30 - King's Gold

by Michael Jecks

  ‘I wanted to offer you money for something else.’

  She turned eyes on him in which the doubt was driven out by pure suspicion.

  ‘Mistress, all I ask is that you listen to me. Let me buy you a pot of wine and explain.’

  And she had listened, and agreed. He wrote the note on a strip of parchment and gave it to her, explaining that the attempt to free Edward had made matters more difficult, that he would return, and that Edward must remain patient.

  The castle had been in uproar. He had heard chatter on the streets that there were fewer than thirty men in the attack. Fools! And now the garrison was running around like a cat with a flaming torch tied to its tail: eyeing anyone from the town with suspicion, sending men into the town to search for any survivors, scurrying about the countryside to find two men on horseback – one a Dominican, in Christ’s name!

  All they had achieved was to force Dolwyn to leave the town and seek anonymity on the road. He couldn’t remain here in the locality and risk having to answer unwelcome questions. It was too likely that he would be uncovered as the man who had been in the castle the day before the attack. Instead he found a grassy spot in the bend of the river, and spent his morning dozing, soaking up what sun there was.

  Later he walked to meet the woman again, at a quiet stable which had an ale–house next door, and there the laundress told him the news: they were to take the King to Berkeley Castle, to instal him in a cell there from which it would be more difficult to release him.

  It was enough to make a man curse. What had been a moderately easy task, to rescue Edward from Kenilworth, had now become impossible. Where was Berkeley anyway? The laundress had said it was somewhere to the south and west, and that the King would be taken there before long.

  So here he was, walking along a grotty little lane in the middle of the day without any idea where he was going, except that he was heading south and west.

  The main question in his mind was: if he made his way there, what could he achieve? He was one man. It would make more sense to try to spring Edward of Caernarfon from the party escorting him to the castle, than to dream up a plan to help him escape from Berkeley. That would be suicidal.

  In the distance he saw a cart, and called out: ‘Hoi! You there!’

  The carter gave him an unfriendly look. Dolwyn said politely, ‘Friend, would you have space to help a weary traveller rest his feet for a mile or so?’

  ‘Can’t do that,’ the carter said. He was a man of about Dolwyn’s age, with brown hair kept long. His eyes were dark, and they kept moving fretfully over the road, the fields, and Dolwyn himself.

  ‘Only a short ride, master,’ Dolwyn wheedled. ‘I’ve walked a long way.’

  ‘Where from?’

  ‘The castle at Kenilworth. It’s a lovely place, isn’t it?’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘I thought you must have come from that way, master, that’s all,’ Dolwyn said mildly. He smiled, and after a moment or two, the carter tried to return it, but his look was so fearful that it turned his face into a ghastly mask.

  ‘I have passed by the town, yes,’ he said.

  Dolwyn nodded. ‘I am sure you have. It’s a long way from there, though. You must have rested for a day or two.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘There’s straw on top of the cart. I guess you had it hidden in a barn somewhere to have thrown all that hay over it.’

  ‘Why’d I do that?’

  ‘Anyone who’s been hiding would know the signs,’ Dolwyn said shortly.

  The carter glared at him for a moment, and then Dolwyn drew his knife, and spoke quietly and calmly. ‘I know what you were doing, carter: you were supporting those boys at the castle, weren’t you? Your life’s worth nothing, because if the new King heard that you tried to free his father so he could take back his throne, I think he would have your ballocks for soup. And if he didn’t, Sir Roger Mortimer would. So how about we forget all the shite and agree that you’ll give me a ride. That’s all I ask. A ride.’

  Ham stared at him, terrified, then nodded.

  And that was the beginning of Ham’s nightmare.

  Thursday before the Feast of the Annunciation21

  Willersey

  Father Luke’s legs ached abominably as he limped into the village again after his long march. The way had not been too hard, but it had been quite hilly, as was normal in these parts.

  In the beginning, his only thought had been for the danger in which he had placed himself. The memory of those men-at-arms riding towards him at such a terrifying pace was enough even now to turn his bowels to water, and the worst of it was, he had no real idea what on earth the fight was about. Oh, certainly, when a force of men was gathered together and there was plenty of ale or wine, it was common enough that there would be bickering, and with an armed garrison, that would often mean a fight, but even though he was not experienced in the ways of warriors, the priest was fairly sure that they did not spontaneously erupt into open battle. There had to be a reason why they had started to draw their weapons, and he was sure that the purveyor Stephen Dunheved must have had something to do with it.

  It was enough to persuade him that he never wanted to return to that castle. No: not to any castle.

  He still had no idea what had happened to Ham or his money; all he knew was that the whole purpose of his journey had been to deliver the chest of gold, and he had failed quite spectacularly.

  It put him in a foul temper, until he reflected that Ham could well have been caught by the posse that rushed past from the castle. That made his anger leave him in an instant. The idea that Ham was dead was awful. Luke would be happier to think that he had stolen the money and that the coins were going towards his family’s upkeep. At least Jen would have a dowry, if that was the case. He prayed that it might be so, and that Ham was even now in his house with the money.

  Later he could find out.

  For now, he reminded himself, he was a servant of God, and after the last days he should remember his duties. So rather than marching straight home and resting his sore feet, he first went to his church. Opening the door, he peered in, a little anxious in case a thief might have stolen the chalice or . . . But no, it looked the same as usual. When he opened his chest, all was there, safe and well. Thieves, drawlatches and outlaws had become commonplace in recent years, and they were daring enough to rip the very crucifixes from the walls if they could see a profit in it. Nothing was sacred to such men.

  The floor was a disgrace, though. Someone had been in here with muddy boots, and Father Luke tutted to himself. Before anything else, he must sweep. He fetched a besom and began to clean his little church, sweeping the dirt away from the red and cream floor tiles of which he was so proud, until there was a fine mist of particles hanging about the whole place. The sun illuminated these dancing motes and created bright columns of light in the church that gave it a still more magnificent aspect. Leaning on his broom, Luke felt his tiredness leach away, and a calmness settle upon him.

  He returned his broom to its corner, and walked the length of the nave to kneel before the altar, hands clasped together.

  ‘Lord, forgive me for my anger and black choler, and I praise You for this peace. It is surely true that a man must seek comfort in the little things, in prayer, work, and—’

  Just then, the door was thrown wide, and Father Luke snapped his eyes open, turning to see the woman striding towards him.

  ‘Where is he?’ Agatha demanded. ‘Where’s that good-for-nothing churl of a husband of mine? I suppose you left him in some ale-house where he could watch the wenches with his tongue hanging out? We’ve work to do here, and the fool is hiding somewhere!’

  ‘Agatha, I was going to ask you the same question!’

  ‘Me? How would I know where the useless prickle was? He was away with you, Father.’

  ‘But I haven’t seen him in days. I thought he was already here,’ the priest protested.

  ‘Oh, yes, of course you
did. That’s why you sidled into town like a cur expecting a boot up its backside, is it? I wasn’t born yesterday, Father. I know you men. You promised you wouldn’t tell me, eh? You can say this, though: when will he be back? I need to know that, at least.’

  ‘Mistress Carter, I do not know,’ Luke told her. ‘We reached the castle three days ago, but as we got there, a fight broke out, and many men were killed. I was sure that your husband escaped, and . . .’

  Father Luke slowed and stopped. In his mind’s eye he saw again that furious posse hurtling along the road, falling upon the group of fleeing men and cutting them to pieces, before carrying on after the purveyor and the Dominican. If they had come across a lonely peasant with a cartload of money, Ham wouldn’t have stood a chance. The men-at-arms would have slain him before checking his cart. If they did check and saw the weapons . . .

  No, surely not! They were riding after the other two, the blackfriar and the other. He had seen the arrows flying after them, and shortly afterwards the posse poured out of the gatehouse. They must have passed by the carter on their way after the two – if, indeed, they even noticed him.

  ‘Yes, he must have escaped them,’ Father Luke said reassuringly. ‘I am sure that he is fine, mistress – you will simply have to be patient. He will return.’

  ‘Aye, as soon as he’s used up all his pennies, I suppose,’ she declared. She tugged at her belt, hitching up her breasts as she did so. ‘Well, I hope you’re right, because if that niddicock isn’t back soon, I don’t know that I’ll be responsible for my actions!’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Balsall

  The cart rattled along comfortably enough, while the carter strode beside it, and Dolwyn jolted and rolled on the thin plank that served as a seat. This cart was a goodly size. It gave Dolwyn a feeling that it could be useful somehow in releasing the King. Not that he had any idea how that might be achieved.

  ‘Where are you from?’ he asked conversationally.

  The man was uncommunicative, as so many peasants were. Dolwyn had wandered into a small town on his way up here to Kenilworth where the grubby urchins in the street eyed him with unconcealed alarm. They were incapable of speaking with him, because he was foreign. He came from more than ten miles away. It was the sort of insular attitude which had always upset Dolwyn when he was at home.

  He was about to press the man, when a grudging comment came: ‘Willersey. Small vill down southwest.’

  ‘What were you doing up there?’

  ‘Purveyor, he said he was. Came and told me to bring my cart. Said the castle wanted lampreys brought, and perry, and that I’d be well paid. Huh – never saw one penny. Then he set a load of swords and maces on my cart and there was that fight, and now I’m a hunted man, I think.’

  ‘You are,’ Dolwyn said with quiet conviction. ‘But so are a lot after that attack. What is your name, anyway?’

  ‘They call me Ham.’

  ‘So then, Ham Carter of Willersey, what will you do now?’

  ‘Go home, I suppose.’

  ‘That would be sensible. But when you get there, what then? If they can trace you – and the King and Mortimer have very good spies – will you have brought danger to your wife, children, friends?’

  Ham plodded on, but his head sank in dejection. ‘What should I do?’

  ‘My friend, I am sure that you will be safe enough. I merely asked. Now, for me, I will strike out westwards, away from the castle, and then follow the River Severn for a while. That will take me away from any search, I think.’

  ‘How can you be sure of that, sir?’

  ‘Good Ham, you can call me by my name: I am Dolwyn of Guildford. I am sure enough because only a strong force would dare to attack the Earl of Lancaster’s castle at Kenilworth. Not only is it a mighty castle, it is owned by the second most powerful man in the realm.’

  Ham’s face grew longer. ‘Master Dolwyn, what can I do? I am only a simple yeoman, when all is said and done, and I don’t want any part of this sort of nonsense.’

  Dolwyn smiled. He felt for his dagger. ‘Look, friend, let’s take our rest, eh?’

  Nodding, Ham led the cart off the road onto a patch of common land, and began to unhitch the pony as Dolwyn climbed down.

  He wouldn’t feel a thing, Dolwyn told himself as Ham turned away to pull a pot from the cart for boiling water. He would make it quick, he thought, his hand on the knife . . . But then he changed his mind. Not yet – not today. For now, travelling with a second man was perfect, in case anyone was looking for him. On his own he would stick out like a priest in a brothel. Here, on a cart with a man who was almost local, he would be less noticeable.

  And this fool was too scared of him to be dangerous.

  Friday before the Feast of the Annunciation22

  Willersey

  Agatha felt the soreness in her tired eyes as she tried to concentrate. There was so much to be done: animals to feed, protecting the emerging crops from birds and mice in their strips of land in the communal fields . . . She needed her man back. Where was he?

  It was shameful to think that Ham would be running about the place free and happy with the money in his purse from the job with the cart, and not sharing anything with her or Jen. They needed the money. God’s teeth, it was enough to make her weep!

  The priest knew something, she was sure of it. She should watch him.

  She held to her word through Mass that morning, her eyes fixed on Father Luke. He was calm and strong at first, but then, progressively, she became aware of his eyes moving towards her. He looked like a naughty boy consumed with guilt. Perhaps he had argued or fought with Ham, killed him and left the body . . . But that was a laughable idea. This pasty priest was no match for her husband. Ham, for all his faults, was a hale and hearty man.

  It was difficult to hold her tongue through the service. Instead, she aimed an accusing stare at Father Luke.

  He definitely knew more than he was saying.

  Abergavenny

  Alured had ensured that Matteo Bardi was safely deposited at the castle’s gates before seeing to the horses and finding a secure billet for himself and the other guards.

  It had been a hard ride, but their reception was unfriendly. As soon as they entered the town, he felt the curious stares of the men and women. In fact, Alured got the impression that this town wasn’t part of England at all. The people spoke in some weird tongue. They weren’t like the folks of Kent or the men from the far north. These fellows actually spoke a whole different language, and it was disconcerting.

  He felt out of place here. He was a London man. Those little alleys and streets were to him the essence of freedom. Without them, he felt lost.

  His mood had not been improved by the way Matteo’s nervousness had increased, the closer they came to Wales. Alured had not wanted to come here in the first place, but it was not his choice. What did he want with a four- or five-hundred-mile journey?

  Alured could at least appreciate Matteo’s alarm, having heard his suspicions about his brother Benedetto’s murderous plan to wrest power from others at the bank. Alured himself doubted that Matteo’s fears were justified, since Benedetto didn’t seem like a killer to him. Still, it explained his trepidation. That and the fact that he was here to see Sir Roger Mortimer. No one would meet that man without a sense of grave danger. Sir Roger had not achieved the most powerful position by affability.

  Yes. If Matteo was correct, Alured would have to be careful in the presence of Benedetto Bardi, but for his money, the more dangerous man was the one in the castle, Sir Roger Mortimer, not Benedetto.

  Hunilege

  Ham smiled at the man’s jokes, but there was something about him that Ham didn’t like. Dolwyn’s smile, which appeared as easy and unforced as a taxman’s while demanding more money, it was enough to make any man suspicious, he reckoned. What’s more, as they travelled along, Ham noticed that his companion’s eyes were all over the countryside.

  Dolwyn caught him staring and gave him o
ne of those long looks of his.

  ‘What?’ Dolwyn said.

  ‘Nothin’,’ Ham protested feebly, feeling doubly foolish for blushing like a maid. ‘It’s just, you remind me of an old soldier I knew once. He always had his eyes on the hills about us when we were travellin’.’

  ‘A man with sense, then. For I tell you now, when I look around here, all I see is danger. It’s full of trees to hide a bowman, and old holes in which a thief could lie, and the hills themselves could hide a hundred outlaws.’

  ‘So you were a soldier?’

  Dolwyn looked at him. ‘I have served the King. In peace and in war.’

  ‘But now you’re without a master?’

  ‘Seems like it,’ Dolwyn said. He saw no reason to mention the Bardi. ‘There are many of us in the same position.’

  Ham nodded to himself. It was no surprise to him. ‘Are you married?’ he asked next.

  He half-expected the man to laugh at him. The idea of a warrior for the King having a wife and children was ludicrous, somehow, but to his faint surprise, the man gave him a slow, considering stare. ‘Why?’

  ‘Just wondered. I have a daughter. Lovely girl – little Jen. She makes my life whole. I’d die for her.’

  Dolwyn turned to look at the road ahead. ‘I did have a daughter once,’ he admitted. ‘But she died.’

  ‘Well, I am sorry to hear that. A child is a comfort.’

  ‘Yes. I . . . I envy you.’

  They did not speak again. Ham walked alongside the cart, guessing how many days from the vill he had travelled, but occasionally throwing a look at Dolwyn, increasingly convinced that if he remained with this man for too long, he would pay dearly – possibly even with his life.

  Dolwyn himself was back in the past: seeing his cottage lighted by the flames, the smoke billowing above the thatch, and hearing from inside the screams of Julia and Rose until at last they were stilled, and he was allowed to drop, weeping, to his knees.