
She needed no time to consider. 'I will ride at once. Get a fresh horse and come with me, Martin.'
'Aye, my lady, but it will be dark soon and I don't know this part of the country.'
'Then find Dobbe the shepherd. His cottage is the one by the bridge. He knows every inch of the land about here and he will guide us.’
Without further question Martin ran to do her bidding while she hurried to her bower, changing her fine gown for a plain dress belonging to Dionysia and a plain black cloak and hood. She gave orders for the rest of her household to pack all moveable goods into wagons and join her at Dover as soon as they might. The Demoiselle begged to come with her but her mother shook her head.
'No, my dear. You told your father that you are a woman now and you must act as one. I leave you to see that all is properly done here. We will leave only a small garrison, everyone else must come to Dover; your father would not have sent such a message it if was not imperative that I should get there with all speed and I shall do it best without any encumbrances
.' She kissed her daughter and hurried away to the bailey where Martin stood holding the horses, old Dobbe regarding his with suspicion for he was unused to riding.
'You must lead us,' Eleanor told him. 'You have eyes like the night owl.' Martin helped her into the saddle and looking down at him she thought how like his father he was, silent and dependable.
Dusk was falling as they rode out and after the first mile it became quite dark. The summer night was warm, the sky like velvet above them. They rode carefully, Dobbe watching for pot holes and uneven stretches in the track that served for a road. He seldom spoke, sitting like a sack uneasily in the saddle, his eyes on the ground, but he enabled them to keep up a good pace. About midnight they rested the horses and again at three o'clock. Martin helped his lady from the saddle and she sat on a hummock of grass, stiff and a little cold now in the chill of the small hours, a prey to hideous anxieties but concentrating on what her beloved asked of her.
She thought of Edward's escape and could have cried with vexation at Harry's trustful folly. How could he have been so mad as to let Edward slip away? Now indeed Simon faced a formidable enemy and in the low spirits of this night hour, without sleep, chilled to the bone, she knew the depths of fear and doubt. They rode on again and odd memories came to her during that silent ride, headlong now that they were on the main road. She thought of how once she had said to Isabella that Odiham would be easy prey for an enemy and laughed at the idea she might ever be attacked; how she had joked with Edward at Kenilworth, said she could not imagine he would ever want to besiege her. Now he was her enemy and Simon's in reality and the knowledge was hard to bear, but there was fighting spirit in her still and between her prayers for Simon's desperate situation she urged Finch and the shepherd on.
By dawn they had reached the hill above Dover, a mist from the sea heralding another warm day. The grey castle stood out strongly on ·the cliffs. In a short while she was within the walls and storming up the stair to her son's bedchamber. A scared servant tried to go before her, to assure her he would rouse Sir Simon but she thrust him aside and opened the door. Simon was in bed, sprawled beside the body of a girl whose pale hair fanned out across the pillow.
As she pushed the door shut in the face of a stupefied page, Simon roused himself, blinking in surprise. Eleanor flung back the clothes and seized the naked girl by the arm, thrusting a wrap towards her. 'Get up – go!' she commanded. 'Leave at once!'
The girl, pitchforked from sleep to be confronted by this urgent, angry woman, grabbed at her gown, covering herself as best she could and stumbled from the room while Simon sat staring at his mother in astonishment.
'In God's name what is all this about?' he demanded. 'I am no boy, mother, that you should –'
'Get up!' she repeated. 'Why are you sleeping at such moment?' She had forgotten that he did not know what had happened. Hastily explaining she bade him take all the troops but those she needed for defence and hasten to raise the men of Kenilworth for his father's aid.
Simon got out of bed and began to dress, unimpressed by the need for such urgency. 'Father is more than a match for Edward, and the King was never any good at fighting,' he said casually and Eleanor stamped her foot.
'Simon, you do not know how bad it is. The King is still with your father, and it is Edward and Gloucester and Mortimer and de Valence that are against him now. All the marcher lords are joining the rebels. Go – go, or it will mean your father's life.' He thought her hysterical, overwrought and tried to soothe her, assuring her that he held the Cinque Ports and no help could come from across the channel.
'You will be safe here,' he assured her and she cut across his words.
'Do you think it is my safety I care for?' She caught him by the arms, half shaking him. He must not fail now, this second son whom she had always thought so reliable.
But it was the very slowness of his nature that was to prove his undoing. He went, taking a fair body of men with him but on the way paused to sack a priory, bang a few opponents and, still smarting from the loss of his rich widow, to amuse himself with the wife of one of the knights he slew, wasting a day and a night instead of marching on.
He came to Kenilworth at last and settled his considerable forces in the grounds of the abbey, about the gatehouse, and some in cottages in the village. In one of these he held a conference with his leading knights over supper, ordering the march for the morrow. They drank deep and he decided to sleep there instead of returning to the castle; for Finch had come with adequate supplies of food and drink and was busy bringing out fresh mounts. He rolled in his cloak by the fire and slept, snoring gently.
An hour before first light every man in the place was awakened by the sound of trumpets. Simon catapulted himself from his bed, yelled to Finch to know what was happening and together they burst into the road. Everywhere men were tumbling from the cottages, from the bivouacks on the ground where they had slept. Simon seized a foot soldier, pelting towards the castle gate.
'What is it? God's curse on you, what is it?'
'The Lord Edward,' the man gabbled, 'the Lord Edward! He is on us, I saw his banner!'
'Jesu!' Simon said and felt the colour drain from his face. 'I thought he was at Worcester.'
The confusion was awful. Men were scurrying about, trying to find armour and weapons, to form into some sort of order, knights yelling to their followers, struggling to mount in the darkness, shouting orders that no one heard as the remorseless enemy drove down on them.
Simon ran from one group to another, bawling at them to run for the castle, but before he or they could get to the gates, Edward's men were upon them and the castellan had hastily to raise the drawbridge against friend and foe alike.
The street, the abbey grounds, the meadows had become one mass of struggling men; Edward's voice was heard shouting in triumph and Simon had one glimpse in the light of the waning moon of his cousin's tall figure beneath the banner of England. He saw several of his friends struck down, saw the Earl of Oxford seized and dragged away, saw Finch with some of his old strength try to pull an enemy from the saddle only to be spitted with .a sword, falling beneath the hooves of the rearing charger.
The surprise had been complete, the fight lost before it ever began. Turning, Simon ran by paths he knew as well in the darkness as in the light and with one or two who joined him flung off his shoes and plunged into the waters of the mere. Swimming strongly he reached the walls of the castle and the step to the postern gate. Ahead of his companions he reached down to help them out and a moment, later, dripping and breathless, they were inside.
He leaned against the stone wall, sick with humiliation and shame, most of his army lost, utterly helpless. But even he, at that moment, did not know the enormity of his failure. He staggered up the steps, calling for dry clothes and went to the turret of the keep where he could look down on his cousin's banner, planted firmly in the ground not fifty yards from the pool.
CHAPTER TWELVE
All through the hot day the long lines of men waded the River Severn. They were tired and hungry and in hopes of finding food and shelter on the far side where Hereford would be open to them.
There were few boats but one of these ferried the King and the Earl of Leicester to the far side. Henry sat slumped, weary with being carted about the marches by this pale gaunt man who had no thought for food or rest, but Edward surely was on the way to rescue him? Edward was proving himself a soldier, from all he heard, and he would deal with this rabble of some four thousand tired men, no great army! During the last weeks, treating with Llewellyn of Wales, he had never seen Simon smile, seldom a lift to the grim expression and now, sitting side by side in the boat, they did not speak.
Once on land Simon held a conference with his closest associates, the Earl of Arundel, John de Vescy, loyal as ever, Henry Percy, and Hugh Despenser the Justiciar.
'My son Simon will be marching to join us with all the forces from Kenilworth,' he said. 'We must go east to meet him and then we will have men
enough.'
'But the Lord Edward is not at Worcester where we thought he was,' Arundel objected. 'Your scout told us the town was empty. Where has he gone? Can he have marched on London – or to besiege Kenilworth?'
'The scout could not get close enough to see which road he took. Edward has learned some lessons,' Simon said. 'He has not forgotten his one sentry at Lewes. But if we march for Evesham we shall cut off his route to London and we shall be half way to Kenilworth.'
'We're in no fit state for battle,' Percy put in. He was a hardheaded blunt Northumbrian with a shock of red hair, and though his loyalty was unshaken his commonsense told him the sands were running out unless some drastic action was taken.
‘Surprise is worth a thousand men,' his north-country companion de Vescy told him briskly, little guessing how right he was as far as Edward was concerned. 'The Lord Edward does not know what we will do any more than we know his movement at this moment. And as my lord of Leicester says, Sir Simon may well be on his way to us by now.'
'Providing he got to Kenilworth,' Arundel added gloomily.
'Of course he got to Kenilworth.' Still ashamed of his own failure to hold Edward, a failure which had brought the present situation on them all, Harry refused to believe his brother would not be more alert. In any case they knew for certain Edward had made Worcester his headquarters and was surely unlikely to know of Simon's march from Dover.
'The men of Kenilworth are at least well trained,' Guy said in his arrogant manner. 'Don't fear, my lord Arundel, they will be with us soon.'
Arundel, plainly wishing he was anywhere but where he was, gave him a sour look. 'We may all well pray that your brother understands our need.'
The men were across the river now, their wet clothes drying in the hot sun, and Simon gave the order to move on. He rode in the van, his eyes fixed between his horse's ears. He had wasted time in the marches, of that he was sure, but he had gone to link up with Llewellyn, to receive some of the much needed gold that Llewellyn had promised as part of their agreement, but the Welshmen had only been able to raise half of the money and he had had to accept what that likeable but unreliable young man chose to give with only promises for the rest.
The Royal Griffin (The Plantagenents Book 2) Page 20
