‘My lord, I do not know,’ Simon replied. Now that the Duke spoke of it with such a depth of understanding, Simon realised that no matter what happened between Mortimer and the Despenser, the King himself would be in an intolerable position.
‘You were asking about someone who was killed in Bristol the other day, I heard,’ the Duke said after a few moments, changing the subject. ‘A man?’
Simon sighed. ‘I have been asked to enquire into so many deaths in recent weeks, it is hard to recall them all. First there was a poor maidservant in the city itself, and then a man who had been a merchant, put to death just outside the city. Sir Roger Mortimer seems to have an interest in all the people of the shire.’
‘This merchant, what was his name?’
‘Thomas Redcliffe.’
The Duke sat back and smiled at last with real feeling. ‘He’s dead? Thank the good Lord.’
‘Why?’
‘He was an assassin, trying to kill my father.’
Vigil before the Feast of St Martin [38]
Neath Abbey
They had waited here for four whole days now, and there was still no news of a ship that could take them from Wales. It was making Baldwin feel half-crazed to think that all this while, Sir Roger Mortimer was preparing his men and getting ready to attack. Today, he had sent Jack off to ride his horse with Wolf to guard him. The boy was fretting at being kept here, too, and needed some fresh air and exercise for his muscles and his mind.
‘We have to leave this place,’ Baldwin said to Sir Ralph that morning as they walked about the Abbot’s garden and orchard.
It was a scene of perfect tranquillity. The sky was clear, for once, and he could see the woods to the north where they covered the hills. Should the weather deteriorate, however, it would be impossible to spot an approaching force of men.
‘The King is grown completely despondent,’ Sir Ralph said. ‘He has already resigned himself to capture, I think.’
‘Which is all very well, except it means he is consigning all of us, his most loyal men, to destruction with him,’ Baldwin said drily. He took a deep breath. All he could see in his mind’s eye was his wife’s face as she was told that he had been executed for his part in the flight of the king. ‘Sir Ralph, we have to do something!’ he went on. ‘We can’t just sit around, passively waiting for Sir Roger.’
‘What do you propose we do?’ There was an edge to Sir Ralph’s voice which Baldwin had not heard before. ‘We can flee farther to the west until we reach the sea, or we could try to work our way eastwards, through Sir Roger’s men, hoping to get to the English countryside in one piece. Do you have any better ideas, Sir Baldwin? If so, please enlighten me!’
He watched as Baldwin shook his head, before continuing, ‘I know, sir, that the situation is hopeless. Look at the men. They spend their time drinking and gambling. If Sir Roger appeared now, what could they do? Nothing. We are lost, my friend. There is no rescue for us.’
‘Sir Ralph, Sir Baldwin…’
The knights heard the voice together, and turned to face the man who walked in leisurely fashion towards them. Even messengers had lost all sense of urgency now. This was a man Baldwin had seen before – a tall fellow called Giles. ‘The King would see you both now, please.’
Hereford
Simon was ready to leave with the others at dawn. For once, he was glad to be out in the open air.
It was a fact that his interview with the Duke had not gone as well as he could have wished. Simon had had no idea what to say, nor how to react with him. All the while, he was aware that Duke Edward was restraining himself, watching his every word, wary of letting slip anything that could be construed as demeaning to his mother and Sir Roger Mortimer, while not wishing to be thought of as disloyal to his father. It was a tortuous path he trod.
And equally tortuous must be Simon’s. It was wearying to talk while having to watch that by neither word nor expression did he dishonour any of them.
Yes, he told himself, looking back at the town in the murk as he trotted away, it was far better, and safer, to be in the saddle and having a clear, defined function to perform, rather than being cooped up inside those town walls. At least here a man could speak freely.
They had ridden a league or more when he found Sir Stephen close by.
‘Master Puttock, I am glad that you are well. This riding to and fro is exhausting, is it not?’
Simon grinned, but he remembered Sir Laurence’s scathing words about this man, and decided to be circumspect. ‘Very tiring, Sir Stephen,’ he said.
At least Sir Stephen didn’t have too much in the way of wealth on display, unlike some other knights, who often seemed more prone to ostentation than a peacock. Simon detested all that dressing up in bright colours, the tight-fitting clothes, the emphasis on jewels and other fripperies. Sir Stephen’s red tunic and parti-coloured hosen, and his thick cloak were all of good quality, but unlike Sir Laurence and others, he was not dripping in gold. His sword was simple and robust rather than decorative, and his hair was cropped short after the fashion of Edward I.
‘You have had all your hair off,’ Simon remarked.
Sir Stephen nodded. ‘It seemed best while we were travelling. Do you have any idea where the King might be?’
‘I wish I did,’ Simon replied. ‘I don’t really know Wales, but what I have seen of it shows that a man could hide in the valleys for a year and a day if he wished to, and if the locals did not give him away – but as to whether our King would be happy to live in such a manner is another tale.’
‘I doubt it. He enjoys his comforts, as does Sir Hugh le Despenser. The two would find life in a peasant’s hut unendurable, to my thinking. They are not so hardy as some.’
Simon glanced at him. It sounded as though Sir Stephen was comparing their own relative positions. If so, he was honouring Simon more than he would have expected. ‘And who do you consider so hardy?’
‘You are a man of great resilience, master. I have seen that already. I think it is fair to say that I too have more capacity to endure hardship than many. Look at Sir Laurence, for example. To ride out in the rain like this would be a severe hardship to him. He needs his soft bed, his pewter and silver to dine from. Me, I have wooden trenchers, but prefer hard bread for my meats; I can drink wine, but am content with ale or cider. If there are good clothes which will keep me warm or dryer, I will buy them, but only because they serve a practical purpose. And look at my sword: it is simple, crafted of steel, with no decoration. Then consider Sir Laurence, with his fripperies, his goblet, his sword with gilt over his cross, the velvet of the hilts, his long hair… Was there ever a knight who looked less suited to campaigning? Ha! I hope I will never grow so soft and determined to seek fashion.’
Simon was careful to indicate a certain disinterest in his tone. ‘I believe Sir Laurence and you don’t enjoy the closest of friendships?’
Sir Stephen laughed loudly. ‘Closest? No! He and I have always been at odds; he dislikes me because he knows I eschew his life of ease. Oh, I don’t hate him, but I do find his attitude… inappropriate for a knight. Always seeking the next reward is not good for a man whose duty should itself be adequate reward.’
‘I don’t quite follow.’
‘Well, look at him,’ Sir Stephen said. ‘He’s always buying new flamboyant clothes, and then there’s his position in the castle at Bristol until Sir Roger took it. Sir Laurence was a close friend of Despenser, I think, and looked to him for his advancement. It is no surprise that he was so keen to hold the city, since to lose it would mean losing his status in the world, and much of his income too. A knight needs an income, of course, but he should be satisfied with the money he receives from his manor.’
‘Was he not?’
‘He used to go to usurers.’
There was a tightening of his lips at the word, Simon noticed. ‘Which usurers are you thinking of?’
Sir Stephen looked at him with a slight frown on his face. ‘I was the Coron
er of the city, as you know. In that capacity, I would often learn things I was forced to keep silent about – but there is no concealing some facts. I dislike slandering the dead, you understand, but you are a Bailiff. You have seen how the world wags.’
‘Capon was a usurer, you mean,’ Simon said. ‘I have heard it said before.’
Sir Stephen nodded primly. ‘Occasionally I have had to make use of such people myself, so I shouldn’t look down on others who do the same, but I do confess that I find the attitude of men such as Sir Laurence to be thoroughly disreputable. The man knew Capon’s reputation, but still tried to profit by him.’
‘In what manner?’ Simon asked.
‘Sir Laurence was in a position of authority, as Constable of the castle. If he was to need money in order to perform works, he could ask for the city to help – and certain men might find preferential treatment, were they to contribute to the financing of the projects. Capon used to win many of these arrangements, by which he grew more wealthy, as did the Constable.’
‘I see,’ Simon said. ‘It is hard to understand how men can behave so shamelessly.’
Sir Stephen nodded.
‘I suppose many men try to keep such dealings a secret, but news of that sort of fraud is bound to become clear in time,’ Simon continued. ‘It is like the man who tries to conceal his gambling from his wife – it never succeeds. Fraud is the same. You can steal for only so long, before the theft becomes plain. And then a man loses his honour and all.’
‘Some men, Bailiff, are not as honourable as they pretend,’ Sir Stephen said meaningfully.
Neath Abbey
The two walked into the King’s chamber and knelt, but Edward irritably bade them come to him. ‘There’s no time for all that folderol now. I need your brains, not submission!’
Sir Ralph glanced at Baldwin, and the two strode to join the King.
He was sitting at a small table, studying parchments which held commands in crabbed handwriting. Behind him stood the Abbot and some other men whom Sir Ralph did not know, as well as Despenser.
‘These are supposed to guarantee a man’s life,’ the King said, and he chuckled deep in his throat. ‘Orders for safe passage. I wonder who would read them and obey them now?’
He leaned back in his chair and surveyed the two knights with half-lidded eyes, and it was then that Sir Ralph understood that the King was drunk. Heavily intoxicated, in fact.
The King smiled lazily. ‘Well, there is no other way for it, sirs. We have played our best game, and we have lost. There is, apparently, no ship in the whole of Wales. All are off at sea, or safely harboured in towns where my enemies hold all power. There is nowhere for me to go to safety.’
Although his mouth was smiling, Sir Ralph was appalled to see a solitary tear form in his eye. It welled, and then, as the King blinked, it moved off, trickling down his cheek. That was the only sign of Edward’s misery, and it was somehow more shocking than a fit of fury would have been. Just one single tear of despair. The King could not even summon the justifiable rage at the way that his subjects were ignoring his plight.
‘My lord, do not send me from your side,’ Sir Ralph said, and dropped to his knees. ‘I have given you my pledge to live and die in your service. I will remain with you until the end.’
‘Good sir, you are a true, honourable knight, I know that,’ the King said. He smiled absently, and his eyes moved away to stare through the window. ‘Very well then. Sir Baldwin, I have a task for you alone. You will travel with these men. I have issued safe-conducts for them all: for the Abbot of Neath, Rhys ap Gruffydd, Edward de Boun, Oliver de Burdegala and John de Harsyk. They are to act as my emissaries to Sir Roger and my wife. My lovely Isabella. They will not allow all to go to ruin about our ears, or so we hope. You, Sir Baldwin, will travel with them, you will protect them as you can, and you will help to bring them back from the Mortimer with answers.’
‘What answers do you seek?’ Sir Baldwin asked.
King Edward answered flatly, ‘Anything at all, Sir Baldwin. I am in no position to demand terms. I must beg for them.’
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
It was already close to noon when Sir Baldwin and the men were horsed. There were ten horsemen, and the rest were on foot. Among the ambassadors he was surprised to see Robert Vyke, the messenger he had met at Cardiff.
‘How is your leg?’ he asked.
Robert Vyke smiled. ‘Well enough for me to swing a sword, Sir Baldwin.’
‘I am glad indeed to hear it. You are welcome with us.’
‘I’m happy to be doing something, sir. I’m used to being off out and about, not staying indoors all the long day.’
Baldwin nodded, but his mind was already on other matters. He had taken his leave of Sir Ralph, and the two had clasped each other’s hands before giving the other a short hug.
‘Be careful,’ Sir Ralph said. ‘Be wary of ambushes and being hunted, my friend.’
‘I shall,’ Baldwin responded. ‘And you be careful around the King and Despenser. Despenser is desperate and the King is desolate. Either could succumb to foolish suspicions or fancies. They could decide that someone here in their household has been spying, or that there is a traitor in their midst. Keep calm and ensure that they remain reasonable, so far as is possible.’
‘I will,’ Sir Ralph said. ‘But Sir Baldwin, there is another thing. There are men with Mortimer who would benefit from the King’s capture. Be careful of them.’
‘There is a host to fear, then,’ Baldwin said.
‘Some are worse than others. Be on your guard.’
‘I will.’ Baldwin bade him farewell, and soon he and his little group were riding out of the Abbot’s gates and down on the road towards Margam again.
Feast of St Martin [39]
Twenty miles west of Hereford
It was at noon that day, that Simon found an opportunity of speaking to Sir Charles.
The men had stopped to warm themselves, the weather having been so miserable all morning. Simon felt as though he would never be dry again. His clothing was sodden and clung to his back so closely he felt as if his chemise had been smeared with honey. It was a relief to loose his horse to crop the grass, while he pulled out his waxed purse from his breast.
His purse was the place where he routinely stored his tinder. Today he had a little roll of birch bark he had taken the previous night, along with some scraps of wool and some well-dried lichen, and fragments of charcloth.[40] All about were trees and he snapped off any dead twigs and branches that he could find. When he had enough for a small fire, he lit the charcloth, blowing on it as he wrapped it about with tinder, and held the whole lot in a parcel of birch bark. Soon he had flames, and he could set it down, placing the dead twigs over the top. There was a great deal of spluttering and spitting, but before long the twigs were catching light too.
‘You have spent a lot of time in the wilds, I see,’ Sir Charles said as he joined Simon.
‘You could have helped gather some sticks,’ Simon remonstrated.
‘Ah, but if I were to have done that, I would not have been able to collect this meat and bread,’ Sir Charles said with a chuckle.
Simon was not unhappy with the trade. The dried meat was tough as leather, but it was filling to an empty belly.
‘I spoke with Sir Stephen yesterday,’ Simon said. ‘He was most dismissive of Sir Laurence. What do you think of him?’
‘Sir Laurence? About as honourable as they come. Why?’
‘If Sir Stephen is to be believed, Sir Laurence was less so than you would think. He said that Sir Laurence was taking money in bribes, if I understood him aright. If there was work to be done at the castle, apparently he would give it to those who paid him most.’
‘That’s hardly unusual,’ Sir Charles said with a shrug. ‘It is the normal way of things.’
‘Did he strike you as the sort of man who would live by profiting from usurers? That is what Sir Stephen intimated, and yet I would expect most knight
s to look down on those who make money that way.’
Sir Charles gave him a lazy smile, and Simon was reminded again that this man was not one to baulk at profit by any means. He had been forced to survive as a renegade for too many years when his lord had been executed.
‘Simon, sometimes men are forced to do things they might regret, for reasons of survival.’
‘I make no comment about that. I would probably do the same. But to ally himself to a usurer, surely would be demeaning to a man who did not go through the same trials as you, Sir Charles? This is a man copying Despenser, I suppose, making money from a merchant who was paying him a fee to recommend his loans. To me, Sir Laurence did not seem so bent on profit that he would do something like that.’
‘Who is he supposed to have made money from?’
‘The banker who died.’
‘Capon, the man killed by Squire William?’
‘Yes. Sir Stephen said that Sir Laurence was doing very well out of his relationship with Capon.’
‘And then Capon died,’ Sir Charles said thoughtfully. ‘Did that happen recently?’
‘I think it was as the Queen was invading the country.’
‘If that is true, then he could have sought to prevent any discovery of his actions with Capon,’ Sir Charles said. ‘In God’s name, it would be a bold act – but surely the Squire William was guilty, was he not?’
Simon stared into the flames. ‘That is what all say,’ he agreed. ‘But I am fascinated by Sir Stephen’s attitude yesterday. He was very definite about Sir Laurence’s dealings with Capon.’
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