He had only one hope: that his son would at least have made it to Ireland. That was where he and the King were heading for, and perhaps they were already there. If so, at least his death might serve some useful function, because it would ensure that Mortimer and his army remained here in Bristol.
If there was one thing he wished, it was that he might have a little time to see his son. To talk to him, and to advise him how to strive to capture the men here in the room. To catch them and see them punished for their presumption.
But mostly he just wished he could see his son one more time.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Cardiff Castle
The outburst from Despenser had stilled everyone in the room. Sir Ralph said nothing, but there was a gobbet of spittle on his cheek. He reached up and wiped it away without comment, before bowing low to the King and slowly walking backwards from the room.
‘Where do you go?’ Despenser demanded.
‘To prepare the remaining members of the King’s household to ride wither His Majesty commands,’ Sir Ralph said with cool politeness, and was gone.
Edward gave a loud expostulation, lifting his hands and letting them drop again. ‘Oh! Why do I have to suffer in this way? If only I had one General in whose efforts I could trust. A man with the tactical genius of…’
He was quiet before he could say the name, but Baldwin was sure that he was about to say, Sir Roger Mortimer. The man had been his best Captain. All knew it. Mortimer had been the King’s very finest Commander, not only tactically and strategically, but politically too. And now he had turned against him.
Shortly afterwards, the King and Despenser left the chamber for a smaller, more private one, and as soon as the door had slammed behind them, the men in the hall were able to stand upright again, rising from their knees. Baldwin saw that one of the messengers needed assistance to rise, and he walked over to him. ‘Can I help you?’ he asked. ‘Are you fatigued after your journey?’
‘No – well, yes, but it’s not that,’ Robert Vyke said, wincing as he put the weight on his leg again. His shin was on fire, and he wondered whether he should pay to have it looked at.
‘What happened to you?’
‘A foolish accident. I fell into a pothole, and inside was a dagger. It sliced my leg open.’
Baldwin pulled a face. ‘It is one thing to be stabbed by an opponent in a fight, but to get slashed in a muddy pool, that is the height of bad luck. The fool who left it there deserves to be punished severely.’
‘I think he was,’ Robert said, and told Baldwin of the head and dismembered body.
‘Really? That is an intriguing story,’ Baldwin said. ‘I suppose there are small factions fighting all over the country. Lots of grievances being settled, feuds brought to a conclusion.’
‘There are plenty who say that they have a score to settle,’ Robert agreed, sighing heavily.
‘And I dare say that most will never be resolved,’ Baldwin replied. ‘It is sad to think of so many dying without a grave, without a mourner or prayer said over their bodies.’
‘I think I do know who he was,’ Robert said. ‘I was told that his name was Squire William. At least, that was the name that Sir Laurence mentioned when he saw the dagger.’
‘Squire William who, I wonder? We shall perhaps never know. Where was the man’s body?’
‘It was left near a vill some little way from Bristol. There was a priest nearby, who found me and tended to my wounds until I could walk again. Then I made my way to Bristol, where they asked me to come here. I suppose I wouldn’t have managed to help much in the fight there in the castle.’
‘I suppose not,’ Baldwin said. He watched the injured man limp over to a bench. ‘It is healing?’
‘Think so. You know how these wounds can be. Sometimes they heal quickly, others you have a barber take your leg off, and sometimes a man will die from the lockjaw or gangrene. I think this will be all right, but it is still very sore. I’ve walked long and hard in the last few days.’
‘You must take your rest,’ Baldwin said. He turned, only to see Bernard nearby. ‘A question, from interest,’ he said to him. ‘Are you aware of a Squire named William who lived near to Bristol?’
‘Only the one,’ Bernard said with a chuckle. ‘He wouldn’t be popular there, though. Married the daughter of a merchant in the city, and then treated her like a cur. Poor chit was only fourteen or so when they got wed. She ran away when she was eighteen.’
‘And?’
‘She ran off with a parson, and nine months later she had proof of his catechism! He must have been a right holy fellow, for he was always on his knees. The fool must have had his brain in his tarse. Anyway, when the crime was uncovered, the girl went home to her parents, and as soon as her husband heard of her baby, he went to her home with a group of ruffians and killed them all. His wife, her parents, and her son.’
‘I see,’ Baldwin said slowly. The sheer ferocity of such an act sickened him. He himself could imagine killing any number of men who had hurt his wife or children, but to go to a house from jealousy or from the position of cuckold, with a group of others, and slay all within, especially the babe, was the act of a madman.
‘They even killed some of the servants,’ Bernard went on. ‘The porter at his door was stabbed, and a maid.’
Baldwin nodded. ‘It is terrible how the lust for blood can blind some men.’
‘Well, they didn’t kill all the servants, I suppose, so that’s a mercy. The maid looking after the baby didn’t die. They left her where she was.’
‘But they took the child from her,’ Baldwin said. ‘That is truly foul. It must have sent the woman lunatic to see the babe killed.’
‘She was made of hardier stuff than that, I reckon.’ Bernard rubbed his chin. ‘She’s still in the city, I heard.’
Baldwin nodded, but he had no idea how his future was about to be so closely entwined with the woman he was discussing. Nor with her death.
Bristol
Simon had been allowed to finish his food, and then to see his servants released and fed, before he was led away to discuss the murder.
It was strange to be taken out to the main city. After such a short time, it had begun to feel as though the castle was a gaol from which he would never be released. Now, he was able to walk the streets with Hugh again like a free man. Margaret and Peterkin, he had been told, would be safer staying in the castle. With so many foreign mercenaries about the city, Simon could only agree with that. He left Rob with them.
He and Hugh were taken along the main street near St Peter’s, and then his guard stopped and suggested that they wait.
‘Why?’
‘Sir Roger Mortimer wanted you to be here,’ the guard said imperturbably. He set his polearm on the ground and leaned on it like man with a staff, yawning.
‘What’s your name?’ Simon asked.
‘Herv Tyrel.’
‘Have you come with the Mortimer from Hainault?’
‘Me? No.’ The man was surprised, Simon saw.
Herv Tyrel was a thickset fellow with the brawny arms of a farmer. His brown eyes were gentle, set in a broad, amiable face, and he looked as though he would be more at home in a field with oxen than here in a city.
‘Where are you from, Herv?’
‘A little vill in Oxfordshire, a place called Henret,’ he sighed, gazing about him without relish. ‘Wish I was back there now. I’ve already lost one mate, and now God knows when we’ll get back.’
‘I think we all wish we were at home,’ Simon said. ‘I would that I was at home in Devon. This city has been too exciting already for my tastes.’
That made the man grin. ‘I know that feeling. I left home in the pay of the King, and halfway here, our Captain decided to become a servant of the Queen. I mean, the Queen’s son will be the next King, so I suppose joining their men is a good idea, but I don’t really understand…’
Simon shrugged. ‘It’s all beyond me. I just want there to be no
fighting while I’m in the middle wondering what to do. Do you know what we’re supposed to be waiting for here?’
Herv shook his head. ‘I was told to wait here with you, then take you on.’
‘I see,’ Simon said. He did not care overmuch and was simply relishing his freedom. The memory of that chamber with the others was still close to the front of his mind. The light here, the scents – all were glorious reminders of life going on.
Hugh was less cheerful. He stood leaning on the wall, staring dourly at everyone in the street. He mistrusted all city dwellers as a matter of principle, and after being held captive overnight, was even less inclined to change his mind.
‘How long are we to wait?’ Simon asked. ‘I have business on behalf of Sir Roger.’
‘Not long, I hope,’ the guard answered, staring back the way they had come.
There was a shout, the sound of horses whinnying, and an outbreak of laughter. Then two horses were led from the castle’s gates, two large beasts, with a pair of ropes extending back behind them.
And then he saw the hurdle, and the small, sad figure that lay strapped to it.
Earl Hugh was clad in his armour, with a surcoat over it, but on this surcoat his arms had been reversed, the final proof of his guilt. For this signified the end of his arms – the end of his earldom. No man would inherit his estates entire as a matter of course. His son could not.
Simon watched the sad figure pass him by. Later he heard that the Earl was given no opportunity to speak on the gallows. He was taken to the place of execution of common criminals in Bristol, a demeaning enough position for a man who had risen so high in the King’s household. There he was strung up on the oak beams, and throttled until nearly dead, before being cut down, gasping and retching, to be beheaded. There, in front of the crowds, his old body was stripped and rolled off into the kennel, the gutter in the road’s centre. Later, his body fed the dogs of the city. His head, meanwhile, was taken away to be put on display at Winchester.
For all the last long years, Simon had detested the Despenser regime with a passion. He had been attacked, had lost his home, had been nearly killed, and all because of this man’s son. Now the Earl had fallen from his high pedestal and would suffer the death of a traitor.
‘What now?’ Simon said, watching the old man being dragged past on the jerking, jolting hurdle.
‘Now you can go and continue your investigation,’ Roger Mortimer said. He was walking along with three men-at-arms a few yards behind the hurdle.
As the hurdle rattled past, people threw rubbish at the occupant, while some laughed and jeered. A pair of dogs scuttled along, barking, and all the while Earl Hugh stared up at the sky as though it was his fervent wish to imprint that on his mind as his last memory.
‘Come, Hugh,’ Simon said thickly.
‘What did he want us to see that for?’ Hugh grumbled as they set off with Herv.
‘To make sure that we behaved,’ Simon said. ‘Another man’s death is a prime example, isn’t it?’
But although he didn’t say so, in his heart he was thinking that Sir Roger Mortimer was no better than the Earl and his son Sir Hugh le Despenser.
The room into which Sir Charles was brought was a large chamber, and he was glad to see that the man sitting on the table was unharmed.
‘Simon, my friend, I am glad to see you well,’ he said effusively. ‘When I saw you were not in the room with all the guards, I immediately thought the worst.’
‘Are you well?’ Simon asked.
‘Oh, yes. I made sure that when the surrender went ahead, I was there to give a warm welcome to the Duke of Aquitaine. He and I know each other from my time in France, and he was very happy to vouch for me, I am glad to say. So I was not held like you.’
‘I have been freed, but I must learn who the killer of that woman was. And I have been advised by Sir Roger to speak with a fosser.’
They crossed the city together, Simon’s servant Hugh still gazing about him with that air of barely controlled disgust, and came to the gaol where the fosser was held. Here it took one penny for the gaoler to realise he would like to introduce them to his prisoner, and they soon reached the chamber where Saul sat on a stool.
‘I don’t know why I’m here,’ he declared mournfully as Sir Charles and Simon walked in. Hugh stood at the door with his staff in his hands.
‘Perhaps it began when you bethought yourself that taking a dagger from a grave might be a good idea?’ Sir Charles said consideringly. ‘What do you think?’
Simon smiled to himseelf, then asked the man to tell him all about the dagger and the man at Cecily’s grave.
‘I told the other one already,’ the fosser complained. ‘Why do you have to keep me here to tell you about it all over again?’
‘Which other one?’ Simon asked sharply.
‘The tall one with the dark hair. He was in here yesterday morning.’
‘What was his name?’
Saul the Fosser screwed up his face in the act of memory. ‘Roger Mortimer, I think – a knight.’
Simon listened carefully to what the gravedigger said. How Mortimer had arrived and questioned him, then left with the strange dagger.
Outside a little later, Simon was baffled. ‘Why would Sir Roger send me here to hear something he already knows?’
Sir Charles smiled widely. ‘Simon, you are a simple soul like me. The reasons why the great fellows of the land do things is far beyond us. What we need to do is look at the murder itself and see what we can learn. Maybe the great Sir Roger felt he didn’t have time to follow this up.’
‘I wonder,’ Simon mused. ‘I wonder…’
Cardiff Castle
Baldwin was about to walk from the hall when a page called out to him. ‘Sir Baldwin, sir, the King would like to speak with you. Would you come with me, sir?’
Cursing under his breath, Baldwin strode after the man. The last thing he wanted now was another opportunity to listen to the King or his adviser ranting about the state of the kingdom. It was their own fault that the realm had sunk into this disastrous state, and it would be difficult for Baldwin to maintain a calm demeanour, were they to begin to pass the blame on to others.
The chamber into which he was brought was a pleasant, airy room with a large fire roaring in one wall, while all about were pictures of religious scenes. The king sat in front of the fire with a fur-trimmed cloak pulled over his shoulders. ‘Come in, Sir Baldwin. Please, come here.’
Looking around the room, Baldwin was surprised to see that Despenser was absent. He was alone with the King and three servants, who all stood at one side like statues. They were Edward’s most trusted men, the ones who would never repeat a word that he said.
‘Sir Baldwin, you are loyal to me, I deem. As my crown gradually slips from my head, I learn that the very men I once considered dangerous or unfaithful are those who have grown most dear to me, who have become most close by reason of their loyalty. Those in whom I should have been able to place most trust: my brothers, old companions, my General – all these have become my enemies. But you are still here.’
‘I gave you my oath, my lord. You are my King. I can do no more.’
‘You are a man of integrity and honour, Sir Baldwin. I am most glad.’
The King appeared distracted. He stood up and wandered over to sit at a bench beneath the large window, away from the fire. Without looking at Baldwin, he beckoned.
The knight reckoned that he had come here because this was a private nook, where even the trusted servants could not hear them speak. ‘Sire?’
‘You have been very loyal. Most of those upon whom I have showered rewards and honours have already deserted me. My own household knights have failed to support me, and yet you have remained with me. That shows your nature, Sir Baldwin.’
‘You have my oath, Your Highness.’
‘I would ask one more favour of you, Sir Baldwin. Would you do my bidding?’
‘If it is in my power, Sire.’
>
‘It is only this: that you will serve and protect my good friend Sir Hugh le Despenser with the same loyalty you have given me.’
Baldwin stiffened. He could recall the pain and hurt in Simon’s face as he described the way that the young Despenser had stolen his home in Lydford, the way that Despenser had attacked Simon’s daughter as a means of blackmailing Simon into doing his bidding… He shook his head. ‘Sire, that is impossible.’
‘You say it is not in your power?’
‘I do not know. But I do know the harm that Despenser has done to many, including you yourself and your realm. How could I serve the man who has done so much to ruin my King?’
‘It is your King’s express wish that you do so.’
‘Then I shall of course try to help.’
‘All I ask is that if all goes wrong, you do what you may to protect him.’ The King looked up at Baldwin at last. His eyes were red-rimmed, and there were tears in them. ‘Please, Sir Baldwin. It would make whatever comes to pass for me that much easier to bear, were I to know that good Sir Hugh was safe. I consider you the only man still loyal enough to me to undertake such a task. Will you do that for me, I beg?’
Before Baldwin could answer, the door opened and Sir Hugh himself entered with another page, Sir Ralph walking behind them.
‘Sir Hugh, I am glad to see you again, my friend,’ the King said a little formally.
‘My liege, there is news,’ Hugh said, his face working.
‘Speak!’
Sir Ralph spoke quietly. ‘It seems the castle at Bristol is fallen. A man has arrived to say that the castle was passed to the rebels yesterday. He saw the Duke of Aquitaine’s banner over the gates.’
‘He must be mistaken. My father would never surrender,’ Sir Hugh declared. ‘I will not believe it.’
‘Sir Hugh, the feeling in the castle was surely quite devastated after the capitulation of the city,’ Sir Ralph said. ‘It is not to be wondered at, Your Highness, since the folk were standing against their Queen and your heir.’
‘I should have disinherited the ungrateful wretch! How can my own son do this to me? I would not have dared to attempt such a grave offence against my father.’ Edward shuddered. ‘That is my greatest failing: sympathy to those weaker than me. I am too kindly to those who hardly merit it.’
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